Month: March 2020

I hope I could ask of you,
From strangers never found,
Who haven’t seen you as I did,
Who neither know your name nor it’s sound.

You are a lullaby,
A charlatan,
The evening star,
That blind sun.

You are everything, that makes this world,
Yet the world holds nothing of your kind,
Here men can part the sea with hand,
But not shift the grain of your mind.

I know of you,
The way you walk,
By shores of blue sunshine,
The way you hold,
Each oyster,
And claim every pearl as ‘Mine’.

Oh how I wish to see you, all nights anew,
When the dreams awake on your face,
And you close those eyes, like a lavaliere,
With a stillness full of grace,
For then I would have,
An eternity,
Of you and me as one,
And not this effigy, of burning time,
That ebbs at every turn.

There are lights on either side,
Unblinking, thinking,
Of the dark road, falling down, down,
Like a waterfall;
This flowerbed of men, women and those with,
Cluttered, raised voices, of tottering innocence.

There are dustbins,
Homeless, hungry,
Staring at each passer-by,
Immigrant, some Samaritan, a bad shooter of banana peal,
Open to you, welcome, for a purpose,
With armless hugs, always unattended,
Nevertheless, forever
Welcome.

There are footpaths,
The grandfather of generations,
Keeper of footsteps,
Precursor to paths,
Witness to life, its softness, its wrath,
Men; their plight,
Women; their might,
Masses in revolt,
People lost; hopeless in love, heartless in fight,
Half dead beggars and models on diet, Shadows in smoke, figures in dust, Old faces; all strangers at first,
Everything that passes, everything that stops,
Those gutteral depths,
Those glittering tops.

Not all eyes are seen, not all sights are sought, And not all things remain, for which one has fought,. This life is but a passing, All tides upon the sea, The world witness, as one, Have freedom to feel free.

Sing me a song, buddies,
Make it longer than this night,
There is a man at the end of road
Whom I wish to never fight.

Make me forget about today,
And tommorow if you can,
I will live with yesterday,
As a shallow, old man,
I lived yesterday like today,
And tommorow as yesterday,
How I wish for the tommorow,
I could live as today.

For I am far too tired,
Carrying stones upon my back,
I will be needing them somewhere they said,
For filling all the cracks.
But here is the funniest thing,
That before I took this helpful stone,
I don’t remember having any,
Fissures of my own.

Oh I have been a fool, I have,
To pledge my life to those,
Who taught me how to tiptoe,
By cutting all my toes,
And no I am not invoking,
The vomit of your tears and pity,
Having lived out in a box,
Thinking it as city.

I know I am a failure,
With my absurd elegy words,
And my morning allocution,
Ruffling you drowsy birds,
But in no way in heaven;
Not by which the Archfiend fell,
Can you call my lacuna lunatic,
Or me a brooding tattletale.

I have lived as it has come,
With no night and day in place,
Weren’t any bets upon my head so;
Unobligated to race.
The thought has served me well,
For peace and zen of mind,
Didn’t meet any other,
High Soul of the same kind.

Had no talent so to speak,
Felt no part of any group,
My shirt was tagged ‘Rebel’
Yet never acted in any coup,
Or so I think I did,
Or so I think I do,
But you never know about yourself,
And like me you know it too.

Thus here I sit now,
With a drunk pitcher in my hand,
A sad smile upon my face,
Prompting a ragged band,
All the while aware,
Of those cracks along my spine,
And counting same of those around,
Who too feign that all is fine.