It Happened Long Ago.

Once upon a time,

The jewelled sky was bare,

Like a blank canvas painted white,

And men felt hollow,

Staring at it long.

The poets could neither mourn,

Nor compose a simple song,

For the lovers sat cold of desire,

With no moon to set afire,

Their paths through thorns of pain,

And their lives with loss and gain.

The philosophers slept through night,

With nothing out and in sight,

And scribbled dry till days,

Wordy chains of worldly ways.

The sea too was at loss,

Yearning to turn and toss,

And speak of deeper things,

With the sand which silence sings.

Then thus one day it began,

And the stars started to rain,

From a sky farther above,

Without a why and how.

Some fell like wisps of dream,

Some whistling and some with scream,

Others halted with a tiny wink,

And glared without a blink.

Lastly the moon arrived,

He misjudged the depth and dived,

To finish as first in race,

But falling flat on his face.

And that is why dear friends,

The Moon hides to unearthly ends,

Lapsing shade by shade,

Nursing his cloud filled head.

For he forgets but remembers too,

That everyone gets their due,

That the dark is devoid of light,

That their is no scene without a sight.

The Recurring Ballad of Love

He moved to stand in line,

With a leaking pitcher of wine,

Eyeing the moonlit faces,

And the wind blown raven tresses,

Humming a broken song,

Dancing all along,

Bare of rhyme and reason,

To draw the lips of season,

A gift of flowered petal,

With a pinch of salt and metal,

And break the sun tipped veil,

The nectar of daffodil,

On the tip of gasping ocean,

All an echo of one motion,

Till the time such thunder still,

And glistening bruises heal,

To bind the aches again,

With arrows of guilty rain,

And feed the fallen dew,

An act that ends anew.

The Rain

He wavered, 

A carved hand brushing against dry, split lips,

Parched beyond measure, he blinked up at the folding sky,

Lifeless eyes awaiting a promise,

Which tiptoed eventually,

Like needles mocking glass,

Darkening the ground with it’s whisper,

So that the man could hear,

And find solace in the silence,

Of new seed breaking ground,

Old rivers running anew,

Dying breaths finding​ again,

Moments of living few.


Await me on the other side

Of the ocean which shivers with every wave,

Of the wasteland that whistles with each shadow.

Await me on the other side,

Beside mountains which wail their solace,

When they cannot turn and see for once,

The sun rise afore their back.

By the brambles that flow inwards, 

You shall find my voice draped in ornate canopy,

Reading to your weary ears,

The lullabies long forgotten,

From the feeble cast of mind.

Await me, 

Between paths torn asunder,

Neath moon guiding with silver hand,

To a land long lost amidst the tide,

Of memories piled upon,

Hands defying time.

Await me, friend,

So that we could journey together,

Laughs striking the midnight blue,

In search of smooth pebbles,

Treading sands with steps anew.