rrabhaa

poetry twined in a thin fabric of time

[rrabhaa]

Exit Rains

Where does the dew break?

in small pouches of rain?

or in sun bent weather

withering away the indebted. insane

insane minds play cross roads again

where does the dew break

in small pouches of rain?

-Rabha

[ohno-popisdead]

Last lines in every Radiohead album.

[sisterofiris]

A comforting thought

Five thousand years ago, the Sumerians called the night ngi, the stars mul, and the moon Nanna.

Four thousand years ago, the Akkadians called the night mūšu, the stars kakkabū, and the moon Sîn.

Three thousand years ago, the Hittites called the night išpanza, the stars haštereš, and the moon Arma.

Two and a half thousand years ago, the Greeks called the night nux, the stars astra, and the moon Selênê.

Two thousand years ago, the Romans called the night nox, the stars stellae, and the moon Luna.

Kings and queens and heroes looked up at them. So did travelers coming home, and little children who sneaked out of bed. So did slaves, and mothers and soldiers and old shepherds, and Sappho and Muršili and Enheduanna and Socrates and Hatshepsut and Cyrus and Cicero. In this darkness it didn’t matter who they were, or where they stood. Only that they were human.

Think of that tonight, when you close your window. You are not alone. You share this night sky with centuries of dreamers and stargazers, and people who longed for quiet. Are you anxious? The Hittites were too: they called it pittuliyaš. Does your heart ache? The Greeks felt it too: they called it akhos. Those who look up to the stars for comfort are a family, and you belong to them. Your ancestors have stood under Nanna, Sîn, Arma, Selênê and Luna for five thousand years. Now its light is yours.

May it soothe you well.

[vulpinemusings-deactivated20211]

[rrabhaa]

-Rabha

[rrabhaa]

Taken from Ted Hughes's Birthday Letters

[rrabhaa]

Icarus’

I cross through Atlantis

To come back to your thoughts

They sedate me

-

I ask Atlas to carry

me to the end of this decade

There you were

-

In no winter trouble

Nay, no winter trouble

-

Cowering down the elders

asked me about the weight

Of love

-

That pulled me down

From Icarus’ plane

Moth in flames of tomorrow?

-

-A.Rabha

content is subject to copyright

photo taken by: @13cupsofteareblog

[violentwavesofemotion-deactivat]

Literary Epitaphs (Part 1)

Anne Sexton:

“Rats live on no evil star.”

John Keats:

“Here lies One Whose Name was writ in Water.”

Ernest Hemingway:

“Best of all he loved the fall / the leaves yellow on the cottonwoods / leaves floating on the trout streams / and above the hills the high blue windless skies…now he will be a part of them forever.”

Emily Dickinson:

“Called Back.”

Sylvia Plath:

“Even amidst fierce flames / The golden lotus can be planted.”

Allen Ginsberg:

“My heart is still, as time will tell.”

Elizabeth Bishop:

“All the untidy activity continues, awful but cheerful.”

Hilda Doolittle:

“So you may say, / Greek flower; Greek ecstasy / Reclaims Forever / One who died / Following / Intricate Song’s lost Measure.”

Robert Lowell:

“The immortal is scraped / Unconsenting from the mortal.”

Virginia Woolf:

“Against you I will fling myself, unvanquished and unyielding o Death! The waves broke on the shore.”

Robert Frost:

“I had A Lover’s Quarrel With The World.”

Edgar Allan Poe:

“Here, at last, he is happy.”

Rainer Maria Rilke:

“Rose, oh pure contradiction, delight / of being no one’s sleep under so / many lids.”

Henry Miller:

“I am going to beat those bastards,”

Dylan Thomas:

“Time held me green and dying / Though I sang in my chains like the sea…”

[lou-stat]

Thom Yorke about his “Strange and depressing” voice - Radiohead in 1995 for MásMúsica.

[pxlestine]

VIDEO: Living Under Israel’s Missiles

Four boys of the Bakr family were killed by a missile strike during last year’s incursion. Their surviving family members are still scarred from the attack.

More than anyone, children bear the brunt of regular Israeli military assaults on the Gaza Strip. During the 51-day war in the summer of 2014, 551 children were killed and 3,436 were injured. But these gruesome figures say little about the psychological state of the nearly 800,000 children who have survived the periodic bombing campaigns. After the final cease-fire that ended Israel’s Operation Protective Edge on August 26 of last year, UNICEF estimated that at least 425,000 Palestinian children in the besieged Gaza Strip require “immediate psychosocial and child protection support.”

[ The physical wounds of Gaza children might have healed, but they live with enduring psychological trauma ]

[rrabhaa]

Visit Original Link

After ages, what’s in a name?

(BlooperHouse Studios)

[sylviaplathquotes]

Daddy, Sylvia Plath

You do not do, you do not do Any more, black shoe In which I have lived like a foot For thirty years, poor and white, Barely daring to breathe or Achoo. Daddy, I have had to kill you. You died before I had time― Marble-heavy, a bag full of God, Ghastly statue with one grey toe Big as a Frisco seal And a head in the freakish Atlantic When it pours bean green over blue In the waters of beautiful Nauset. I used to pray to recover you. Ach, du. In the German tongue, in the Polish town Scraped flat by the roller Of wars, wars, wars. But the name of the town is common. My Polack friend Says there are a dozen or two. So I never could tell where you Put your foot, your root, I never could talk to you. The tongue stuck in my jaw. It stuck in a barb wire snare. Ich, ich, ich, ich, I could hardly speak. I thought every German was you. And the language obscene An engine, an engine Chuffing me off like a Jew. A Jew to Dachau, Auschwitz, Belsen. I began to talk like a Jew. I think I may well be a Jew. The snows of the Tyrol, the clear beer of Vienna Are not very pure or true. With my gypsy ancestress and my weird luck And my Taroc pack and my Taroc pack I may be a bit of a Jew. I have always been scared of you, With your Luftwaffe, your gobbledygoo. And your neat mustache And your Aryan eye, bright blue. Panzer-man, panzer-man, O You― Not God but a swastika So black no sky could squeak through. Every woman adores a Fascist, The boot in the face, the brute Brute heart of a brute like you. You stand at the blackboard, daddy, In the picture I have of you, A cleft in your chin instead of your foot But no less a devil for that, no not And less the black man who Bit my pretty red heart in two. I was ten when they buried you. At twenty I tried to die And get back, back, back to you. I thought even the bones would do. But they pulled me out of the sack, And they stuck me together with glue. And then I knew what to do. I made a model of you, A man in black with a Meinkampf look And a love of the rack and the screw. And I said I do, I do. So daddy, I’m finally through. The black telephone’s off at the root, The voices just can’t worm through. If I’ve killed one man, I’ve killed two― The vampire who said he was you And drank my blood for a year, Seven years, if you want to know. Daddy, you can lie back now. There’s a stake in your fat black heart And the villagers never like you. They are dancing and stamping on you. They always knew it was you. Daddy, daddy, you bastard, I’m through.

[rrabhaa]

Big as a Frisco Seal

[rrabhaa]

I am two shirts ironed, dead hair having to perform; Divided into chessboards, thoughts for rams.

-A.Rabha

[vettelgf]

Jonny Greenwood in Le chant des ondes (Wavemakers) dir. Caroline Martel

[jewishbarbies]

*passionately thinks about story instead of writing it*

[rrabhaa]

This ivy thinks about you

I rile up

Your confused vineyard mind

There is muck in my mouth

You leave me

I’m distasteful

Our Lotuses are dried

In concentration camps

Too much salt in our clothes

I’m a monk ready to die

-

I catch cold

I’m always paralyzed

As if i were diseased ivy

Bending away in only truth

Nothing shines like you sunshine

-

I hold you like a door knob

Into parks and a colourless pavement

Trying to escape this dark

You turn but I’m stuck with panic

I knuckle sculptures of marble

-

The edges of this afternoon cut

My inner arteries

Stoic and strong

The sun shines my inner stars

You read me unfinished

I wait in your shelves sleeping

-

-A.Rabha

©Adinfinatum. Content is subject to copyright.

[rrabhaa]

Dusk & Eden

Dusk over your skin

The sun rises with you

Perfumes of yesteryears,

Trouble now, pleasant still

-

Purple flowers, you’re of plum colour

Don’t Pester the stars,

You’d tell me, but I still nag you.

In my thoughts

-

Dusk over your skin

The sun rises, I give in

Purple flowers, perfumed

four leaved clover

-

Dusk over your skin

The sun rises with you

Purple flowers, perfumed

Corners of nakedness

-

Dusk over your skin

You sit like the sphinx

Rolling out as if you were

A 90s script, my favourite

Ledger film

-

Dusk over your skin

Conveyance from your heart,

To nothingness.

-

-A.Rabha

Content is subject to copyright.