The Midnight Plea

The Midnight Plea

I am not some fleeting ghost of night
Who passes by and fades from sight,
If warmth from my heart upon yours is laid,
Can longing truly be kept in shade?
Forget the tales the world repeats,
Let our pulses speak in sacred beats.

Let blushes bloom where lanterns fail,
Beneath soft covers where breaths grow pale,
Your playful turns, your tender fight,
Turn every shadow into light,
Close your eyes and drift with me,
Where dark unfolds in color’s sea.

Let my steps trace where yours have been,
Stay still until our souls convene,
Hear my breath not for clever art,
But for the thunder of my heart,
I will not rush what time makes sweet,
Till rhythm and longing gently meet.

Then together we’ll forget the hours,
When youth stands tall in blooming powers,
When love runs high and fears grow small,
And passion paints the silent wall,
Till every sigh becomes our rhyme,
And joy is drained like vintage wine.

Source: On the Wing's of Wind, Anthology of Soul's Whispers-Vol. III.  phddorji.blogspot.com

A Woman's Heart

To women everywhere, near and far—every day you grace this earth is a day worth celebrating and honouring your extraordinary strength.

A Woman's Heart

She isn’t just a lowly stone
The one you step on and forgotten when gone.
With hammer like words break her to powder
Into soil she changes as your tone gets louder
And with time she resurrects to stone of toughness
Unless you dissolve her heart to nothingness.

She isn’t just a lowly stone
Used in need and discarded for lone
With fire like words burn her to ashes
Into soil she gathers from the burnt down trashes
And with time she resurrects to stone of toughness
Unless you dissolve her heart to nothingness.

She isn’t just a lowly stone
Left on the path you move like a cyclone
With wind like words blow her afar
Into soil she settles without trace of a scar
And with time she resurrects to stone of toughness
Unless you dissolve her heart to nothingness

She isn’t just a lowly stone

Your feet rubs until it's worn
With river like words wash her off-shore
Into soil she transforms from the sands of yore
And with time she resurrects to stone of toughness
Unless you dissolve her heart to nothingness

She isn’t just a lowly stone

With hammer like words break her to powder
With fire like words burn her to ashes
With wind like words blow her afar
With river like words wash her off-shore
Time shall resurrect her to stone of toughness
And nothing can dissolve her heart to nothingness.

Source: On the Wings of Wind, Antnology of Soul's Whispers-Voll. III
phddorji.blogspot.com

The Cricket's Tricks

The Cricket’s Tricks

I trod through thickets, thick with dew,
Tracking a cricket that chirred and flew,
“Catch my cadence, chase my cheer,”
She chimed in a twirl I could hardly hear.

Through muddled marsh and miry ground,
I marched by her mischievous merry sound,
Like a goose gone giddy, lost and loose,
I slipped in the slush of whispering spruce.

From shadowed shrubs she showered sneers,
Tickled my tumbles, taunted my tears,
This pint-sized prankster, bright and brisk,
Turned every step to a daring risk.

So small in shape, yet sly in scheme,
She tripped the thoughts of the sharpest dream,
For wit can wander where strength grows slow—
And tiny tricks steal the grandest show.

The Night walk

The Night Walk

The mortal monsters rot in sleep,
Their chests convulsing, slow and deep,
Each breath a curse the dark inhales,
Each snore a bell where mercy fails.

Their dreams crawl thick with dripping gold,
With severed trust and hearts grown cold,
While shadows lick the walls in thirst
For sins rehearsed and unrehearsed.

The night itself begins to gag
On love they strangled, torn and dragged,
Its silence reeks of broken vows,
Of graves they dug and still allow.

These hours are theirs — the feeding time,
When whispered courage sharpens crime,
When pride puts on a butcher’s crown
And hunts what’s left of goodness down.

The world now bleeds beneath their tread,
With forests turned to funeral beds,
Where nature screams without a sound
And beauty’s bones rot underground.

Wine and Sorrow

Wine and Sorrow

Like  splattered paints on the rugged floor
Deep with color, dull though art
The sky turned dark and so his mood
From lonesome pain to fearsome sore
In thoughts of love and hearts apart
Moaned his soul in doleful brood.

In a candle-lit corner stiff he sat
Staring his copy on bottles shown
The wrinkled lips in his frozen thoughts
Sunk his jaws in distant wait.
Conscience fell like a breaking bone
Wrestling his breath for the losing bouts.

The ale was but an emotional cage
Buried were pains yet scars laid bare,
The wrinkle lines were painted red
With wine-borne sorrows adding rage.
He stood with head bent above fear
And took his way his trembling feet led.

Analysis of “Wine and Sorrow”

“Wine and Sorrow” portrays a lonely man attempting to suppress the pain of lost love through alcohol. Rather than freeing him, the wine intensifies his grief, fear, anger, and emotional instability. The poem’s movement—from sitting rigidly in isolation to walking away on trembling feet—suggests not recovery, but continued suffering and uncertainty.

In the first stanza, the evening sky mirrors the man’s emotional darkness. The image of “splattered paints on the rugged floor” creates a disordered, almost expressionistic setting. His sadness gradually changes into something more severe: “From lonesome pain to fearsome sore.” Thoughts of separation overwhelm him, and the phrase “doleful brood” captures his prolonged, inward mourning.

The second stanza brings the reader into a candlelit corner where the man sits motionless, staring at his distorted reflection in the bottles. His “wrinkled lips,” “frozen thoughts,” and sunken jaws suggest age, exhaustion, and emotional paralysis. His conscience “fell like a breaking bone,” a powerful simile indicating sudden inner collapse. The reference to “losing bouts” presents his struggle as a fight he is no longer strong enough to win.

The final stanza reveals the poem’s central message: alcohol is not an escape but “an emotional cage.” Although the wine temporarily buries his pain, the scars remain exposed. The redness of his face may suggest intoxication, shame, anger, or accumulated suffering. The ending—“He stood with head bent above fear / And took his way his trembling feet led”—leaves him defeated and directionless, guided by intoxication rather than purpose.

Major themes include:

• The pain of lost or separated love
• Loneliness and emotional repression
• Alcohol as a false form of escape
• Conflict between conscience and desire
• The transformation of sorrow into fear and rage

The poem uses strong visual imagery, especially darkness, candlelight, bottles, wrinkles, redness, and trembling feet. The wine functions as a symbol of temporary relief that ultimately becomes imprisonment. The sky reflects the speaker’s mood, while the “breaking bone” and “losing bouts” express the violence of his internal struggle.

Overall, the poem is a a dark psychological portrait of a man whose attempt to drown sorrow in wine only deepens his emotional wounds.