A Book Upon the Sand

Those last rays that struggle to survive, that cool breeze at half past five,
Roasted corn and salted nuts, balloon monkeys, were all alive.

Broken toys and chattering children, frozen hearts and gossiping women
Swollen eyes and the setting summer; over all these passed a breeze silken.

There lay a book upon the sand, a little tattered, scribbled by hand;
It’s leaves fluttering hopeful and exhausted, but on a new page the moon did land.

The Truth

The string tied to her index finger,
She draws it out of the spool at her will.
She loops it, folds it, stretches it, breaks it,
Then fastens it again to her finger.

I came and she placed me gently
On the wobbly string.
I wobbled. Adjusted. Made my niche,
And then, grew too big for the string.

Now I stand beside her,
Plucking the string she preserves,
Pulling the string from her,
Forcing my will upon it.

And yet the string is not mine
Nor hers, we both know.
But it lies there between us,
Forcing us to hurt each other.

Space

Steal every moment that you get
For cherished or not that is all you have
Not silent not hidden not covered
It is open. Blatant. Naked
For everyone to see and everyone to know
But you steal it; You hide it; You won’t let it show

Why bother having a private life.
Why hide what cannot be hidden
Why scare the few who may be true
By stealing something they have already given.

In the Sabbatical

After a sabbatical of three months, I write on this blog again. Nothing much to say... but here's what I've been upto...





An inspiration away is a world,
Where I tamed the sun,
And now the wolrd is mine.

Have I the courage, the grit,
The motivation to drive on?
Survival is a a thin string.

Silver Bowl of Soup

Restless boiling turbulence,
Drawn in by the mystical fiery of the wind
Hiatus, a moment of sudden silence,
When I tear through me to find
A vast silver bowl of soup

It seems to say ‘come join me
On a trip to deep within you to feel
The warmth and love that be
The slayer of your miseries’, kneel
Before a vast silver bowl of soup

Forget existence beyond now
Let it wash every speck of doubt and let
The endless wall of orange endow
A peace in me that only the sea can set;
A vast silver bowl of soup.

Applause

Dipped in a thick warm rush
Thankfulness grows within
Cheers and applaud saturate the air
As you stand tall, great, thrilled

You saved yourself from shame
And regret, you helped were you were needed
You earned yourself a name
For in life you have succeeded.

She (a poem)

Cocooned inside the protective shell
Or chained for she may go too far
Her pretty little face looks longingly
Beyond her world, the room, where life begins

Her window shut tight, latched and covered
The panes a blend of the room and beyond it
Bitter-sweet concoctions brought to her to taste
She’s not satisfied, for she knows there is more

Bitter or sweet edible or not, she wants
She craves the worldly things beyond,
The door lay open for her to leave, and yet…
Something there is that stops her… the chains.

She cries like rain relentless sometimes
Sometimes a drizzle that turns into storm
Sometimes a storm that gives up in a drizzle
Doubtful sometimes of the reason, but always wet.

Her respite, the world may not understand
But she does not live in the world.
She speaks to the walls she has known all her life
The only ones who will listen.

Of reason, of meaning, of consequences she speaks
She understands why this must be done
For her own good, as the world does explain
To make her stronger to build her nerves

Against all evils worse than these
She must learn to cope, accept and bear
With all that may come her way
When she will be freed in to the world

She speaks of longing to see for herself
What wonders may come her way
Good or bad, experience she craves
The ones that are real and not fake.