Mai na meera

Mai Nihar, tu

Tu na aaye

 Dekh barso, 

 Baras nayan* beet 

 Beet ashru, na aur* mere

To dukh le gaye, santosh ang*

Bas tu*, 

bas tu na, 

Aur* na, 

Mann na*

Bas Trishna, krishna

Na tu sune, 

Mann pukaar pyasi, pyaas pukaare

Tu na aaya, mai hi chali

Na mathura, na Yamuna

Na mat (sanity) na tat (bank) 

Ye virah ki kashti, 

Doob beech bhawamdar

Kashti dhale na chale 

  le mere mann ka bojha

   Shyam ko antar se seecha

Na ghut doob kar bisre 

Tum to has has hi hoge

Mere na samaj prem tere

Mera na Meera, Meera na mai

Shyam na Bhoole, shyam kyon bhoola

Mai, shyam jhoola, nahi bhoola

   Mai, shyam jhoola, nahi bhoola

Aur tu shyam, bhoola nahi jhoola

Yamuna kadamba shyam tab jhoola, nahi bhoola

Yamuna kadamba jhoola bhoola, har shyam

Shyam to bhoola par shyam kaise bhoole

   Shyam to bhoola par shyam kaise bhoole

Shyam na bisre, bhoole bhale, mai nahi bhoola

Ab basant bhi bhoola, grishm hi jhoola

Sharad varsha shyam na jhoola, Mai shyam prem sab bhoola

Shyam na bhoole, shyam kyon bhoola Mai pukaar shyam apne ko bhoola

Na shyam na jhoola, jeevan vyarth hi jhoola

my experiments with prose

I write these hyphenated words to convey degrees of emotions. Some don't even exist in the dictionaries of english. They see to come alive, like your thoughts do. It surprises me that for someone who has never passed me by, whose fragrance is unknown to my mind can spin such fanciul imagery.

What could this be called, i would not call this poetry. It is at best a barrage of words strung together and spaced in carriage writtens, after being scribbled on some application on an android phone by a guy in mumbai.

How does it even translate to being a poem.lf love. It seems at best to be a perversion of what i would deem Sacrosanct. But here it is.

My ardent exclaiming of being smitten.

Abbot Died today

At the corner drug store

Where we all would often meet, 

greet and bid good byes

We have been called again this time

One of ours had passed away

The dress code is black, the day is gloomy

I pass by the kids in the park, they call out

I always carry candy for them, we all did

Small town; the folks know each other’s names

First, middle, and last

A utopian model, unbelievable

The town folk had gathered with the priest

He spoke of things that seem so false

he talked of a better place,

 somewhere where the angels tread

I refute such claims usually, yet I let it pass this once

I saw his widow, she didn’t weep

She sat there holding his hand, she hadn’t moved

Last night when Abbott went to bed

He slept gently, silently, turned stiff

She looked at the priest and asked

“has the lord left me alone, 

forgetting that Abbot's life was my breath”

The priest was silenced by her words

As he looked up to the heavenly clouds

I could see the tear roll down his cheek

For Laurel, posed this question and passed away

Together forever in life in death

They had fulfilled their solemn oath

I looked at my wife just then

She stopped her weeping, walked up to Laurel

Kissed her forehead and prayed for her soul

Whilst the rest of us were stilled in that moment

One of love inseparable even in death

She came over to me and held my hand

I wept this time for the love I felt

I told her ‘I shall follow you like Laurel has’

But never die first like Abbott did

For I am afraid to let go of your hand

Let the lord take us both, but not one

As I went down on my knees after ages

I Held her hands and prayed

“As He bears witness , from the clouds above

A wish I seek from thee, 

if ye send for her then send as well for me

Let us be in each other’s arms

breathe our last; in love’s symphony”.

She read what?

Let me pick from the pages, I saw some interesting ones.

She said yanking the diary, off my hands

She held it at the table, looked at me and smiled

The diary was filled with poetries scribed in love

 

I was unsure of what it meant, 

That was until Friday evening dawned

I was at my drinking corner, ale in hand

As she called out my name and took to the stand

She read out aloud, quite amused by the words

And the crowd sat silent mesmerised by her voice 

She stood there weaving magic into my verses

I finally found my poetry come to life

At the fourth stanza she paused and stuttered

In a gentle shyness masked by one raised brow

It seemed she knew, the lady the poem spoke of

She had read one in which she was the muse

She got off the stage , and walked up to my chair

Her eyes were in shock, and her lips were pale

I pulled her closer, both her palms in my right 

Whispered about my astonishment of her

Sir, we have a new insurance offer

It's another day in paradise, the sun is up, the spirits high

This is a good day to curl up at the porch

Drink from my wine goblet, write a few verses

Clean up after, light up a smoke and simply die

What else would such serenity bring, a tropical Kerala Summer

Unlike the Mumbai version, where I have no porch or garden

The sitting gallery, filled with four chairs and a table

Are possibly the best aspect of a Keralite's life

The okra sour curry taste lingers in my mouth

It is not the taste of the tamarind or the stew

I was chopping Okra last night as I was in confession

Only to discard my broken heart along with the tips and tops

Hey, it is nine degrees lesser than your sunny view

A telemarketer tries selling insurance, citing a death or two

It is perfectly worthless, to imagine my life amounts to much

I don't value it now, but then nor do you

And at first light

I have played God, one too many times

Answering all those desperate wails

Often to have my blood curdle , soul hurt

I have forged myself in a false will

It has the mettle of a million men

It has the flawlessness of the brightest sun

It has the calm of the gentlest breeze

I have been the shelter in wind and hail

I stood there Godhood discarded

To be seen for once by someone as a mortal

The instance only birthed pain, in me and them

And at such my desire to be else has died

I am a God, a God that sees kindly 

A God that always races to resolve and stand by

A God that is called upon when all else fails

A God that has nothing left to feel or be felt for

Fishing in the Baku

Washed and smoothened, lapis lazuli

Gleams poems often forgotten , Dylan's nor Emily's

Excavated by those with hearts that sing

Set into strings of gold and white

The mind may forget, the heart though won't

How some of the old verses sing about

Holding hands, how we would scream and shout

Only to return home, and thereabouts

The sun like the stones have faded

Maybe in its allure, not it's essense

But you and I friend, we still sit and ponder

On such hard to understand and lost desires

ramble

I never intrude, heaven knows I never do

Yet this time I did, and I feel ashamed for

To explain this to you or anyone, is easier

But I cannot escape my all seeing mind

I am a man with a gift of gab, so called

Yet I know I erred in my own heart, and how

To have done that to someone I shouldn't have

It is a taint I will carry on cursing in my heart

So now I will hold my thoughts, bury them

Until the end of everything come calling aloud

Then turn around, look at the hurt I have caused

To then accept my torments in the afterlife

What I meant to say was, nothing

Hey, it has been ages since our last meeting

So long ago that I can’t remember where we met first

Was it next to Flora fountain buying poetry books?

Or was it at the David Sassoon reading room?

I distinctly remember us bumping our books

You had a collection of Elliot, I had Blok

Where we broke into a conversation abruptly

Of how Russian doesn’t translate too well into English

I remember you looking at my hand to remark

That I was holding your fingers clasped on the open book

I forgot to tell you why, and profusely apologised

You felt so much like a book of poetries unwritten

I have scribbled every other day, often in an outburst 

You asked me to live in the moment, feel each word

I forgot to mention, it was my unspoken conversation

Disguised as verses tucked away, letting it be my burden

Season of

It's dark here, she said holding her palms

As she spoke to a dark figure, an Absolute unknown

In her twiddling , she reached her one hand out

Drew a heart on a stranger in the dark

Her hands trembled, and soon stilled

Her eyes now traced his outlines

She had stood there being watched as a muse

And he had scribbled verses on the walls

The coal in his hands drowned his palm lines

Like the retraction of her hand, drowned his eyes

As the skies lit up in a thunderous blaze

She found him gone from the now lit place

It was all a dream, she imagined or at worse a nightmare

Two people slept that night, i know of

She slept, deferred and delayed for a Wednesday's arrival

He vanished, into a winter wonderland

and then there's that

Seven clothes pins cast a shadow

On my roof as I playfully wave an electric torch

As I get closer to the pins, the shadows get larger

Moving away makes them fade

I can see the terrace lit from a lone incandescent bulb,  

Circled by critters,  disrupting my view

Everything around this night is as profound 

Like knowing you

Maybe the shadows are my pain, the clothes pins memories

The torch my heart longing to remember 

The clothes pins are two sets of pink

Two sets of green, And a different yellow

So much like my memories of us

A muse called Simi

It is an odd time of an April in Shimla, a Monday night

As the sweltering heat rises, she misses the cold

Her bedside lamp gleams bathes her in a hint of red

Her eyes reflect the desire of being held close

The wind blew gently through the window

Fluttering Simi's journal, pointing as if to remind

There are poetries of her in it, where she was the muse

She has often skipped reading them, for fear of love

She turns to see the racket the pages make

As the butterfly neck piece digs ever so slightly into her left chest

She remembers a time of passionate love making

Where she was the fire of unbridled passion

The time has passed, or so she thinks

Yet a distant soul chooses to think otherwise

As she reads out her poem, of what the worth of a woman is

She finds me melting into her words and voice

 

a tryst with love

Two large wood spiders hung, by the electric gyeser

They seemed to be still, one more so than the other

The other seemed to twiddle its fangs, just so little

While the other seemed to sway at the breeze of my hand's wave

It splashed some water to disturb the duo

Only to drop both to the wet bathroom floor

The she spider quickly crawled away, quite angry

While the he spider stayed toppled belly up and still

It seems the he spider had hoped for some love

How ghastly and brutal often love entangled in nature can be

The he spider was consumed by love and his lover

To then live on as a part of her flesh and little spiderlings 

A rant at condoning

Between conturing and cleavage

It is often difficult for a poem to rise 

Forget the attempt, Shakespearean or Elliot'ish

The only readers are those who have depth

Now I would pay heed, if Frost recited short

"In incessant ponderings, ring my bell, lady fair'

For there is weight of Stopping by woods on a snowy evening 

Yet a face, or a giggling half hearted word scramble leads

Hath thine lust so overpowered thy sense of reasoning

Or has the deep waters of poetry given way to shallows

I often wonder, if scribblings of depth and meaning

Have been replaced with glitter and lipgloss now

I rather be shrewd to a point of being grossly unapologetic

For the depths seem so further from the shallows

I am a fish of the deep dark depths of feelings

These shallows have the advantage of what  femininity springs

Each leaf is a possibility

Every so often you see a dried leaf in the summer sun

Caught in a single strand of a spider's web unintended for it

Fluttering and rotating in the wind, all day and night

Until the rain washes them both into the ground days later

While one could ponder at it, feel astonished

I see it for an incompleteness that nature often spawns

In its intended destiny, maybe it was to fall into the ground

Decay and become nourishment, for a fungus or moss

But it's only one you could think, but isn't that thought biased?

When your heart is broken, remember there are innumerable folks

Yet each have just one heart, one soul, and one life

To discount that one leaf's destiny would just be as criminal

For that leaf, like your heart could've spawned a million events

You can speak your mind

Dear drearest when you arrive next

Bring me those wilted sunflowers, will you?

The ones with the half rotten petals,

That lie on the ground face down, as if in sadness

They are pretty as you, and my Oh my how!

They like you bring no farcical loving promises

They come pre wilted too, almost half decomposed

Unlike these lie spewing lovers, in so called love

Throw in some wilted Hemlock flowers too

I would love to Indulge in a Socraterian exit

If it worked then, it could work now

Don't forget and lie, pluck me some from her  heart's garden

This time like her please arrive as I attend to an urgency

For then you too can complain of not being seen first 

Share her taunts to help me purge my will to live 

Don't lie of her anger, since she cultivates it so well

Do you Remember our love making?

An eon seems to have passed, yet I remember

I have loved the taste of the gentle hint of salt

From your upper lip, mid kiss, of summer sweat

Gently drenching my sun-dried lips

In the dimly lit shower, as we embraced bare

Your shoulders quivered, under your drenched hair

As I moved them away, and tasted your skin

We could hear our hearts pound in a lustful choir

The water dripped past my left forearm, a bustier

Restraining your breasts, gripping you like a vice

The right felt no shame, as it touched your deeps

Feeling your skin in a hunger for your flesh

The frosted steamy glass walls bore our hand prints

In each there were ten. Intermingled and curled

The water spray on our bodies felt reduced to steam

In our love making we had become the summer itself

Lamp black, in a bottle

I always paint an eye on the side of my wrist

It wasn't your eyeliner though, 

  but the sentiment matters to me

Often when I miss your eyes peering into mine

I hold my phone out to write poetry

This way, I can see the eye and believe

Come hell or highwater , 

  I should steel my nerves

Remind myself of shunning bitterness

That loving someone can often yield 

Somewhere where you thumbs curl on his

As you are pushed against the wall

 Amidst a shallow yet lustful kiss

I would know it, for we are tied at the soul 

I wish to be that him, for at such my heart caves in

So here I am, back again staring at the eye

 Past the mild digression of this verse I scribe

Another one to be unread, let alone felt or understood

Knowing that you spare no thought to my love

 Or maybe your soul fights the very thought of me

One last time Siya, lets love

Would I be with you forever? 

That is a hard one to crack, and we better not

We could dwell on the possible outcomes

Or we could be in moments of love and lust 

Either ways, it is better to not to be entrenched at that

For this fleeting life has even lesser to offer either

So as the time runs short, and the dawn could crack

Hold me in you arms, make this moment last

In another time Siya, in another universe we could be 'are' 

So kiss me again, and let our tongues entangle

Make love and sprinkle the lights of the stars

For our lives are at the precipe of mar

Tinnitus is a tough nemesis

If it wasn't for the tinnitus in my ear

   I wouldn't know my heart beats

Often when I wear my earphones to tune out

The white noise that surrounds me driving me insane

I play no songs on them, 

  for the songs seem like noise too

Nothing seems to relate to my being

Even my heart seems to be dead somehow

Yet the breath seems to rush and recede

  somehow feeding me life's satire

I have often parodied life at my suffering

Yet these days see. Far worse now

My love along with my lover eloped and faded

  like a red tunic dried in the sun

Here I sit hearing my pulsating vein

Amidst the pulsing and the approaching death's howl

That sentence construction seems awry

The absence of conjunctions, ah!

Nothing less that painful conjunctivitis 

A source of disturbance to obsessive folks

A method to make my skin crawl

Why is it that we so seek, for, and, yet, so

Knowing there are those or, nor, but a few

In each line of prose or scribbled verse

Only to deconstruct their expression and again

Then again, what is the point of lamenting

For I myself am guilty of such distortions

My verses often tend to dive into rambles

Losing the plot, leaving a poem in shambles 

Glorify unto failure of reason

I will blame the Rosenthal effect,

 After all something needs to be blamed

Not like I could call my sun sign an Avacado

And pretened to behave like a glorified mess

How do some of these men and women do it?

Pin something of your own attitude on poor Linda's money making

Forever remain in the flight of your teens

Forever disconnected from absolute reality and awakening

So here I go rampant, all out in deriving  you

Imbibing your essence into my soul and blood

Knowing that at the end you shall at best discard and despise me

And I shall blame the Rosenthal effect for my lunacy

Those prickly annoying pieces

The problem with most things is shards

Those sharp pointed things that form

  of broken things and feels

Causing wounds that seem to never heal

Such is literally every gift, given to man by another

"Hey Mr Cynic" is a justified taunt

 Or maybe your stomach cannot stomach the truth

There is after all a shard of truth in my statement 

That stands to correct your pink glasses wearing sight

If you should ask me, to maybe love or belong, or both

We can argue over belonging and love being the same though

Know that one can love but not belong, and vice versa

And both of those feels recede when set lines are crossed

Why then do I choose to be friends at all

 Is another valid question, you may justly ask

If you should know why, then know only this

In my friendship there is no line to toe, no glory to bask

But Feby Dear

Ah my maker, what shimmers

Those scales and the silvery white skin

That you let me adorn

To exist in It too, is a far fetched dream

Like love from you, 

 In the worst of my pain

I am the fish caught for sport 

Bleeding at my jaws, for the rest who pose

And then hurl me back

Rather indecently and worse in least inconsideration 

But then again, if I should be dead

You possibly would reincarnate me

As what, if I would fathom a guess

A fish

To be seen streaking through the seas

Fleeting 

Like my fleeting belief of your kind eyes

Always in your debt of this cursed existence

That I never want

Divine Intervention

She would look down upon her hand crafted me

In gross contempt, and repulsive dislike

I have failed her, failed her laid out plans

In my constant elevation of lesser mortals to god hood

But Mother Dearest, Mother most forgiving

How am I to be human, and yet not falter

You may have been my creator, but the world my forge

Has annealed me and shaped me in it's own accord

Only if you had rid me of love, care, and belonging

Would I have been true to your set path

At best I can offer my sincerest apologies 

For being so hopelessly vehemently lost

Say Mother, would you not realise yet? 

I have nothing left to endure, nor laugh 

Reach out to me, hold me once and turn me to dust

Rid this world and yourself, of my ever failing broken heart

These lint rollers I have are useless

I know about lint rollers, quite well I should assume

By now, I have used various ones

The medium ones for my overcoat

The smaller sized for my Tee-shirts

Larger ones for the upholstery, those stubborn fabrics seldom yield

I don't use them removing fur though 

They were to grab your fallen broken hair

Those embraces and cuddles left a lot of them everywhere

I had some off my pillows too

These rollers are fabulous contraptions, what ease

One swipe and off comes the stories of last night

Alas they don't t seem to help for my current need

Of wanting to gather your broken hair from inside me

You were curled up in it, lived and often  slumbered

Now that you have evicted yourself from my life

I am trying to find one that works on my soul 

Next station, Vitthalwadi

The queen alway went by blaring her horns 

Evening at ten past six, as she did

Unmistakable in her red and blue stripes on white

Symbolic of a motorman's towards retire

I was a railway child, dad followed by mom

Vitthalwadi was about ten minute walk from home

I would take the overcrowded morning's 7:41 

Alight at Kalyan to walk to my morning school

In the evening when I would be back home

Granny would serve tea, as i sat in my room

The queen would pass by home, and remind

There was another hour of waiting for mom

She would bring me balushahis, freshly made

From the railway canteen, of Victoria Terminus beside her office

She would rush home to me, just as eager

As I would wait to see her tired face

The balushahis I eat now, they seem too bland

They aren't bought from my mother's purse or hand

The Deccan Queen too has changed her colours 

And the Ghee and sugar of balushahis feel tasteless now

spin me a tale, would you?

What lies, lies amongst the fields

Under the clear blue skies as you hide

From the self, in spite maybe

But lies, lying into my loving eyes

The air that escapes your nostril speaks

Of such endearing white fluffy stories

Of you wanting to fly amongst

On stapled wings of pretentious fie

Lie, lie, until the end of my time

And then lie again, pretend to be fine

In all that I have known and felt be sure

I haven't ever questioned if you were mine

Spoken language

What is a language then, if spoken

Sans emotion, only to convey a thought

Devoid of feeling, they are just words

Right Amna? Bihu? Don't you agree?

I think so, but one could doubt my judgement

My ideas that are a tad off beat

I can gather emotions, string it into verses

At least I think I can, you can decide

Awaiting the dawn at Golaghat

Bihu curls her henna-stained fingers
 The nude pink paint overshadowed
  by shades of orange,
       like her mind now at pseudo calm
it has been eons since she scribbled
as she watches the dark night
her garden filled with orchids,
         asleep for the night
         she hasn't and it is day two
         maybe today, maybe somehow
unbeknownst to her, her heart wants to write
yet her words hide like her nail paint
                under exhaustion,
                 under grey skies
maybe tomorrow she will hear the cuckoo sing
          blend its zeal and feel wide awake
                tomorrow , yes
tomorrow she will write, and I will read
I wait for Bihu's poems, like a mesmerised child

A hunting we will not go! Mind

These gators I wrangle, behemoths, untamable

Each wants a bite out of me, a pound of flesh

They seem to have no second thoughts, of my pain

They are at home, in a death roll as they gnaw at my heart

Why then do I visit these swamps, dear mind

Why should you want me to rue, why make me to

All I have done has been paid up for, in multiples by now

Yet you feed me this frequent and persistent wanderlust

The gator of loss is the most vicious, ugliest of the lot

And the gator of sadness is the burliest brawler

The gator of love, so unsuspectingly dreadful and most evil

They leave me alive shredded and feed on my hurt

This torment needs to end, for know dear mind, know well

Your existence is only a corollary to my mind, preserve me

Avert the constant belligerence to spiral me into hurt

For you shall lose me, when my sanity is lost

It's fair, for it's yours ?

How is your story real, and not mine

The moon has set the same for either of us

Your world has the same green leaves like mine

And like mine they fall and wither in the summer sun

How is your emotion real, and mine denied

Where you can question your heart, blame me

Your conscience can prick you, like mine does 

And we both are in constant misery of love

How is your departing fair, when mine wasn't deemed so

Where you could command my love and attention 

Your heart feels release, and mine is torn asunder

And not introspect before you ask if my love was true

yeah! Whatever

Your pupils dilate my laughter

A hint of brown 

A touch of the darkest black

Like an ocean, under a dome of glass

Your eyelids tickle my cheeks

Meet mid way over your eye balls

Making them gleam and shimmer

Like the break of dawn, in my life

I wrote random verses

That initial phase of separation,

   brings poetry

You pour your heart out

   The deepest sadness 

      into verses

Like a bartender 

     mixing up a shot 

      of Gin and tonic

While you are on drink number nine

     Already inebriated 

        Already swaying

It's a trip, 

   like the liquor hitting the brain

The absence of one's love, 

   the absolute searing pain

One can only indulge on in, 

   until the ink runs out, 

    The pages are drenched in tears

   Or 

    The brain passes out, 

Drunk

        And or

            In pain

The days pass

  Numbness knocks 

    at the heart's doors

You answer, 

   You know you shouldn't have

    You saw it through the peep hole 

     But misery has avarice

      It wants numbness too

Then you, 

          misery, 

           pain, 

           and numbness sit

Argue over the Oxford comma

The tenses seem wrong

 Misery is a mean one 

 Numbness just wants to be done

  But pain, oh! It sits clamping the heart

   And you sit writing even more

Just like at the bar

   Where Old friends gather

    These are now your besties

     The only liquor to drink now is tears

       You can spare more, 

        You brew it in your soul 

The days pass in this company

 Until, hope knocks

   You let it in too

    You then proceed to get it drunk

You should have learnt by now

Your tears are the very drug

That renders everything wrong

 Hope drinks a shot of them

   Hope is unhinged now

    Hope now is hopless too

You transform it too

Happens too often

I sit across the room from you

I scribble this story, 

I am you from a time gone by

Yet you are a me, I no longer know 

Other than in my paraphrasing

 Verses, they are poems you think

  They are your stories, ours, his, her's

I want to sleep, she says

  Who? 

   Something from my memory,

   I guess,

     I digress

   And you can't sleep, nor can I

I am watching you, 

wallowing in pain

 Till we pass out, somewhere

Somehow

In plain sight

Amna reclines, in shades

Of sheesham brown, and a shade of black

The browns on her, merge into the wood

Camouflaged while she converses distant

As her words reach distant eyes

That take refuge leaning on a stony wall

He wears greys, trying to blend in

Letting the world pass him by

She poses questions, that have no answers

Neither he does, nor does he try to think of

What he wishes to know for sure though is

What her voice would sound like in his ears

If the world could for a moment stop

The sun would pause, the air would still

Maybe she could voice out herself, scream into his ears

Maybe he could fill his mind with possible poetic spills

Mitali Dear

Hey Mitali, if you should know

There are many who make my heart pulse

Yet in your gentle embrace, I find myself

The others remind me of them

To be me, is to let myself know

How I feel, how I feel you

As your gentle tresses brush my face 

I am stilled in your gentle glow

The others may flutter their eyes, cast glances

Yet I seek my validation in your pupils

In our entwining merge, in the fires of passion

 I find me seeking you, as my own self

So to you, I could only say

My love for you is only a flame

Yet it burns at the tip of your wick, and only there

As we light up the room, in our love making spells

Benevolent et al

In the brightly glowing March sun

To have been lost in a benevolent tranquil

It must be the mountain air, 

   that paints your face

Or is it my mind, 

   at a confluence in witness

If you were at an arms length, 

   While I would wish

There is only utter failure I gauge,

    for me and my words

To stutter and stammer, 

    mid speech, even at greeting

Lost in stare, 

   watching how the oxidized earrings sway

Knowing me, 

   I would have spoken of colours

Overly and mindfully jealous

   of your embroidered blue dress

Only to be at a lapse 

   to fumble at making sentences

While your eyes look at me 

   Dissolving me into nothingness 

Sail Sail Sail, burn them again

Watermelon

Catamaran

what have I done

Sailed into a storm

 that brings good for none

She has her wind

 I have my sails

And an impasse galore

Adrift

in my love quest

further from the shore

The vodka was rich

The juice was so thick

Impusles were a bitch

And now my heart is in a ditch

Sing me a song

I hound the wailing sirens

Those lusty whores

They have no compassion

Yet for me, they seem to woe

While the dolphins break my drowning

I care not,

for even the reaper is frowning

It like her, wants to have nothing to do

With me, or about

Like poisoned drift wood 

Now if I hit a shore

If this bitch of a sea should drag me

I know what I would do, again

It is to sing

Watermelon

Catamaran

what have I done again

Sailng into a storm clearly is stupid right! 

 Oh but she allures, allures, allures

That allure brings good for none

She has me by my tail

 And she will burn my sails

And then put me adrift 

Ah! Another impasse 

Adrift 

Cursing my self, over and again

There is no boat, in this flood of hurt

I tug at your threads, entwined with my own

Yet distinctly separate, like the distance between us now

I reach out to converse, and you would respond, sometimes

Yet I seem to have nothing to say, 

  you have nothing to stay, either

I sometimes wish to tell you, I am broken

  Besieged in your thoughts, yet I feel insignificant

 Before you, you overwhelm me in your magnificence 

I shudder between my words, feeling inadequate 

Feel left out, unkept, and obsolete before your mind

We close our conversations, with you wishing me away

I wish myself dead, yet my wishes for the self never bloom

Else you would have reached out, held my wounded soul

But then again, your hurt is far worse,

 and there is only enough balm

 With you for your own wounds

I relenquish such wishes, where you would need to spare me some

I wear my searing pain, of being unable to ask,

  and being unable to hold you back

At the day's end I watch the sun set, let it bring an end to another day

One spent in the absence of your loving words or glances

To be then tormented by the moonlight

 Of missing your touch and our embrace

Know it well

I could write my magnum opus

Who would read?

Not me, not me

Would you, Oh my love so dear

Or should it be lost like those million words

I would have been fraught in woe

Of your incessant transgressions

Yet those are not for me to judge as

I am here, to love, to love you,

Not necessarily be loved

And so I shall do my due 

When the winds of reason shall blow

And they do, they so do, and how, and how often

Reach out, call out, holler

I shall stand before you, protect your mind of regrets

Bear your pain, for your pain is mine, 

   not yours, can't let it be

So yes, holler

If I have ceased to breathe, know

And know true

I shall still manifest, as your aide

Hold you in my love's protecting shadow

soothsayer, and my failures

It never was about me foreshadowing your living

Nor was it augmenting your existence

All I have wanted was to construct 

A perfect world where you would be at ease

You fell, you have often

When you were mine, I have held you

My intentions were to be your ground, never your sun

You were mine, how would you have not known 

So now we are at war, a cold definitve 

Where neither you or I shall bend to each other

But know, mine is not a conquest, but surrender

Your's is of subjugation, of harm, yet welcomed