He rolled the cart, smiled

Got my signature, refused a drink of water

He was in a hurry

He had to make deliveries

His tag said courier, he was parched though

His day was just beginning

Mid noon to late evening

Followed by nights at the hospital

Bedside by his Maa

She has been his reason to breathe

Now her's was force fed via a ventilator

She had no choice for this plight

The others were just selfish

He has had his third test,

He is clean, his clothes not so much

He has held back an ocean

To break down and cry, but Baba can't see

His sister gets him rotis, half cooked

Her 17 year hands were busy in journals

Journals don't teach life skills

They help you earn

Only to get a degree, to be employed

While ruled and herded by ones that lack

Even basic morality, let alone be an edurite

Come Monday, they will mostly die

Or their voices will

In this absence of humanity.

पुनर्स्थापित - २

शब्द हे विणून वाणी

शब्द हे विंचू चावी

कुणा कुणा, शब्द नाही

कुणी कुणी शब्दातून पाही

मला शब्द हे कविता झाली

तुला शब्द ते अनोळखी राही

शब्दांसाठी शब्दे

शब्दांच्या शोधात शब्द मिटले

राहिला फ़क्त श्वास

श्वासांच्या ध्वनित शब्द प्रेमाचे मिटले

ध्वनी होते हताश , पण तू मुग्ध होती

अभिमानाच्या शब्दांत

तर शब्द हे कविता झाली

तुला शब्द ते अनोळखी राही

प्रेम शब्दांत न कळे, 

प्रेमाचे धडे शब्दांत नाही खरें

तर, जरी

कुणा कुणा, शब्द नाही

कुणी कुणी शब्दातून पाही

शब्द हे विणून वाणी

शब्द हे विंचू चावी।

longing

I sail into the night

On gentle moonlit storms

Peace is for lesser mortals

Peace is not for me

When you dock your ships

I catch the wind in my sails

Amongst the rising dark swell

I find my mind, at home

As the raging sea roars

Singing to me its morbid tune

Keeping me afloat

Prolonging the inevitable

Until I descent into the depths

To finally find peace 

Sleeping in her bountiful embrace

Somedays I wish to curl up and die

And other days, not wake

Yet meaninglessly, another days dawns

Drafts me into its pointlessness

I have existed, spiralling into madness

Drenching my heart, in the raining venom

Wishing for death, but dragged into living

Battered by all that I hold dear

While the universe laughs

Making me unwillingly breathe

Taunting and tormenting me

Forcing me to be alive.

Quantum States

A square drawn

In 3 dimensions

Validates what I see

Yet adding another makes it difficult

As such is the mind's dilemma

If you touch 6 or so on there of

The meaning just seems to fade

Only to overwhelm what I percieve

This is my adjunct to reality

Adding dimensions to my dissociate belief

Blind, as it is

It is but better explained

In numbers, in constants, in variables

Is all that I feel pure mathematics,

Or is it just a flight of fancy?

For this is what I feel of love too

Unexplained, uncharted, and unrelenting

I shall not pursue such limitless, unaccountable thoughts

I rather sit, drink my Chardonnay 

Than fall into these emotional states of disbelief.

So Mr.Fox

Michael captures Peregrine falcons

When he isn't fending and restraining

 Beings in murderous rage and rampancy

Of broken systems and IT's mange

He has often seen

Many a youth onboard and off

They come and go like moths to a flame

Some die in the burning hells of conferences

He stands there, watchful and mild

As he gathers it all, and calms the storm

He may earn his bread there, doing his chore

But his heart is at Llela's

Amongst delicate butterflies

The blooming purple Wisterias

The pond herons.

The folly of the Silver Cow Creamer

Amidst this sweltering summer, one must wish

Like my earnest bestie, hoping rest and reprieve

Of a journey to the moon, a voyage of discovery

At that.

Then again, he at best is sold

To seeking the white light as joy or so

And I of all I should not alter

His misplaced and false mystical thought

But to him, I shall offer

A chance to consider the other view

For; while he considers there are beaches

And decides to bask on white sand dunes

He must know the moon holds nothing

Barren as the lover's soul

Rejected, in the apostasy of love

At best the song one can hear

Is Chopin's Marche Funèbrè

Which speaks of nothing joyous

But the end of arts and souls

The yachts and steamships ferry only in the not

For the moon seeks to glorify its presence

Borrowing and begging for the sun's light

Long have we thought false

Long have we raised and praised the moon

For now, if Feby should realize

It is nothing, has only ill

Living on others' soul, sapping on wanton desires

Burning the rain

Torrid rain

As she walked onto the terrace

With me following, unknown to her

I was asleep, so she must have thought

As she stood there gazing into her garden

I walked upto her, in the splatter of raindrops

On the tinny roof tops covering the adjacent roof

Stealthily, approached her from behind

Whispered naughty words as my arms swung around

She stood still, as she loves to

For she knows what follows next

For she is party to, my random raunchy retort

I turned her around and kissed her lips

And sipped the rain now in her mouth

She riled up my raging lust

Holding me abreast, she held me tight

And warmed my soul, with her flaming tongue

I stood there, in that kiss and caress

Wishing the rain would never stop.

Turn Signals

The left blinker doesn't work

He said as he let out his hand

Between the middle of nowhere on a dark road

I wondered who would care

I asked him why he chose to indicate

When the roads had only us on its face

And who would know, or remark

Or even penalise, an unlit road

That has seen no law or one to lay it

He smiled through his tobacco stained teeth

As he shifted the gear stick

He spoke of why one must respect 

It is for one's self, not just law of the land

So yes the left blinker was lost

Quite recently as I must declare

But when one's devices fail and fade out

It's one's character that shones aloud

The lone mower

The lone mower has mowed the lawns

Amidst the pandemic, amidst all odds

The lawn mower like him has come forth

In times of adversity , meeting it 

The wage is his strength, his motivation

Whilst the others like us are home

Masked, shuttered, fearing death

His wage is his keeper of life

Should he not turn up one day, 

be replaced, not mourned

Our priest that passed away last week, or two I guess

Such apathy, we forgot his end

And then we call out the others on their humanity

While our own we convinently forget

Rejected Burial by the Sea

There is rust where there was paint

And the sea shall claim dominance

For the under of the boat still dips

Though one may have tried protect it

with the livers of the whale

The sea takes what belongs to it

Buries it deep, and it is made one

The ages of men, animals, birds

Lie on the sands the water hides

If you shall ever dive, to find them 

Go forth knowing the sea's grimace

It has a distaste for those who weild

What belongs to it, 

to a point of contentiousness

Rightly so, it has pride and might

Unlike men, who ride on line of sight

Crash at its reefs, and wash ashore

Except those, the sea claims

Shall find happiness and belong to its embrace

I have been afloat, never shored 

The sea hates my guts, 

But the land hates me more.

Coherent Coversations of pseudo Sapiosexuals

I met someone who felt the need

Of meaningful conversations and unhinged deeds

Stating the mind should not mix and dilute

Should be able to undauntedly speak

Then a day passed in our ramblings

She spoke of wit, puns, and standing our ground

I spoke in tones, met her half way

And then her thought led her astray

It was never demanded we be in love

Nor was either into pangs of focus with awe

Today I found she had run for the hills

And left the conversation abruptly still

Why indulge then in heartfelt conversation

Why dive into the stormy black sea

For if one must ask, and if one should receive

Why then should one be a runaway steed.

At dusk I too return

And hop on the ledge, by my bedroom window

Those pigeons roost and annoy me

I hate them yet feed them some birdseed

They seem to ruin my window sill

They poop on my ledge and scatter feathers

The worst is their constant prattling cooing

Has often annoyed my mid noon sleep

Yet  each evening I return to see

The constant annoyance has entrenched deep

Laid eggs, raised squabs, amongst putrid leaves

One must never feed the annoyances

Like I do, for they bring nothing

Yet i ignore their wicked deeds

How many such pigeons screech

As they sap the joys through your heart's breach

Let not these gain footing and stay

For they bring nothing but utter dismay

Recollections

Hey, you remember?

the last time you were here,

you found some eggs, the eagle laid?

yes, they had hatched a while ago

the ones in my backyard are 2 generations past

and now those eaglets are old

to fly into the skies

its cold

how they all look at me

with steely eyes, sharp beaks

i apologize, i digress

in my absurd mind i mistake these vultures for them

why have they come to me?

why do they sit at my chest

I can feel one tickle my rib

the other seems to bubble my blood

ah, little vultures

yes, they are not eagles, what was i thinking

and why would i think of you and our ledge

it was so long ago that you left

these sweet vultures are here with me while i rest

dusk seems to fast approach

as one of the vultures seem to carry me along

they are strong, how does it even manage

this body matter weight ratios

then again, i must be hallucnating

it must one of those vivid dreams

who dreams of vultures and sorts

Hey, you remember?

the last time you were here,

you found some eggs, the eagle laid?

yes, they had hatched a while ago

Explanation:

The poem begins with the speaker addressing someone, asking if they remember the last time they were together. The speaker mentions that during that time, the other person had discovered some eggs that an eagle had laid. The eggs have since hatched, and the eaglets in the speaker's backyard are now two generations old and ready to fly into the skies.

But then, the tone of the poem shifts. The speaker's mind seems to be in turmoil, and they start to see vultures instead of eagles. The vultures are described as having steely eyes and sharp beaks, and they are sitting on the speaker's chest. The speaker apologizes for their digression and acknowledges that they must be hallucinating, as they would not mistake vultures for eagles.

The poem continues with the vultures carrying the speaker along, as dusk approaches. The vultures are described as strong, managing to carry the weight of the speaker's body effortlessly. The speaker questions why they are dreaming of vultures and reflects on how long it has been since the other person left. The poem ends with a repetition of the opening lines, asking if the other person remembers the eagle's eggs that had hatched.

Overall, the poem depicts the speaker's struggle with depression and heartbreak over the departure of a loved one who has left them feeling broken. The vultures in the poem may symbolize the darkness and despair that the speaker feels as they try to come to terms with the absence of their loved one. The repetition of the eagle's eggs serves as a reminder of the passage of time and the changes that have occurred since the other person left, adding to the sense of longing and loss in the poem.

Smouldering green

In dreams I find myself in a forest

Chased by shadows of the ones i have hurt

I rise into the skies sprouting wings

Breathing fire, green glowing, ever consuming

I have often wondered why the imagery

To only know this heart has no peace

In its eagerness to let love remain

It has often chosen to hold the blame

When the lovers wished to depart

Tear apart my dilapidated bleeding heart

I just stood, let them point and curse

Let their words tear me apart

A guttony for pain, or so one must think

Yet i wish not to furnish defence nor explain

I choose to be the flaming beast

Spewing flames, glowing green

If this is for me to bear, so be it

I shall not let my lovers feel pain

I have been known to contain the river

Of Acheron, if one must even compare

So if you wish to go, go free

Fly into what would be your destiny

But while you spread your wings and fly

As you swirl the mist into voritces

I shall not utter a word stand still

In your parting i shall polish my eyes

Train Wreck

The last of the bogies had crashed into the wreck

It was all but sudden, 

This driver thought he was well prepared

Yet when one is riding on tonnes of steel, and composites

One must weigh heavily on dread

The engine with me was the first to slather

Itself upon the walls post the rail stopper

As it hit, my mind lost its grip

Entombed me in the agony of impending pain

The wreck blocking my escape or death

The first few bogies brought in folks

Who beamed of love, and deemed of mine

I have refused such folly, and their vending

They walk amongs the hallways, amongs the others On berths of demands

Who keep their demands, and extort emotional spending

Then entrench themselves, rip the vinyl, slash seat covers

And blame my train, calling it unkept

The next few bogies of near and dear

So called, but they are not so unlike the previous others

These bound in blood, undoable change

Ebbing away my faith in love, in perpetual persistance

Like tapeworms, leeches, and sarcoptic mange 

The last of the bogies rushed into the wreck

Filled to the brim, smelling of brimstone and flesh

Ah the folks, so called friends, rode in the last few

Those that found and set narratives

Cast me as a demon, as they foraged 

Into my soul, for their own life force had waned

They are now merged, into a pile

Of nothing wanted, and unwarranted

The crash and tumble has brought no peace

I feel nothing, than hopelessness

Come Monday, the crews would come

The four, who shall finally end my fails.

Brush stroke bunnies

Brush stroke bunnies warm artistic hearts

In swatches of colours, that stand apart

Such gentleness, amidst the stiff canvas

Of their whiskers and fur, like puffy clouds

Coated under laquer, now yellowed

More that a few hundred years have passed

They remain, while the painter has left

In a hurried life, mostly of somber resent

Maybe in pursuits of gathering his view

The artist left, a piece of the past.

Brush stroke bunnies warm artistic hearts

In swatches of colours, that stand apart

Such gentleness, amidst the stiff canvas

Unlike my words, hidden in ripped pages

Shall stay in the soil, and rot for ages.

Dichotomy

What do I speak of, that has been left unsaid?
Of love, anger, remorse, loss, awe, or woe
I have penned it all, I have penned much more
Of illicit deeds, or grander things, 
of teenage angst, of mature, immature flings
Yet the barrel of my mind overflows
Like cakes of lime that in water drown
Bubble, and fume, like a seething steed
Held back by a barricade, before its freed
I could whitewash my presence and stand proud
Yet the will to do such has run out
It could be a momentary lapse of reason that I loved
Or a crafty arrow, from Madana’s bow
It could be my aloofness to reasoning that I had tread
Into loneliness that I have always dread
Yet in my dichotomy of wants and rejects
I have remorse, but I have no regrets.
 

Why was I so late

Frost wrote about the wind and downy flake

He could, his name had an ounce of cold

An antithesis of his words, that confluence

Mind and soul, joy and woe

Hidden in his works, I often seek

To find my will, to expunge my grief

Like a holy man's book

I hold, 'North of boston', and a boy's lament

Both guiding my now broken soul

Why would I have not lived back then

And heard your pen scribble, pages awash in ink

I would have held the drying vapour

Drenched my mind, crafted a world for myself

Thursday's song

Tell me the sun shines again
How would I know, I am entombed
Until the call of wayward love
Resonates to make my soul dance
So until then, let me rest
Deny me of all that waits
And paint dreams in my lonely mind
Your, your face, kisses fresh as lemon rind.

Saving a poet

 Venture forth on brash and bold
But know that for evermore
you may lose your mind
to mindlessness pragmatica
away from stark emotion
away from the ones around
those causing melancholia
It is but a sweet relief
Though like growing old
one shall knock on these doors
of logic and reason
bearing the overbearing
testing their mettle
then to find meaninglessness
It is a denial to grief
If so by chance you reach
Then
Find the hope beneath the breach
In the tryst of trials and fails
of a poet's trudge of unchartered trails
holding their sanity 
thereby, trying to prevail
Shake their soul and wake them again
For they are lost in such somber tales
Be their guard rail and wedge
Stop them from falling over the ledge

I could watch her for hours

Bare chested, as she lay close

her breasts heaved, brushing my cheek

Rubbing against the bristly beard

Shaved a couple of days ago

I have spent hours 

Cuddled to her, 

resting on her bosom

Hearing her speak, feeling it vibrate

As the air, 

fills her chest, 

It would gently hum, 

Like a flute

At times a harmonica , 

warm and fuzzy

And in between her heart 

Lending the drum, 

My longing for her, though this close

Wanting her more,

As if to merge

Into my own body

Share it, 

To be the other soul

And now more so

Than I have ever

As I have always craved

Even past the thousandth kisses

I find me, longing for her

Forever more

If you would say

Note: This is a very teenish type rambling.

Why was I the only one

That was riddled and ruptured, and burnt down

While the others you held hands of

Were cradled in gentle words and love

Was it the gift of my staying true

Of choosing love, even in rue

Or was I just a passing thought

That held no value, for I had no remorse

When you showed me how you stood 

Half bare at the mirror for him

Coloured in strings of violet

To spend a weekend in his arms making love

But were held back by a chance mishap

Did you see, how my love held on to thee

Though hurtful, but you were by me

And when you were out by the sea

Distanced , hurt, and crying to me

Of how your soul felt crushed

By another man, who you bed

First love, I agreed was hard to let go

And I held you close, felt your woe

I stayed back, for I still had love

Then you met someone new

And held him, in your blissful view

Coaxed and cuddled him in your warmth

Yet he never was ravaged by words

Things you never spoke of to me

Things you spoke of later too

I stayed for I wished for your embrace

For my love had stood strong in Hurt's face

And to now,  where you have walked away

March has been terrible, yours and the month too

For someone who shall never care

You forsake my heart's calling for you

I hid nothing, in my heart though

Nor have I ever needed to be pacified

I have stood my ground of loving 

Waiting for you to hold me in your arms again.

But someday if you shall ever turn back and walk

I would have no questions, and hold your face

Smile back at you, and let you sit

Cuddled up close, a beer, at a random place

But if you choose not to pray tell

What made those men worthy of heaven

Why was only my soul subjected to hell

"Sit a while, let us chat, you have grown

Older and wise," said Kaka beaming in smile

I sat with him, at the tea stall bakhda

The morning mist blending the kettle steam

I signalled to Raju chaiwallah '2 cutting, special'

I was ready to chat with Kaka, sit a while

The years had worn him down

His teeth, yellowed from bidis, 

We used to steal his beedis I remember

Kaka was always kind and sweet, strict too

I offered him my cigarette, and a light

I wouldn't smoke, before him, traditional respect

He nodded in acknowledgement, and spoke

It was a long conversation, of life and god

Philosophy, wars, the old times and all

I heard him through, 

without interruptions, Traditional respect, 

we never speak to elders out of turn

I signalled for two more cutting chais

Heard my teacher, after so long

We spoke past 7 through 9 and the mist had faded

There were others who joined, inquiring his health

I had forgotten how many years he had served

He had given me 6 , and he had served 40

I paused him for a moment and turned around

I found everyone by then had arrived

We all had brought him gifts, as a surprise

The students he had taught and set right.

A teacher may seem to teach us a while

Yet they help us know about life

They arrive when we are at our weakest

Stay and strengthen us, till we can walk miles

This one is for all the Kakas that you know

Spend a thought, and send them love

For when you reach adulthood

Their lessons shall hold your heart and soul.

Steady, strong, always until you breathe.

Why care

One upon the other

Piece by piece

       Had I built, 

       these walls of caution

Upon a big mountain

Of high will, resilient and robust

Out came the wind

Brought in her rise

       Swept the ground beneath

       Felling the towers

Where stood marksmen of senses

Who were mesmerized by her eyes

Good help

Is hard to find they say

      Foolish foolish mind

      That tugs at her act

Why then should I now, or again

Rebuild and rise

Let be

As the dust settles

     My senses shall come forth

     Profusely apologise

What is left for, after all

The land lies unbridled, let it

"We are past that

Aren't we?"

Asked her voice

When I reached out

In rampancy, of condescending glee

She does rejoice

Hearing my plea

Wishing for her return

I morph storms to words

My thoughts awash, lost at sea

Why do I persist

I ask why so

All I hear are echoes

Of her absence grinding

Bearing me down, being my foe

So much has been

Between you and me

I know not if you feel love

I do, but I rather not burden

Yet hope to see you sometime

Like old times

When we both would meet

And ramble on, on things

Sometimes a hour, sometimes nights

Though have walked away 

From feelings of bonding and words

I hope to still find us

If not for love 

Then for cuddles, beer, and a kiss

Rigid

I am one for surrealistic paintings

Nothing too natural 

Dreamy, hazy, of the sea and flowers

Talking of the aching, talking of the waitings

For realism is a snarky mistress

Snooty and commonplace

I rather look at oil and pastels

Smudged, speaking volumes of distress

What's the use of perfect and precise

That elevates my eyes to the painter's

I prefer to ponder, extrapolate, and thereof

Let the poem speak to my mind's eyes

I still am stilled by Aivazovsky's seas

And mistyfied by Gogh's sunflowers

I refuse to attribute or acknowledge

Anything that puts my mind to ease.

Sugary Black

Sprinkle some sugar, 

and make it taste sweeter

Isn't that how we deal with bitterness

Yet in so many of heart's bitter moments

We seem to abruptly run out of it

How addictive sweetness can be

Like a kiss, a touch, an embrace, even words

Yet they same soul, can invert such emotions

And Nature in tow will salten a wit

Strength to persevere, strength to believe

Are often a crutch, on which limps sense

They are the first to arrive, also the first to leave

They are the tenacious foes of dissent

Sprinkle on, sprinkle along

Lock, stock, and barrel throw in all

Often the heart will break and fall

Burn the sugar, carbonize than caramalise 

For unlike the flame of love

The void despises all.

The two

In the summer heat

The chirpers hide amongst tall grass

So do snakes

Hiding and lying in wait

For a slip of claw, to gulp and gloat

One may curse the slitherer

For the chirpers are tiny and demure

Yet both are just the same

One not more precious than the other

One picks at fences

The other slides in it's underbelly

Yet both are beasts

Who ruins what, there's no telling

I pass no judgement, for their actions

Both are alive, living their passion.

Dark as the night

Slithering fright

To showcase its prowess

And all its might 

Memories dawn of my duress

Yet in my harrowed mind

I hold myself, stay kind

For grief and scorn

Shall be a thorn

And burn my soul to cinders

Should you ever kinder

A fool's errand At best, 

Making myself pretend

Swimming in your absence

Wade in it's shallow, drowning at it's bend

Praying, Hope be my lighthouse

Knowing you are but a recidivist

Noons drying the morning's mist

I look to another evening's wist 

A lot has to pass before the end

Build, break, fall, rise, yet stay Bright

Another day passes out of sight

Knowing you

As the heaving bodies lie

Deckered, face to face, eye to eye

Do you ever remember the moments

Where you and I were melting

Into a pool of wild love and sentiments

When your ferocity of lust escalates

And as you look up

Closing your eyes

Does your hair still spray sweat 

All over him and the walls

Or was it only me, that showered in the drizzle

When your skin would awaken

And you would twirl,in ecstasy and madness

Do you steal a watch, to see 

If he watches you, at your fragility

Do the breaths give rise to words 

Of humor, or do either think out aloud

Suddenly embrace, meet with your lips

Do your eyes still draw a joyous river

Does his soul bathe in its running course

Or does he roll away, at love makings end

While you stare to the roof, and just pretend

Learning to drown

You weren’t there when I silently wept
Nor were you, when I cried out loud
Yet I turned up, when roles reversed
And you would stab me with icy words
Love, you said was the offer
Only to sear my soul with spite
I found these moments joyous too
For these were unknowns in my fortitude
One must learn, for one will;
Wilfully or by force
I had never learnt to curse myself
With you my love, I have learnt to

The other day

There beside the old office road 

We would often meet, ale and fume

And part, in opposite directions

Sometimes together, other times in sequence

I would always leave last, I was stubborn

I would watch her leave

Dead eyes; yes, I remember

That is what she would finally name them

She would watch me stare at her

Then she left one last time one meeting

It was her leaving that always hurt

The most, I guess

This was my heart choosing to

Yet I was always keen to see her

Even post the genesis of her retrograding

 

Now that it has come to pass

I no longer visit those roads, by choice

They remind me of myself

Foolish man; yes, I remember

That is what my heart always called me

So today I found a new bar

Where the ale and fumes scatter far

Under the open roof, reclined in my comfy chair

And as drinkers are a traditional kind

To lost comrades and love I sprinkle

A few drops of ale into the air

You must pass

And merrily so, you must

This adventure dust has settled 

Head on home, you should

I will stay here, and stay lost

Hoping to be rendeded in some memory

I would ask for your staying

I could, but its chided by your insistance 

And so I will not

There is one bit that you must know

In previous versions, I left, yet never did

For I have been here, like brook and stream

Meandering, waiting, for your toes to dip in

Knowing full well, you leaving would knell

Shatter my soul, outdoing hell

When you reach, do turn back and wave

Watch the dust settle, as it showers the grave

Of your wish to have reanimated me

I'm back to the still-born, 

the universe deemed me to be

In the darkness 

Where the souls have often feared

Stumbled, wished for respite, struggled

I have stood at the center stage

Burning bright, Shiny

Through frost, and storms

Letting myself melt, feeding the flame

Yet the darkness only takes

I stuggle, and burn brighter

For I know my purpose

It is not to ask, or belong

Nor be cared for,

I have no say, no will, nor feelings

Only those in the dark do

The years have battered me

The darkness is permanent

I am surrounded by it

I cast a shadow of me

Blinding my feet

There the monsters wait

Taunting, gnawing my heels

I hear their whispers

Its dying withouth death

To anticipate, but not end

I wish to sleep

For the waking has been forever

Yet I cannot choose

For I stand not by choice, but due

I wish for a gust of wind 

Sudden, without warning, abrupt,

And at the moment, I shall cease

For no one saw me being consumed 

Light up one for me

She hurried out yelling

Seems like it has been a while

With her there is no telling

She could sulk over sulking

And then sulk some more

If she had a chance to

I hand her a lit cigarette

She blesses me with her eyes 

In acknowledgement

Who gives you that thankful look

When you give objects of harm

She leaned back to the dusty wall

Behind the parked buses

Were we often hid for a drag

She looked at me and her watch

At the fleeting time sulking again

And kissed my cheek mid exhale

Ah the little chance meetings

Where we could find some time brood

But then to find peace, in our company

Only to return and run amok

Now I spend my time alone

Not my choice, but the universe wills

Spewing smoke into my isolation

As if to fill her void somehow

I sit beside the glow of a warm wood fire

It glows so gently, humming and crackling

The flames dance, rise and fall

Making my shadow dance on the house wall

I can hear the water from a nearby stream

And the sound of my kettle's escaping steam

Nothing like a warm glass of tea

I get up to pour a cup for me

I wish to call out loud, speak of my love

About your absence gnawing at my heart now

I decide to pour two cups, and place then apart

One for my self, one for my heart

I remember those rainy days of july?

The power would go out, the phones would die

I have often walked through flooded roads

Speaking of you to myself, mocked by toads

The weather is cold, and so is my heart

Everything and you choose to keep us apart

My heart could freeze a river, if my soul cried

This absence is the ink that fills my void

Bring the rain

Bring the Rain

Brand my pain

Send the winds along

To drown my wail

Then pause both a bit

Let my tears drop amidst

Into the puddle formed 

Around my feet

Remind me how a grown man can cry

Soothe me with thunder as a lullaby

Let me feel pure agony and breakdown

Shelter me under the dark clouds

Bring the rain

All over again

This time to ease the searing pain

Remind me why I can survive

Heal me to hurt me again

The road to take

Here is a route, should you feel confused

And hit a road that forks into many

Choose wisely, unlike Frost's friend 

Take one not out of spite

Say there are 2 , with one towards left one right

Take the right, for then the road will remain right

If you took the left, the right is left

And such instability is not warranted

If forked in 3, take the one that goes right

For right is might

left being unstable, middle is mediocrity

If four take the most right

Lest I need to remind, right is might

Most right is most might

If the road ends and gives way to a ledge

Sit there a while, take in the view

And know such instances are far and few

Then turn about walk back, head home

There is no place like it, 

For there is no place like home.

Heart for sale.

How much for my heart? I asked a lady
Handing over my loving heart
at the village fair
one August
She winked and threw it to my face
And laughed, and roared
“not worth a pretty penny, not worth a penny”
I picked it up and headed on
Trod on the dusty roads
Heading towards the next town
Hoping to be accepted once
I met a lady riding a horse
She offered to let me ride along
As I sat behind, and her hair brushed my face
I asked, how much for my heart?
She was silent until we touched town
As I hopped down, she dismounted too
Held my heart, looked at it up and down
Then threw it back to my face
And laughed and roared
“not worth a pretty penny, not worth a penny”
I picked it up and headed on
To the town square, where the markets were
Chancing upon an empty stall
I sat down, set my heart, leaned against a wall
Classic salesman, “one genuine loving heart for sale” said I
I caught a glimpse of a passer-by
She stood dressed in yellow, she stood and stared
I plopped my heart into her hands
Pitched to her in my nicest voice
it has had no master
It has had no hate,
One that will love and wait,
How much shall you pay, for this beautiful heart?
She rolled it over in her hand,
Polished it a little by rubbing on it with sand
Weighed it by tossing and made a cautious face
I knew what was coming, I was ready to face disgrace
She smiled and asked, “why is it for sale?”
I told her stories, all my broken-hearted tales
She held my heart again and asked for a barter
I told her to choose whatever
For to sell it was my gain
She offered her own, in its place
Only darker, filled with nothing but contempt
Like a good salesman would, I promptly nodded

Promptly underwent a quick exchange

Now on to the next town

To Sell this too.

 

In fading fragrances of patchouli and lavender

Shattered in sadness, ripped asunder

Are poems from my diary, who cares

She wouldn't, She hasnt, She won't either

Like a drop of white pigment, in vats of grey

I have penned words, that have only strayed

Manipulated my heart, calmed it, absolved rage

Made it bend, break, mend, to make her stay

In such tomfoolery of childish essence

One can pen poems of hurtful absence

For such distraught is the Hemlock

The soul drinks to die, wilt, or mock

I write, sometimes to her, sometimes about

Of my now frail heart, reeking aloud

In utter failings to not have nor hold

Nor held, nor remembered, nor read, nor told

Ramblings

Reach out to that special someone

Who has rejected your love and caring

       Do it often, do it everyday

       Do it till they hate your words, sight, and name

Everything must go,

of you

From their hearts, 

      for they have confused loving

      And found you not worth their time

If they are harsh,

admit it as a gift

If they spew Hemlock,

drink it as Socrates did

And when they finally are free

Of your thoughts and habits

Step back and set them adrift

If such is love, or if you agree this to be so

You would see the merit as a test of your mettle

If they leave, they never were here

And as they soar to heights

Just watch them heal.

For I have known so, as my life has passed

I have seen pain, misgivings, wants

All they ever led me to was love

Born from it, to die with it

And in between, live in it

Cry in it.

Heal, help heal, help pass

The heart I have has bled out at last.