SEVEN LETTERS TO GRACIE

My monday letter to gracie ,

Of the mondays on the shores which bear the borders of our feet,

Of each grain of sand now kept in the closed closets of my heart ,

The hours of the running grains , so tender yet so eminent ,

If to be known , to make an eternal walk across the shores ,

On the Mondays of our lives way back then when we knew not ,

Of our solemn walks , so solitary , yet so immensely paired ,

In the finest spring of our lives , so young , yet so learned ,

So learned , that we hath our brisk feet walk but slower ,

Thinking it may make the sands of time but eternal for a moment ;

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My tuesday letter to gracie ,

Of the tuesday mornings we spent in the parks of fair flowers ,

Soaking each hue and spending each drop of fragrance ,

Knowing not what was wilt , learning not what was whither ,

For ours were mornings so delightfully raised and read ,

And ours were evenings spent in utter joy of sweet orchards ,

But seasons , the learned say , they come and go ,

And we but ceased to behold the turning tides of time ,

T'was a mercy that we hath beheld what we felt ,

Raising flowers a plenty , to make it spring all along ;

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My wednesday letter to gracie ,

Of the wednesday noons we shared with the sweet orphans ,

Sharing the seconds with little palms and soles ,

Some bare and some seeking , some true and some dreams ,

Sharing the bright yellow frocks and the purple scarves ,

Finding hours in our days and minutes in our hours ,

But , the care takers , they said , time would take the darlings away ,

For with time bones grew and shoulders strengthened , always ,

T'was a delight that we never visioned this show of age ,

Being one with the orphans , we never grew out of age ;

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My thursday letter to gracie ,

Of the thursdays we spent at your poetry lessons ,

Reading and writing , what you called ' verses of love ',

And I , but only reading what I knew were ' hearts on paper ',

Watching the clocks die , as you rhymed , as you wrote ,

Watching the seconds being born , as you read , as you recited ,

But your teacher said , verses are not always read or sought ,

For there will be those , who shan't think more of your ink than stains ,

T"was a surprise enough that we were innocent and true ,

Reciting and singing your songs to everyone who passed us ;

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My Friday letter to gracie ,

Of the friday nights we spent at constancy gardens ,

Waving at the fire flies which descended from the sky ,

And we thought t'was the sun which sprinkled into thousands ,

When the moon set in and night they said hath indeed come ,

But we knew it was just another day when people could dream ,

But night , the wise old said was to be respected and not loved ,

For it could do much harm and darkness was never a virtue for the young ,

Alas , how ignorant we were , at those nights so beautiful and dim ,

But turning them into our special days with those lovely fire flies ;

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My saturday letter to gracie ,

Of the saturday evenings we spent on our roof tops ,

Gazing at the stars so bright and beautifulat night ,

Star which we thought were laid out for us to dance to ,

Of stars that were big , and those that were small ,

Of those eons away from us , and those that we seemed to touch ,

But stars , the romantics said were gifts to those who sought them ,

For ours wishes they said , were to be made when we had seen them ,

Alas , how happy we were , even without our roof top stars ,

For we thought , they were our wishes already granted , for us to see ;

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My sunday letter to gracie ,

Of entire sundays that we waited for another week ,

Hoping that the ephemeral hours of our days would repeat ,

Hoping beyond hope , time would go back to the first verse ,

So the verses may be written again till they vanish ,

They seemed so perfect and so much in love with one another ,

But our worst fears they said , days are never the same ,

With each day comes a different destiny, unknown ,

Alas , how wishful we were to see our week again ,

For we tried , we tried , we tried , to write the same verses again ;

LINES 10 TO 20 OF AN UNWRITTEN POEM

Dipping thine verses into the cold breast of the woody mist ,

Falling to an ode to the erring gratitude of a falling fist ;

Till death does apart the naked verses at break of light ,

My sweet gracious wine but spilling through the night ;

Crying of a virgin's sweet desire for a sweeter verse ,

Say , the rhyme but loving as love , as cursing as a curse;

And when this sweet virgin's kiss does love the wax fire ,

May the unwritten poem then be writ and truly tire ;

If only the first ten lines were tonight to be found ,

And all men could sleep , so sweet , so sound;

LET THIS NIGHT BE SPIRITED TILL MORN

Let us not shed tears this on this wondrous night ,

And let us not mourn an inch into the heavens ,

Let us sing tonight songs that live in happy hearts ,

Songs which start with the most prettiest of women ,

And songs which end with the heartiest of laughs ,

Let us tonight drum the richest skins stretched ,

Let us pick the sweetest strings of silk,

Let us dine tonight like kings do ,once in a lifetime ,

A meal which starts at midnight at ends at dawn ,

And let us drink tonight the sweetest syrups ,

which start with honey and end with water sweeter ;

And when we live tonight , let us live joyful ,

Let us share our happiness with sweet virgins of spring ,

And verse , how they seek love with the changing seasons ,

And how men embrace the sweet maidens so bountiful ,

Let us , on this night be engaged in joy unconfined ,

Till a brighter morn , shall bring us greater joy ,

But this night shall be the one we cherish ,

We shall cry no sadness , cry no parting ,

We shan't ink sorrow , shan't ink mourning ,

But paint with all our smiles and dances ,

What fairies seek in men they desire ,

And what men seek in fairies which do not exist ,

Light a fire tonight , and gather round it in thousands ,

And when the light shall shimmer in the faces of each ,

Narrate , Sing , yet shout what pleases you ,

And when this light but dies at day break ,

Let the black faces be painted even darker;

Let this night be spirited till morn;

MY TINY SHOE

Two fingers and a thumb ,

Were all I needed ,

To hold the saddest tale,

Of a shoe I bought ,

From a discount sale ;

A shoe for a little girl ,

I bought , in bright white ,

And the whitest laces ,

And I even tied the knots ,

On her little feet ;

T'was but a delight to watch her ,

Walk on the gravel , with her hand ,

Hidden in the fingers of her mother's,

So much so that no one had ever ,

Held on to a dear child tighter ,

And with greater care and protection;

But t'was all to end , for the fire came raining ,

It came raining from the heavens ,

But it did not flame until it found prey ,

For then , it flamed like no fire had ever done so;

T'was in moments , that the gravel turned to brimstone ,

and those on the ground but burning in hell's fire ,

and those in the air the devils themselves ;

The fire left not a life on the street ,

As it shan't leave a tree standing in the forest;

A street once filled with flower vendors ,

Tailors , bakers and even musicians ,

Now , a street of ghosts and nothing more ,

A street of nothing and nothing more ;

Digging into the black stones that now lay ,

For a sign of what was once present in my mind ,

A show of what was once true to my heart ;

And this was all that I found

" I did not find my little darling ,

I did not find her mother ,

I did not find her fingers ,

I did not find her hair ,

All I found was this and this alone ,

A brown - black shoe with wet red laces "

DEDICATED TO ALL THE INNOCENT CHILDREN KILLED WITH THE USE OF THE BANNED PHOSPHORUS BOMBS.MAY THOSE LITTLE ANGELS BE GIVEN JUSTICE

HER MOST BEAUTIFUL BEING

My most beautiful poem,

for her most beautiful being;

Of her most gentle smile ,

Of her most beautiful lips;

Of the sweet wetness of her eyes ,

Of her most beautiful blinks;

Of the touching silk of her locks,

Of her most beautiful hair;

Of the pale tenderness of her palms,

Of her most beautiful hands;

Of her most ethereal radiance,

Of her most beautiful grace;

Of the sweetest tunes from her being ,

Of her most beautiful voice;

Of the calm gentleness of her thought,

Of her most beautiful soul;

If this stays not the most beautiful poem ,

For her most beautiful being ,

Let me paint a portrait of her ,

And say but she is a verse I created;

MY KITH'S SORROW , T'WAS A DELIGHT TO WRITE

For all my delights and sorrow hereafter ,

Indeed , my kith's sorrow ,t'was a delight to write ,

Of grey beards ponder and virgins' sad laughter ,

Of how high spirited men spent their lonesome nights,

Of few distant folk from sunrise till a new dawn,

And of many near to my own heart's desire,

From broken hearts to dying men and much so on.

Of falling roofs, empty plates , brimstone and a pyre,

So often as they hath shed their wrath on my ink,

And said much worse besides the next morn in my town ,

I pray again to verse why they tear , what they think,

A wish oft met with a rather elderly frown,

And time hath come to seize my kith's sorrow in verse,

And lay but hidden to their empty shallow curse ;

THE AUBURN HAIR OF CRYSTAL JONES

We all remember Crystal Jones ,

The little child her granpa named ,

With little gongs and songs ,

And a chocolate cake with an almond crust;

Crystal Jones , she had grown up ,

Crystal Jones and her auburn hair,

Daughter of the sixth son ,

Of the fourth daughter ,

Of the second son ,

Of a family of stupid lumberjacks;

But her father , was a man of words ,

A bard amongst butchers ,

A man of love , who rhymed ,

stories of leprichauns ,

songs of sirens ,

and even the rapunzel tale ;

And Crystal Jones had a mother ,

Daughter of the second captain ,

Of the third northern fleet ,

In the second wealthiest state ,

Across the seventh sea;

There was a woman of a strong heart ,

And a stiff upper lip of a line of soldiers,

In a family of cold hearted , weapon wielders,

She was a lady who often shed a tear ,

And even spared a smile ;

But by Jo , what a mystery it had been ,

In a family of fools and soldiers ,

With black hair , golden locks ,

Red curls , and even balds ,

Was born this child with auburn hair;

A POEM FOR CRYSTAL JONES

A poem for crystal jones , on the day of her birth ,

T'was accompanied by cakes , and a lot of mirth;

Thine face was pink ,and fluffy as a pillow ,

Your cradle was white , and made of willow;

She was covered in a blanket of white and blue ,

Many kin came to see , as most kin rather do;

Thou were sleeping like a fairy , enveloped in golden dust ,

Your birthday cake was chocolate , with an almond crust ;

Mommy dearest lay beside you with her feet in hot water ,

She loved seeing the closed eyes , of her new born daughter ;

T'was rapture all around with choirs and songs ,

Accompanied by bagpipes and rather small gongs ;

Then came the rude old man , people called granpa jones ,

An old man with warty skin , and nothing but bones ;

Wearing a very old hat , and a navy blue coat ,

And a small beard , like that of a goat ;

He came to see this tiny girl that was just born ,

He came in a red dotted tie which he had always worn;

He went to the cradle , and took a cold cold glance ,

And said " By jo , here is my golden chance ";

He was a hated man , but the oldest member still ,

Here was a chance , to exercise his superior will ;

" Since the bills were paid for , by my cheques and loans ,

I now name my grand child , name her crystal jones ";

And this was the story in everyone's happy homes ,

How the child got her name , name of crystal jones;

THERE SHALL SHE LIE MY MAIDEN GRIEVING

My maiden , she hath fallen and forsaken,

And the ground below her a dying ,

There shall she lie my maiden grieving ,

And she shall grieve there a lying;

She shall cry their noon and night ,

Until her life doth wilt and tire ,

She shall grieve there forever more ,

And her woods are cast to a pyre ;

Her flowers shall wilt before bloom ,

And her seasons shall never come ,

And while my maiden shall grieve ,

She shall grieve sullen and glum;

She dies there my maiden , she dies,

Her eyes tear and are never sought ,

My maiden fell to her greening meadow .

With a love she found and bought ;

UETO'S KIMONO

I bought for Ueto a kimono ,

And she wore it on a full lit night ,

In the middle of the night ,

In winter air ,

In the 20 th year of my being ;

I bought it from a blind vendor ,

And it was stitched with utmost beauty ,

By an orphan who had lost her mother ,

To ill fate and dreaded charms ,

And who had lost her father to her mother ;

It was the prettiest stitch ,

With pink flowers on white ,

Much like the cherry blossoms ,

On the whitest snow in winter ,

When we spent our blossom festivals together ;

But the moment I saw her embracing the silk ,

Were but the finest moments of my existence ,

Much so that all men , living and lost ,

Hath envied me at that moment ,

It was a lone night but which comes once in ages ,

When dreams turn into sight and sight turns into love ;

Whence love already existed in dreams;

Andt though many other kimonos I have brought ,

For my beloved , none has looked as sweet ,

And none shall ever bear witness to that solitary night ,

But that kimono in white and pink ,

And now I write this for ueto and her kimono ,

As she romances it under our own sakura tree ;

THE GEISHA OF BROKEN DREAMS

T'was a week and a little more that I saw ,

A Geisha in red flowers , I saw in awe ,

And her cut hair was but the darkest dark ,

The geisha of broken dreams ,in a broken park ;

And held she , she did , in her finest fingers ,

A hope for a broken dream , that lingers ,

And in the other hand she clasped tender ,

A love she brought from it's oldest vendor ;

And in this hope , was her beauty charmed ,

And seraphs and nymphs , all but harmed ,

And as lay there eyes struck a many soul ,

Dreams were written on a broken scroll ;

Knowledge was given , and bounty desired ,

Whilst hearts grew , and the minds tired ,

Such as my being ,withering and weak ,

Had spirits borne , in my geisha to seek ;

T'was in this moment on an evening fair ,

And besides my geisha in the winter air ,

I seized thus and flowered her streams ,

I now bear a geisha of broken dreams ;

BLESS THIS ROAD BE LONGER , MY CHARM

Bless this road be longer my charm ,

And age sweet with the creek beside ,

And journey well and journey bounty ,

Till the night my dearest hath well cried ;

For ours is a parting , so long and true ,

Ours is a death , so mellow and tried ,

Till our road shall travel deep and dark ,

And we passion our own creek beside ;

And pray not another home ere the sunset ,

Thine road be longer and waged with fear ,

And all the eternal loved and the lost men ,

Be tied to thine maiden's awaiting tear ;

And bless this road be longer my charm ,

And bless this road be pretty and sweet ,

For when old stars shall greet the new ,

Pray thee , for a starry longer meet ;

THERE GRACES MY BLOSSOM , UNDER HER SEVEN SHADES

There graces my blossom , under her seven shades ,

There lies my fairest ,sighting the minstrel glades ,

As tempests shall wage the hours with barren swords ,

There still lies my blossom , warring the rampant hordes;

There she sways , my beloved , under the seven stars ,

There grow her trees , with fancied letters and scars ,

And where shall my words flower but there besides ,

My blossom , under her shade , with her many lies;

And pray thee , cut not the bough which bears her ,

Set ablaze naught the leaves that shade her ,

Her's is a grace , most timid and shy by chance ,

Her's is a sight , not sought with a sighted glance ;

Let not her smiles shimmer in these woods of fear ,

Let not her joy , be held by none ever so dear ,

Bring not her tears , unto these grounds and from her eyes ,

Pray her not sadness , unto the welcome of the moonlit tides;

Keep her from the smother of ill fate and harms ,

Keep her but fortuned from death and charms ,

Whilst her beauty endows and keeps her ,

Keep her from love and her charming deciever ;

Let her be free , and free shall she be forever to see ,

Under her seventh shade , where she shall be ,

And frolick her locks with her yellow autumn breeze ,

Under her seven shades , under her seven trees ;

FALLING PETALS FROM A BROWNING BOUGH

By day my flower , by night the same ,

Twirling into paints of a fortuned bough ,

Falling petals from a browning bough ,

Gleaming pink with an ember glow ;

By the dawns of summer my flower ,

By the nights of winter the same ,

A gift much made pretty in thought ,

A flower much called pretty in name ;

But to sight the browning wood ,

In the season of joy and snow ,

Pink was my flower in my hand ,

Pink was my flower on the bough ;

Falling on the rippled ponds of fancy ,

With a touch as soft to only be seen ,

Blossoming wet under it's pretty crown .

Where dreams ,ceraphs ,and fire flies been;

And , so yet another verse hath been writ ,

And yet another verse hath failed ,

May be for another blossom and season ,

Whence the past syllables hath frailed ;

And there do the verses end at the hour ,

And here do the verses begin to go ,

For a blossom this trubute was done ,

For falling petals from a browning bough ;

DO NOT BURY ME KIND ON A CRISP SUMMER MORN

Do not bury me kind on a crisp summer morn ,

But curse me into this hallowed earth from whence I came ,

So the eyes but closed and yet filled with forlorn tears ,

Are an epiphany to all that was done and cursed deep beneath;

Dig me deep with my ancestry and hide it from this world ,

Blood is not blood when it loses it's warmth and cannot love ,

But a symbol of past love long forgotten and the darkest blue ,

But to paint in the memoirs of a soul untouched until lifeless;

Bring to me the woman who gave me birth and warmth ,

Let her curse a final curse as though we were never loved ,

And let her tell the world of what was and what could have been sought ,

Alas , how she let me live on a wet evening of a past winter;

Do not bury me kind under flowers or a gentle rain ,

Bury me amidst brimstone and thunders of bad souls ,

In the deepest of the darkest realms of human existence ,

There shall ye bury me to hide from my own judgement ;

Call those bitter with my memories and cursed in my thoughts ,

Call the wrong doers and the hated kind on a solemn ritual ,

Alas , call then my family , my cherised and my sought after ,

But still , do not bury me kind on a crisp summer morn ;

MAY THIS BODY REST IN PEACE

May this body rest in peace this 6:00 a.m ,

And the priest show reverence when he prays ,

Ask the caterers not to smile or greet,

When the mourners approach their trays;

Let the mother of the carcas grieve ,

Don't lend her a slice of bread ,

She is much older than the dead man ,

She should be the one rotting dead ;

He died solving the laplace equations ,

His eyes were blood shot red ,

His hands were moving to integrals ,

Much after my friend had been dead ;

Do not call his uncle lou though ,

The guy craves a good meal on death ,

A pawn shop owner and nothing more ,

Bartering red tapes for a lousy drum set ;

Someone call his ex-girlfriend ,

The beautiful cheerleader Sarah Jay ,

They were meant to be together forever ,

Until she fell for Georgios who turned out to be gay ;

I will take his yanni collection , thank you ,

He often said his music was very sweet ,

We even had thought of watching him live ,

In a concert on the Island Of Crete ;

I will have his custom made guevera shirt too ,

The one he brought from McArthur lane .

To wear with my favourite pair of cargos ,

And ruin it later with a mustard stain ;

Do not even talk about the father ,

He never liked him in his life ,

Do not let him near the coffin ,

Not him and never his wife ;

So , may this body rest in peace this 6:00 a.m ,

Do not cover it with roses on a mournful death ,

Give him to the earth with a subway instead ,

Let the deceased have an onion breath ;

A LETTER FROM MY NEXT LANE LASS

Stumbled , she did , my next lane lass,

On a rainy afternoon , in mid summer may,

She fell on her light heeled feet ,

She fell in everyone's way;

She was drenched , in her own joy ,

She got back up , and walked again ,

She was crossing the wet street,

She was crossing over to my lane;

On her way , she was a ballerina ,

She moved to the sounds I'd heard before,

She was moving to the pachalbel canon,

She was nimble , for fairies and angels to adore;

She let her hair free as summer's breeze,

And carved her way into hearts of all men,

She was my very own next lane lass ,

Heavens knew , if they would all be the same again;

She swayed and she swayed , and stood still ,

Then she swayed again , before standing still,

She swayed her way across busy roads ,

She swayed her way , over our own tiny hill;

For all legends and lores , man has known ,

I swear time stood still with her pause ,

And all men gasped , on the strings of their hearts ,

Playing a melody of joy and awes;

What maiden had ever moved so poignant ,

What maiden had ever moved so nice ,

We all glanced and then gave second looks ,

No , No , We all saw her moving thrice;

Ahh , here comes my time of reckoning ,

She swooned her way towards my door ,

Her steps were lovely , she was to adore ,

Was she dancing , nay , I swear it was a soar;

She looked up at me once , and smiled ,

And without waste , she said ,

" Please read this , my next lane neighbour,

I've found the man that I wish to wed ";

T'was with the greatest irony , I opened,

Her letter which in prettiest hands read ,

" Come friend and foe alike , Unsaid ,

On this day , when I finally wed ";

And as I saw her going away ,

She still swayed and swayed great ,

To the pachalbel canon I swear ,

She left me with her wedding date;

SHE CHIMED WITH GRACE UNCONFINED

She chimed with grace unconfined ,

Of spring's beauty and hours ,

She chimed with grace unconfined ,

Of spring's bloom and flowers;

She graces like a wave in ray lit morn ,

Of garden's of unspoken beauty and green .

Weathering every glance and awe in men ,

Her fleet was many a grace , than graceful ever seen;

She but hath a rainbow under her brow ,

But a stream of compassion in her eyes ,

She starred like any star ever beamed ,

She glowed like a mid night moon rise;

She chimed with grace unconfined ,

As tears of an oprhan under a burning sun ,

She chimed with grace unconfined ,

As chime the seasons at every turn;

She walked liked the summer days ,

She walked like the winter nights ,

She lived like time did , always alive ,

She lived like a man's pristine delights;

She belighted the days of men ,

Whence , men hath turned so blind,

She swooned like a song in mid may ,

She chimed with grace unconfined;

What rhythm shall be all so pleasant?

What melody shall be all so in tune ,

Covering her bountiful beauty in joy ,

Likw flowers in darkness , colourful strewn;

Ne'er had beauty been so harsh on men ,

Under the stars , where men had dined ,

She was the bounty , we were the hungry ,

She chimed with grace unconfined;

TONIGHT I AM A CRYSTAL ASHTRAY

Tonight I am a crystal ash tray,

and for tomorrow morning as well,

I was etched so beautifully,

to be worn in the finest halls,

filled with the finest syrups,

and handled with the softest hands;

Now I am a crystal ash tray ,

and for the tomorrow morning as well,

Greyed and darkened , by the pleasures,

Of the most grief struck of men ,

I , a black hole , to their curses,

thier musings and thier ironies;

Tonight I am a crystal ash tray,

And for tomorrow morning as well,

Till the day I get so dark ,

That I no longer remain a crystal ,

And then i shall choose ,

to fall and shatter myself ,

And ash all the ash within me;

THE PIPER OF EMERALD BAY

The piper of emerald bay , Mcgregor ,

O'er the hills with ribbons green ,

Locks of red and air so sweet ,

Half o'er the sight , half unseen;

Ne'er in the nights or dusk ,

Of heaven's glide such a sound,

Hath any ear lent hours ,

On this earth , on such ground;

Hours well spent in his stride,

Nights well rested by his side,

Ere the sight of sun ray tide,

His kingdom vast and wide;

Blowing the pipes for his lady,

Through morning and evening wise,

A melody for his love lock ties,

A joust for his bounty , the loveliest prize;

His lady was Caragh , a queen ,

And she had the brightest eyes ,

Her hair smelled wet and sweet ,

The northern star in the piper's skies;

T'was finally the day for the piper ,

His dreams were written and said ,

He would play his greatest tune ,

On this day , when he would wed ;

But they whispered it in the woods,

They screamed it in the east .

" THE PIPER'S LOVE HAS DIED,

BEFORE THE WEDDING FEAST "

T'was the tale of the piper of emerald bay,

That he went the way of the sages ,

Playing a eulogy for his love in the woods ,

On his pipes of love for coming ages;

But the men still utter these words ,

This is what the learned say ,

" THE PIPES STILL SOUND AS LOVE ,

O'ER THE HILLS OF EMERALD BAY "

FAREWELL TO MAMA

Farewell to thee mama , on this day ,

Where everyone wears black or white ,

Farewell to thee mama , on this hour ,

When it rains , though it's bright ;

The neighbours have arrived now ,

So have the family and friends ,

Carrying flowers , wreaths , bouquets ,

And flowers of all the blends ;

Resting now in your final attire ,

As I rested in your lap and arms ,

Seeming so pretty just as life ,

Seeming so full of charms ;

Hearts to you dear mama ,

So so pink and yet so pale ,

Your hands so blue and cold ,

But your fingers so grey and frail;

Farewell to thee mama , on this day ,

As I take thee to thine grave ,

My cradle has broken , the lullaby stopped ,

But I still remain cold and brave ;

SAKURA CONFESSIONS

Covered I am , with sakura,

The only being , under these heavens,

So beautiful as to make man,

A man , a flower;

The sakura , hasn't a lesser god,

The sakura , hasn't a greater god.

Under any winter , under any summer,

Under any season , under these clouds;

It is beautiful whilst it lasts on the boughs,

Beautiful whilst it lasts on the ponds,

Fragrant and pretty whilst it floats from the skies,

And forever beautiful in the hearts of men , whence it bloomed;

Yet , no pride does it have , 

For it blooms with a promise,

Year after year with a promise,

Still as lovely , still as frail;

Unlike men who once smile,

Are bound to follow a frown,

For their's is a blossom,

So false , So untrue;

So generous , rich and poor alike,

It shall cover men of all ages,

Cover them as it has for many moons,

In sadness and In joy;

So different , from us , from our,

Who once shade and then bare,

For ours is shade only for the old man,

Who waters us , so we may grow;

So simple is it's tale,

So hearty is it's thought,

But to bloom , be pretty,

And give a smile to those who confess to eye;

I wonder how it grows ,

I wonder how it colours,

I wonder if we may ever learn from it,

In these greyest hours and waves of time;

With the most heart wrenching twirls,

I've thought of it dropping from it's abode,

I know of it dropping from it's abode,

Yes , I know it drops to fall on our hearts;

I've seen it amidst greens and fields,

I've seen it amidst waters and hands of children,

It must be everywhere always , and outlast us,

All kind and hearted do live forever , curtained from our sight;

I cannot fathom it's faith , it's belief  , courage,

Falling down to wither in a season,

Knowing , a wiser hand shall with it's will,

Water it's blossom and nurture it's bloom for another season; 

So deep is my senile love for it,

I shall take brave to say,

Man and it's like mean so much lesser,

Seldom do they  deserve another verse or rhyme;

For me , I have found that which I sought,

A creature so beautiful yet so self-less,

So gentle , yet so generous,

So rare , yet so abundant;

So young , yet so wise ,

So vibrant , yet so peaceful ,

So pretty , yet so modest ,

So natural , yet so natured;

For now , I confess , If I have faith ,

I shall indeed bear witness to it in life ,

If I do not , I shall think of another verse,

And pray to be the shade , under the tree od which I speak;

OH , DRUNKEN QUEEN O' MINE

T ' were the days of august's shine,

I shall say , of the drunken queen o' mine,

This queen , she was fairer than any fairy,

Alas , she drunk herself cold and weary;

She had locks of golden rolls and twirls,

As much do pretty maidens and girls,

And had she the eyes of bluest blue,

As pretty maidens and girls so often do;

She dressed her gowns of jewels and gold,

Crafted by the hands wisest and old,

And a throne made of a thousand scent,

And the way of all narcussus she went;

Was she lonely in her winter nights,

She spent them with her spirits and pints,

And flowed like most high spirited men can,

Her royal soul , liqoured , flew and ran;

The queen was a knight in her mood,

Oft quite brute , Oft quite rude,

And she broke all her strangles and holds,

She cursed all the nobles and bolds;

And on a silly night , that moon grew bright,

The Queen's spirits had hit their height,

And she stood in front of her loyals ,  on a table,

And began singing her fermented fable;

Fate befalls all who are bold and brave ,

The Queen slipped and fell like a slave,

The queen's sight was a wretched wreck,

She fell down and broke her neck;

So , T'was on an august's silly night,

The Queen had fought her final fight,

She took a ride in a long grim cart,

OH , drunken queen o' mine , she fell apart;

A COTTAGE UNDER GRACIE'S MOON

T'was many a seasons ago,

That the season came too soon,

And I built a cottage on shores,

Under the shine from gracie's moon;

And this maiden she was fair,

And shy as a daffodil in bloom,

She came out every night,

And I bore witness to gracie's moon;

Every night the lady lifted,

A few grains of sand from the shore,

And held it in her flower clasped palms,

With passion I'd ne'er seen before;

And she smiled at these tiny crystals,

She held so close , and sang a tune,

She lifted her golden hair , And blew

The sand towards gracie's moon;

And did this , she did every night,

I spent watching her with eyes of awe,

I saw gracie every night and her sand,

And gracie's moon every night I saw;

Did she this , for many months,

Until my cottage was done,

And that when I seeked gracie,

Her sand in the time of life hath run;

Pity was I , that I could not see,

My beloved after I had rested my weary arm,

The moon hath sunk on gracie for a grey day,

She had befallen the greatest harm;

I wandered across the breaking waves,

Lifting the sands my maiden had cherished,

The shores did not know, and were still moving,

Whilst their moon , she had perished;

It was a night of the full moon,

Yes , t'was the same gracie's moon,

That I crept bare feet to the shore,

And chiored for gracie , the oldest croon;

I picked sand from the floor , 

Like gracie had taught me in my eyes,

And I hummed the same old tune,

And blew towards gracie's skies;

T'was then that I heard , a prayer,

That gracie blew towards her moon,

" For all my stars and heavens,

May his cottage be finished soon";

What mercy hath undone me,

My beloved to be , was long last not mine,

I built a cottage under gracie's moon,

But gracie's moon did shed no shine;

WHEN SUMMERS WERE SUMMERS

In time , when summers were summers,
I knew where the trees grew,
In time , when summers were summers,
I know , that I knew;

In time , when summers were summers,
The sky was always blue,
Even when it rained ,dark and grey,
The wetness was all so sweet and true;

In time , when summers were summers,
The river always ran where it should,
The dreams and thoughts were always verbs,
There were no songs of can or could;

In time , when summers were summers,
We sought our joys and smiles,
Knew not what the horizon was,
Yet , we stared at it from thousand a miles;

In time , when summers were summers,
Tunes were plain but all so sweet,
We rallied in the dirt of our dreams,
And came out , conquering neat;

In time , when summers were summers,
We raced on bare hands and feet,
There never was a winner , must say,
The finishing line , was an equal greet;

In time , when summers were summers,
The winters were always cold and calm,
In time , when summers were summers,
I confess , the summers were warm;

HOME COMING

DEDICATED TO ALL THOSE WHO ARE AWAY FROM HOME......AND CAN'T WAIT TO GET BACK...................


Spread roses on the roads,
Call everyone on to the streets,
I'm seeking my welcome,
I'm waiting for my greets;

Let there be a parade,
Confetti and flowers,
Let it start at dawn,
And go into the dark hours;

Call all the fair maidens,
Decorate the strong men,
The world shall never see such a return,
Not ever , not now and not then;

Blow the horns , sound the drums,
Gift every little child a toy,
Today we call ecstasy and rapture,
Today we meet unconfined joy;

Bring out everyone today,
The young and the old,
Let the men carry swords,
Let the ladies wear gold;

Ride me in a golden chariot,
Take me to my dome,
Someone call my mother,
I AM COMING HOME;

NOTHING BETTER

Everyday , I fell down,
There was nothing better,
Than Crying in her arms;

Everyday , I went hungry,
There was nothing better,
Than being fed by her;

Everynight , I went to sleep,
There was nothing better,
Than being rocked by her;

Every morning , I woke up,
There was nothing better,
Than being rocked by her;

Every day , I went to school,
There was nothing better,
Than being dressed by her;

Every day , I came back home,
There was nothing better,
Than being welcomed by her;

Everyday , I broke a vase,
There was nothing better,
Than being punished by her;

Everyday I did my homework,
There was nothing better ,
Than being rewarded by her;

This I did , everyday,
There was nothing better,
Than being with her;

Everyday , I remained a child,
There was nothing better,
Than having her for a mother;

BEREFT AND BESOUGHT

Deprived are they who have lost,

Every battle they could conjur,

Like Old men pray for their wisdom,

Whilst the flame in their cande dies;

But I know not why I carved you,

With my own two hands,

And I was left wanting  more chisels,

I was left bereft and I beseech;

Like a shadow which waits for light,

To be brought into existence,

I waited for another breath,

So I was left to create thee once again;

It rained on my hard stones ,day and night,

Whilst puddles dried in the heat of departure,

The lands which lay wet , were but shifting sands,

I was left bereft and I beseech;

Holding my own to hands captive,

I chiseled what I knew best,

Love , peace and treasure in a single stroke,

In a single stone I carved the wanting of a life;

Careful , so I may not undo that smile,

With a wrinke of  pain and bad judgement,

For stones are many to chisel in life,

But my muse stays single and lone ,forever;

The silhouette of your grace was eternal,

Yet In a day it grew confined and unreal,

Could the sun not shine from the other end,

Or could you not move towards a new beginning;

Grave was the stone I chose to see you in,

And now it embers with pride,

Can I not create you once again,

I am left bereft and I beseech;

THE DEATH I DREAMT OF

Ae , breathless and blue,

With drawn lids of peace,

Cold and pale under the snow,

Blowing my life with the winter breeze;

With my red on the white snow,

Flowing the way all life will,

Freezing in three seconds,

Browning before standing still;

Next to a pond I lay,

Silent and dry eyed,

The ripples seized with my life,

And my last gasp, I sighed;

Slept I under paper lanterns,

Shimmering amidst the loving snow,

Yet , ember glow in the night,

Lighting me with a tender throw;

The death I dreamt of,

In dream land , that were free,

Blossoming after my life, Covered ,

By petals from my sakura tree;

ON MY WAY TO MY GHETTO

Sunken roses and choices dark,

And ember of hope through night,

On my way to my ghetto,

Till the break of native light;

Strewn dreams and iced words,

With not an oarsman in sight,

On my way to my ghetto,

To embrace my fancy , my fright;

Races and colours, all were blind,

Apathy and ignorance to the chains,

On my way to my ghetto,

Through darkstruck and midnight lanes;

Bare feet and bare armed,

Marching the way to burns,

On my way to my ghetto,

As the saeason of rhyme turns;

Kin and fair, carved on a promise,

For warmth in the winter of my choice,

On my way to my ghetto,

Where hearts are keys , men are toys;

NOT A FLOWER PRETTY ENOUGH

Bewildered wanders the wanderer,

For a cheery lass this road,

To find a flower pretty enough,

On this evening hard and cold;

Stumbling over the leaves,

Of rust and fairies said,

Through the evenings of summer,

With stars of winter over head;

Spending nights with woods and fire,

With tales of heroes in heavens above,

To find a flower pretty enough,

To colour this so told love;

To flow with my fancy,

From early ripples to shore,

T'was to find a flower pretty enough,

Such could not be sought before;

Through shimmers of winters cruel,

I beseech my floral quest,

T'was to find a flower pretty enough,

To embrace my fair , my best;

I did not go rainbow into my journey,

For dark were lands I passed,

To bring home a flower pretty enough,

For my beloved , had me asked;

Death hath me in shackles,

Before this job , t'was done,

I saw not my pretty flower,

But my quest I hath won;

For with my final sights, I knew I sighted,

That which was worth being sought,

There was not a flower pretty enough,

For me beloved , I could have bought;

UPON THE HALLOWED NIGHT

Upon the hallowed night , of yea june,

Where a maiden sway , all long ye night,

Of twinkles fancy and rhyme ye song,

Of charmers and the charmed unite;

Lucky , soul be of yea sight,

Of shadows of the moonlight glow,

Healing the fancies of ye hearts,

Naught  wounds for starry show;

Flamey glance of lights shimmer,

And a song to spring's tune;

Rhyming with thine cheery,

as beauty to honeysuckle june;

Ember is the night at departure,

Dawning for a story new,

Dewing for nights eternal,

Of  starry sky less blue;

Upon the hallowed night , of yea june,

Where a maiden sway , all long ye night,

And pages blazed in brim of  love,

For portraits of thine pretty's might;

THE TWINING OF THE RUD

 

Passioned into being,

Like wine from a vine,

We let our love lose reason,

As ye hearts began to twine;

 

Yae , the silhouettes of night,

In a  song not forlorn,

Of shadows of ye hearts,

Never meant to be torn;

 

Under ye moaning stars,

And the thaw of the snow,

We let the river flow again,

For ye rud of love to flow;

 

Vested with thine beauty,

We marched on to shore,

Ventured into ye rud of love,

With a flowered and rhymey oar;

 

Of ye woods which sail the rivers,

Thine love knows no bound,

We strived against dark ripples,

In ye rud of love we drowned;

 

Darkstruck was the land,

To which we bid adieu,

We sailed into ye rud of love,

No captain and no crew;

 

Pray thee for a safe land,

Where clear be the brine,

On the shores of thine glow,

Shall , our hearts again entwine;

 

Passioned into being,

Like wine from a vine,

We let our love lose reason,

As ye hearts began to twine;

 

TO THE LEADERS OF THE WORLD

TO THE LEADERS OF THE WORLD,
" I have a dream ";

I dream ,that I would be healthy,
My neighbour dreams ,that he would not be sick;

I dream ,I may have my favourite dish for supper,
My neighbour ,dreams that he may not go hungry;

I dream ,that I may travel far and wide under a blue sky,
My neighbour dreams, that he may not be killed in his own home;

I dream ,that my mum would pick me up from school everyday,
My neighbour dreams ,he could see his late mother for just another day;

I dream ,I may get colourful new clothes this new year,
My neightbour dreams ,he won't go bare for another day;

I dream ,I may get my masters in medicine,
My neighbour dreams ,he could read and write;

I dream , I may see the TAJ MAHAL in summer,
My neighbour dreams , he might not have to see another missile;

I dream ,I may see a movie everyday in a multiplex,
My neighbour dreams , he may not see more blood and heads without bodies;

I dream ,I may one day hold the keys to my own benz,
My neighbour dreams , he may never hold a kaleshnikov;

I dream , I may one day write about my past,
My neighbour dreams , he may one day build his own future;

LEADERS OF THE WORLD , My neighbour is human and so am I,
Why do never dream of the same ????????????????????

DEAR MR.SHOPKEEPER MAN

Dear Mr.Shopkeeper man,

Though I be cripple and blind,

I cross the street with a hope.

This list I wrote this morning,

Hope my quest fares well,

Not mine , but the hunger of ages,

Is to be satisfied by what I seek.

A big packet of peace,

No matter the cost,

I shall buy it,

To garnish man's abode.

A double purchase of a box of love,

It is the salt , which will make this world,

A better to place to live in,

For man has lost the soft in his heart,

His heart a chisel , that carves every unturning stone.

A bottle of hope for the orphans across the street,

The little ones haven't had their supper yet,

And I worry , they might not get their share,

When the care takers arrive , theirs is an

appetite that fills on three servings of charity.

Would you also give me a carton of amnesia,

I pray that they don't miss their mothers.

And please pack it with a heart if you have any,

So they may not miss the love that they have lost.

And the final item on the list , to make my room pure,

A bug spray , that would kill all the missiles flying in my room,

And destroy all the guns , that keep me awake at night,

With their most horrible bites and stings.

Dear Mr.Shopkeeper man , though I am a little child,

And cannot afford that which I have asked,

Mr.Shopkeeper man, are you all out of my items,

Or have these wonderful little things ,

Not come into market yet? 

LIKE THINE GOOD LASS WOULD LIKE

Like thine good lass would like , 

Would the humbled doth obey,

Cheery' be my journey,

Heavenly be spent my night' away;

Of the flicker of melted sapphire' and gold,

Shall my ember words be read in heart',

Of the sister's of grim and dismay,

Shall the day do our love apart;

Like thine good lass would like,

The youth words be so told,

Riding chariots and steads,

Weigh' and carry my words of gold;

To be in and under love, But to know,

Not the beauty of a gentle kiss,

Where death had embraced birth,

Of sweet joy and starry bliss;

Like thine good lass would like,

Shall I be the burns to your nancy,

Know I not a Mary Morison,

Thine be my rhymey fancy;

Like thine good lass would like,

Here , does my pledge wither,

On , the high seas and low lands,

I shall rhyme thee , far and hither;

EVERYDAY AND FORTNIGHTS

But to verse ,  T'was a dream,

Lo' beloved , as would seem,

Lo' beloved , of ember pink,

Thine rhyme , of scented ink;

But to sing , T'was a time,

Lo' beloved , Love sublime,

Lo' beloved , of eyes wet,

Thine tune , of melody set;

But to touch , T'was never,

Lo' beloved , pretty forever,

Lo' beloved , of notes of a fiddle,

Thine keys , of love's own riddle;

But to thaw , T'was a season,

Lo' beloved , T'was a reason,

Lo' beloved , of hearts that melt,

Thine tips , the love we felt;

But to meet , T'was everyday and  fortnights,

Lo' beloved , of the cold cold nights,

Lo' beloved , of ember glow,

everyday and fortnights , T'is love to know;

CUT THROAT BRIDE

Here comes the bride,

All dressed in white,

Showers and bouquets,

For a blood stained night;

With the choir, in tune,

Oh,the wedding in fantasy land,

The bouquet gets not the first night,

But a hatchet in her left hand;

"Do you the undead , take this man,

To be your unlawfully butchered meal?",

Were the words but a mistake?

Was the oath death's own seal?

" I do " , bled the cut throat bride,

With a lust for blood in her eyes,

The bride's family rejoiced ,

The groom's was left with cries;

"Do you take this demon,

To be your unlawful slayer?"
"I do", whispered the groom,

With a tear and a prayer;

"Then , by the power vested in me,

By the unholy spirits of doom,

I know pronounce you hunter and prey,

You may eat the groom"

CUT THROAT BRIDE

A LETTER UNDER THE SAKURA

Let the sakura drown , in pink,
Of a maiden's twinkle, and shine,
The words meant to be spoken ,
In a midnight , to this love of mine;

As beautiful as it be in it's fall,as pretty,
As the flower stay on the bough,
Shall my love be for the amused,
Though victory be miles to go;

The ink and blushes be scented,
By the falling petals and sun,
The deed for the spring's sake be,
To die for , if not fate smile " WON";

Shall , the shade under my precious,
Forever be mine , to share?
The blossoms shall blossom here,
And console the grieving at another there;

A letter under the sakura , to cherish,
May it's charm and trust be gifted,
For the charmer and the charmed,
The floral love be grace lifted;

AND THEN MARCHED THE HEARTS

OH, the night belong to the piglrims,

of love and dainty scent,

where love was meant to be,
and love be what was meant;

Through, the dark struck slumber,

yet, the twilight be for dawn and dusk,

hearts , thou were the beauty,

Of the frozen love and the musk;

Glades and meadows be a dream,

where love had started a wander,

And , then marched the hearts,

to find love beyond and yonder;

And , then marched the hearts,

zeal be a guide to hope,

Never had man sought greater depth,

That be hung at the end of a rope;

OH , SNOW AND SHINE

oh , snow and shine,
under the melting sun,
shed thine crystal drops,
with the hours' run;

fare well to thee winter,
as i kiss my spring,
fare well to thee earth,
as i spread my wing;

thou has done me no wrong,
but i find my better in my love,
below is where i find my past,
my love and future lie above;

though the dawn be lovely all around,
I have but two eyes to behold,
love be the beautiful merchant,
to whom life and soul be sold;

humbled be the hopeless,
when hope be a welcome guest,
love be the greatest host
love be the beautiful best;

It is thine sparkle,oh love,
which gets the wide awake to dream,
the dreams which last till conquest,
though conquest itself be a dream;

oh , snow and shine,
under the melting sun,
shed thine crystal drops,
with the hours' run;

UNTIL WE MEET AGAIN

Let this night behold, and bear,
One final dance for the struck,

If the strings were to stop tonight,

When the master , seized his luck;

If the prints in the snow could narrate,

The pain of thine sweet departure,

The tears of the season's thaw,

And the final dance of rapture;

The paper lanterns amidst the dark,

Shimmer with the foot steps of your dance,

Sheding tears of flame to your departure,

Waiting to wither with a final chance;

Alas beloved , until we meet again,

May the distance be many a season,

To thine happiness and return, the sakura,

And my rhyme be a floral reason;

TO A THOUSAND MORE HOURS

A thousand more hours to write,

A thousand more flowers to wilt,

Every second to depart from thee,

Love is your's pain and guilt;

Speak to me in a thousand voices,

For seconds are hard to turn,

Be a lass for the hopeless,

As the sun charred to burn;

Sit by the window , oh queen,

so dreams may do pain apart,

magic showers unto the spring,

as blossoms and blooms thine heart;

To the twinkling snow , a flake,

as my love to your beauty,

joy , joy , unto this season,

where flowers and love a plenty;

As to the shores , is a grain,

though it be dust and dry,

beauty without a beast,

lies a sad song without a cry;

As does a drink or two,

to make the mirrored wretched smile,

to be a guide to the lost , who seeks,

pain , not before a pleasant while;

Wear not your hair in curls,

let the lines of beauty flow,

I shall follow , where the glow leads,

where the breeze may make them go;

The words which make the plains sober,

yet the greens may never grow,

for all the beasts shall have their fill,

when hope tried to bloom and forever so ;

To a thousand more hours,

To draw thee on a wall of white,

So thine smile and joy forever be,

painted not in the darkness of night;

MEET ME ON ANOTHER DAY

run away home now, innocent one
before my words lose their taste,
I write not before awaiting your eyes,
Ink and rhyme is a terrible thing to waste;

meet me on another day, companion
when I see shall see a brighter sun,
when a loved one departs , or
a voyager's race is won;

I need for now a willing muse,
so I may move my arm , to a tune
smooth yet disturbed in it's flow,
shifting in phase , as a shifting dune;

cover my eyes with words and rhyme,
so I may see and write with my heart,
a blinded soul to help another blinded,
may perish in a second or go a distance far;

let love shine in the eyes of the beloved,
songs of love to kill a hate filled curse,
so a sensitive loner may find his heart,
and write what he calls his own romantic verse;

meet me on another day, companion
before my words lose their taste,
I write not before your awaiting eyes,
my words do not blossom in haste;

THE ROSE THAT BLEEDS

the heart that loves,

the soul that pleads,

the songs which confess,

the rose that bleeds;

the clouds start to meet,

as the rain turns sweet,

time for one more winter,

as it turns into sleet;

the chord being struck,

the harp is made of gold,

the angel has wings,

or so i was told;

drippng drops of it,

into the oceans calm,

you stand against the wind,

only to feel as warm;

to spend your lives on paper,

in the colours of your ink,

you write about love,

and only then do you think;

the mirror in the waters,

does it reveal to you twice,

a love so steady and true, or

trembling as the roll of a dice?

eulogy for the demised love,

in its' most beautiful rites,

cannot be remembered better,

than in the ink of a loner's writes........

PUT ME TO REST

put me to rest , this night,
lend me your loving shoulder,
before i cease my breath,
and the night gets any older;

let the midnight flowers blossom,
before it is time to say goodbye,
make me smile my loved one,
before you get ready to cry;

what man approves the dark hour,
but those who have known love,
they face their heads on the ground,
and talk to the stars above;

i have seen my reflection in the ripples,
my tears set them ablaze,
the words you sing to me tonight,
confessions thourgh an angelic gaze;

give me a reason to smile, before dawn
on this night the stars twinkle and shimmer,
in your eyes i have seen all seasons tonight,
fall , winter , spring and summer;

forgive my passion on this lonely night,
so many nights i've spent to now bid adeu,
the leaves of autumn will fall next year as well,
and the calendars will again show a future new;

put me to rest , my love and past,
are behind , my dreaded dawn nears,
as i bury myself in the graveyard of dreams,
as i drown in the ocean of my tears;

LOVE LIGHT SONATA

DEDICATED TO LUDWIG VAN BEETHOVEN AND HIS MOON LIGHT SONATA...

love is the moonlight itself,

a radiant cover,

a rendezvous,

for the hopeless lover;

a walk through the forest,

in the dark of night,

the most romantic evening,

for the blind at sight;

burn thou loving heart,

of the petals of red,

living in your dreams,

with a valentine on your bed;

touched by an angel,

on this sinful earth,

judging worth in gold,

where gold is worth;

singing songs to the flowers,

which talk to the deaf,

watching the stage and the play,

after everyone has left;

a puppet left alone,

with all his strings tied,

crying in the nights,

for the nights that he cried;

moonlight sonata is,

the moon itself,

a song played now and then,

but always left alone on the shelf;

ROSE GIRL KIM

DEDICATED TO KIM........................WHO COULDN'T STAY LONGER WITH US.........................

Gather your rose kim,
It has blossomed before you,
It will bloom much longer,
More than you will do;

You loved the sea,yet,
Stayed away from the shore,
You loved your life,but
Never asked for more;

You loved the voyage ships,
But never went to the harbour,
You wanted to know love, but
Can't get a knight in a shining armour;

You wanted to learn so much,
You wanted to travel far,
slowly and silently, you ,
plucked the petals from your own heart;

The rose looks so much prettier,
In your rose shaded hands,
Wish it could give you it's days,
Give you another chance;

A rose for a rose,
Would make the world pink,
Remove all the clots,
Give fragrance to my ink;

It's time someone shared my pain,
So I wouldn't bear your grief alone,
That you couldn't live longer,
To be a rose of your own;

It's time to wave goodbye , dip
into the eternal sea , for your eternal swim,
No matter where you are in the ocean,
You'll always be my ROSE GIRL KIM

BURY ME , UNDER MY SAKURA

When the sakura, finally touch the ground
Bury me under my sakura tree,
An ode to when the sky was clear and high,
An ode to when a poet's words were free;

My deeds I shall pay for,
My destiny is certain in heaven or hell,
Even so , bury me under my sakura tree,
All is well , That ends well;

They say , a sakura is lovely on the gentle bough,
As it is , fallen on the ground,
And so, may my many an ode to sakura,
be remembered , when I'm six feet down;

May all the smiles that I've shared,
May all the words that I've said,
Keep falling like my beloved Sakura,
Keep falling on the wanderer's head;

Let my grave , be covered with Sakura,
And blossom with it's gentle pink,
May all the hearts that I've known,
Remember my futile words and my ink;

I know not when I shall meet my mortal fate,
I pray it be with dignity , faith and grace,
I smile , only the beauty of my Sakura, Can make me
write of death , with a smile on my face..........

FORGIVE MY PRIDE

Forgive me master,

I have wronged my soul,

I've written a story,

Not to be told;

I've made a tune,

To a forbidden song,

Sung it out load,

Knowing it was wrong;

Played a game of seek,

When I was to hide,

I buried my modesty,

And embraced my pride;

I was looking at the sky,

When I had fallen down,

I was flapping my wings,

When my feet were on the ground;

To pen a legacy,

With the Ink of wrong,

I double spaced my words,

To make it seem long;

I am a child of man,

I always sin,

And beg for mercy,

Like all my kin;

I've done no good,

I know no truth,

I'm a hypocrite who pretends,

To have the sweetest fruit;

Forgive me master , I'm a sailor,

Unaware of the wave and the tide,

I carve ripples on the sea which read,

FORGIVE MY LIES AND FORGIVE MY PRIDE;

MAKE ME ONE WITH THE ROSES

trample not my budding bud,
for the rains draw near,
to give me colour that I live for,
make me one with the roses,
of red, yellow and white;

to live through an year,
of all seasons,
summer,winter and fall,
let me be one with the roses,
and be captive,
in the soft hands of a fair maiden;

pluck not these delicate petals,
which are attire to my fragnance,
they shall , one day be the fountain,
where bees may gather..
for honey cold , golden and sweet
to be born.........

make me one with my brethren,
the lotus , the sunflower
and the cherry blossom
so that we may together create
a rainbow of a million colours,
not just seven,
MAKE ME ONE WITH THE ROSES.......

THE VOYAGE WE MADE

A REFERENCE TO THE SONG " AMERICAN WAKE " ...............FROM THE IRISH RIVER DANCE

we watched the darkening of the moon,
stared at the bleeding of the sun,
as our souls were covered with grey,
from the fire we started to burn;

our crops said their final good byes,
our flowers started losing their chrome,
we were left to make a voyage,
across the oceans to find a new home;

our dancing feet for once had,
no tune to dance to on the way,
yet we took our music with us,
knowing , we would play it soon one day;

the ships have left the shores,
and we wave our memories to the ghosts,
even those who were orphaned long ago,
found new parents in the brown of our boats;

with this voyage , we protect our music,
so that our children may have a glance,
we gift them to our children , over these seas,
THE VOYAGE WE MADE , to save our song and dance.

WHEN IN VENICE

where do i take

you traveller?

venice is a romantic place..

would you like to smell the scent

or drown into these gleaming waters?

the buildings of by gone ages

swim with a newer spirit..

as old men sing songs

they learnt from their mothers..

would you like to write it down

or paint them into your heart?

as the ferries dance to the twilight

and the women return home

to sleep under the venice moon

and over the gentle waters

traveller , you wonder

is this city...with candles so bright

the last place to visit on this earth?

yes, oh traveller,

as my oars sink and my arms tire..

I , your guide..will take you closer

to where the sun meets the sea..

And I shall leave you with these words..

Which I have told many a good men

WHEN IN VENICE , meet me

WHEN IN VENICE , meet me

FROM HALIFAX WITH LOVE

Gentle boats against a blue sky,
A tiny manhattan a little above
It's all in the eyes of the beholder,
It's all FROM HALIFAX WITH LOVE;

As the lights from the successful men,
Kisses the trembling ripples of blue,
You wonder , if it's just a dream,
Or is this LOVE FROM HALIFAX , really true;

I wonder how it would be, when those
gleaming waves hit the rocky shore,
An Ode To Atlantis Of Gold may be,
I've never been in HALIFAX before;

And when the clocks strike midnight.
will this gentle creature still look so bright?
Will it still be a burning neon world?
Or will it shimmer from the beauty of twilight?

The sun melts into these lovely waters,
You would believe , a maiden lost her gold,
This poem is too small an ode to HALIFAX,
The true story of love , is yet to be told;

MOONLIGHT AND SAXAPHONE

blowing love in to a saxaphone,

as the tides hit the shore,

one final dance for the romantic,

under the moon like never before;

bare foot on the sands of night,

as you groove to the golden tune,

not changing the music or melody,

you've been playing since noon;

you keep playing your saxaphone

dancing with the shifitng moon above,

whispering words like SENTIMENTAL,

confessing words like FOREVER IN LOVE;

wishing you could do this forever for the lady of the moon,

disappointed these midnight clocks you spend alone,

as poetry changes form to music and light,

and you wonder , MOONLIGHT AND SAXAPHONE;

LITTLE CHILD OF MINE , COME RUNNING HOME

DEDICATED TO ALL THE MOTHERS WHO HAVE LOST THEIR KIDS DURING WARS AND BATTLES ...,HAVE NO CLUE WHERE THEY ARE.....BUT STILL WAIT AT THE DOORSTEP HOPING THEY WOULD RETURN

drops from the rain,
wouldn't seem so sweet,
as I wait for the sun rise,
on the day we might get to meet;

LITTLE CHILD OF MINE , COME RUNNING HOME;
PRETTY CHILD OF MINE , COME RUNNING HOME;

grains of the sand , seem,
so wet from the rain,
fresh as they were born,
I just can't hide my pain;

LITTLE CHILD OF MINE , COME RUNNING HOME;
PRETTY CHILD OF MINE , COME RUNNING HOME;

I asked you to stop and take directions,
you know you will lose your way,
your still a little kid,
all you want is fun and play;

LITTLE CHILD OF MINE , COME RUNNING HOME;
PRETTY CHILD OF MINE , COME RUNNING HOME;

with a meal still hot,
and a bed tucked with love,
all I could see was you , as I,
stared at the clocks above;

LITTLE CHILD OF MINE , COME RUNNING HOME;
PRETTY CHILD OF MINE , COME RUNNING HOME;

the sounds of guns and cannons,
filled my heart with fear,
I ran into the streets to fetch you,
hoping you were still near;

LITTLE CHILD OF MINE , COME RUNNING HOME;
PRETTY CHILD OF MINE , COME RUNNING HOME;

on the roads and through the alleys,
hoping to get hold of your hand,
I couldn't see your shining hair,
from the place I used to stand;

LITTLE CHILD OF MINE , COME RUNNING HOME;
PRETTY CHILD OF MINE , COME RUNNING HOME;

and I wandered into midnight,
praying you were still close,
BUT WHERE YOU LIE COLD AND STILL,
NO ONE REALLY KNOWS;

LITTLE CHILD OF MINE , COME RUNNING HOME;
PRETTY CHILD OF MINE , COME RUNNING HOME;

FAIRY TALE WANDERER

the sky must be clear and high,

just so everyone below it has a smile,

the road must go on,

just so you can travel another mile;

it is no matter if the world is grave,

just so the heart finds a cheer,

the way you walk must be slow,

just so you're home would be near;

appreciate the light of the day,

just so you may love the sun,

appreciate the smell of roses,

just so you may lay a garden;

be a warrior for the ages,

just so you may hold a sword,

be a guide to the lost,

just so you may know the road;

be a poet for the ages,

just so you may be a ponderer,

break the shackles of human boundary,

just so you may be a FAIRY TALE WANDERER;

DAYS OF GLORY

ask not the shifting sands of time,
what we did in the yester year,
it is the ticking clock that awaits us,
our days of glory draw near;

from the deserts of rajasthan,
to the kerala back waters,
a midnight hymn is chanted with reverence,
by each one's sons and daughters;

yet we shed tears for the blood stained,
as humanity is still a mirror yet to be seen,
it's time the ignorance makes way for a flame,
know what we seek from where we have been;

and here we stand at dawn's early light,
salutation to the three colours , we know not what they mean,
let us vow to break the shackles of illiteracy,
write a rhyme for the saffron , white and green;

and a few years from now, when ashes be ashes,
and dust be dust , of the seen and heard of story,
i still believe we have blossomed like a lotus should,
i still believe , 61 years on , we script our DAYS OF GLORY;

WELCOME HOME WANDERER

This is the second pat of my earlier poem SAKURA ON THE POND. I suggest that you read SAKURA ON THE POND and then move onto WELCOME HOME WANDERER

my sakura on the pond , it has been many a seasons of the snow,
is it raining so soon , or do you begin to shed a tear?
my grief and wait shall be received by your petals no longer,
my heart starts to believe my wanderer draws near;

oh wanderer , the fire flies shed their flame even in the light of day,
to welcome your warmth , oh swordsman of the yester year,
have your battles been done with and conflicts resolved?, as you now
pave the way for love on a road built on the end to all fear;

many a sakura of mine , have withered with the moments,
my heart now begins to grow weak and tire,
the love for you is the only blood that rushes to my heart,
the only fuel , which burns what I call fire;

I asked you once," could the scars you bear
ever cross paths with the scars that I treat?",
you replied," when two scars cross their destinies
they only grow deeper where they meet";

and now as I stare into the pacific horizon,
i see your scars lighted by the sun's warmth,
my sakura shall bloom again next winter,
as I now WELCOME YOU HOME WANDERER with open arms;

SAKURA ON THE POND

why would you ask these fire flies?

why I shed tears on this lovely night,

I find comfort in these waters and trees,

as I wait for you wanderer , till the dawn of light;

I see your memories in these ripples on the water,

scented by the tears from my kimono wet,

do these glowing angels not bear witness to your departure?

are they not gifts from the moment we met?;

perhaps , the season was not one for love,

you had to be a wanderer with the shifting snow,

but the heart stays soft , like my sakura

on the trembling water and on the steady bough;

I will wait till the end of this winter,

I will wait till the end of every season,

I will wait with my sakura on the pond,

till death gives me a stronger reason;

will our story be remembered even after we're gone?

will these words of mine ever be sung as a song?

for now, all I have are your memories and love,

that I share with my SAKURA ON THE POND;

P.S.:- SAKURA IS THE JAPANESE NAME FOR CHERRY BLOSSOM. PROBABLY THE MOST BEAUTIFUL THING YOU CAN SEE IN A JAPANESE WINTER WHEN IT SNOWS

SHOT IN THE HEAD

ever had your dreams shattered?
breath softer than the dead?
fate seem a cruel cupid?
you've been shot in the head;

do not say the woods are dark and deep,
these verses have already been said,
you don't have to worry about promises to keep,
when you've been shot in the head;

do not speak of the love so pink,
of the roses all so red,
care no longer for the valentine rhyme,
once you've been shot in the head;

you despise the morbid fools,
who decide to slumber in their casket bed,
pain is not a contagious season,
it exists once you've been shot in the head;

SHOT IN THE HEAD , is a figure of speech,
THE DUKE uses , to paint when your hopes tire,
felt all but once in a life time ,
when the flame inside, has been burnt by a hotter fire;

THE MIRROR REMAINS BROKEN

the mirror remains broken,

truth is no longer said,

my tears which were as crystals,

are now shown as crimson red;

the broken shards of reflection,

turn my smile , full of pain,

the hallway I strolled to get to my mirror,

is now painted , as a midnight lane;

do not touch the sharp tips of the broken truth,

unless you desire , your soul to bleed,

" objects in the mirror are sadder than they appear",

is the only message ,I could bear to read;

when the window to your soul is broken,

its not a single you , there are several it shows,

it kills all the melody and rhyme,

turns your poetry , into never ending prose;

fix your mirror which remains broken,

unless your existence is namesake,

every morning you look at yourself,

to put together the broken glass , when you awake;

OF ROSES AND HEARTS

of roses and hearts the wise men speak,
poets indeed spend many a sleepless night,
blushes and twinkles in maiden's eyes,
the damsels have been struck by twilight;

of roses and hearts the world sings,
each day a brand new song of love,
the romantics spend their hearts on paper,
a mercy plea to the heavens above;

of roses and hearts the flowers bloom,
each colour a new answer to the dear one,
the age old question of " what is love?",
are answered by the hues of the petals under the sun;

of roses and hearts the little ones murmur,
what is it that makes the pretty ones smile?
how can something feel so magical and pure,
that your heart forgets the beat for that little while;

of roses and hearts , a thousand words are written,
with pens flavoured with lovely ebony and pink,
the scents that are sprinkled , for the dear one,
to show the love , in the colour of your ink;

I DON'T NEED FUNERALS ANYMORE

the hour's getting late,

the seconds tick faster , for a dying soul,

prepare the wretched for six feet under,

the tombstone is not of compassion , it is stone cold;

they say prayers are what the soul feeds on,

like a paper feeds on the words of a sensitive loner,

but what would the pall bearers be without death,

scouts to the other side , grim weepers with honour?

tears don't make for a beautiful ceremony,

death can never be with dignity and pride,

would the dead look prettier in the tuxedos,

with a lot of eulogies and tears by their side?

do the priests really care for the deceased?

they did not even know them during their breathing days,

and now , the dearly departed's fate lies with,

their handful of right's and wrong's in uncountable ways;

the DUKE has not been to be a lot of funerals,

very little does he know of the word "DEATH",

the DUKE on this hour , chooses to be a romantic,

write of hope , faith and love with every BREATH;

FOR THE ONES WHO KNOW

i need to know , under this cloud,
is it only sadness , that exists in pain?
can't the greiving deceive themselves,
mistake their own tears for rain?

i need to know , next to this shore,
is a sailor , not a sailor away from the docks?
can't a romantic write of roses and hearts,
staring at the darkness of the midnight clocks?

i need to know , next to the pyre,
is a lesson , not a lesson , if you don't learn?
is a flame , not a flame,
if it's kiss , doesn't burn?

i need to know , from this river,
is something not true , always a lie?
would you still call water , water,
even if it's touch leaves you dry?

i need to know ,from the looking glass
is being not dead , a sign of life?
would you still be a poet,
if you dropped your pen , and used a knife?

SLEEP WELL , ON THIS DARK NIGHT

THE 11TH YEAR OF MEIJI , MAY 14TH ...................ON THIS DAY,KENSHIN HIMURA RETURNED TO WANDERING ONCE AGAIN.AND INTO THE PITCH BLACK DARKNESS HE DISAPPEARED , ALONE................THESE VERSES ARE DEDICATED TO KENSHIN HIMURA............

sleep well ,on this dark night,

the wind blows a single way,

the leaves that tremble amidst the breeze,

shall not live , to tremble on another day;

sleep well, on this dark night,

the moon shines with a full face,

the clouds that swim on the black sky,

shall soon perish , without a trace;

sleep well , on this dark night,

mellow to the the sounds of the rain,

the hapless soul , once with a smile,

shall soon be , a portrait of pain;

sleep well, on this dark night,

the seconds on the clock drift by,

the orphan pianists who once sang,

shall soon play the knell and cry;

sleep well, on this dark night,

of the funeral , of one called hope,

which existed in the hearts of men,

now hangs, at the end of a rope;

sleep well, on this dark night,

the coming days, tell fables of hell,

tuck yourself in , all alone,

IT'S A DARK NIGHT, SO SLEEP WELL;

ALL ABOUT LOVE

all i ever wanted from love,
was to know i've loved before,
but what's with the love and the heart?
its not just a cry i sing at night,
its a wound that bleeds without a fight,
why dont you just tell me ALL ABOUT LOVE;

as i walk into the rain,
there's less of joy , more of pain,
but what's with the rain and the music?
its not just the sky that's grey,
there's a dead end in every way,
why dont you just tell me ALL ABOUT LOVE;

it's true i've written songs for you,
about the green grass and the sky of blue,
but what's with the colours and your smile?
all the nights that i've kept awake,
the ink that i've spent for your love's sake,
why dont you just tell me ALL ABOUT LOVE;

it's true i've stared at the stars at night,
watched the sun, though it was bright,
but what's with the light and the faith?
may be i am one of a kind,
why does love make you blind?
why dont you just tell me ALL ABOUT LOVE;

it's true that someday i'll die,
but my love for you will still live by,
whats with the death and the dark?
it's true that none of us are brave,
yet we spread flowers on the grave,
why dont you just tell me ALL ABOUT LOVE;

RANDOM CHANCE

you wandered into the woods,
saw them crying on the roof,
but you dont really care for
tears do you?
one and two, they all went by,,
you stood there and saw them cry

LIFE IS JUST A GAME OF RANDOM CHANCE;

summer,winter,days go by,
the sun and moon , they change the sky,
but you dont really care for
seasons do you?
day and night you brave the storm,
have these words carved on your arm,

LIFE IS JUST A GAME OF RANDOM CHANCE;

all around is hate and hate,
love amongst just has to wait,
but you dont really care for
love do you?
all you see people cry,
all around the dead walk by,

LIFE IS JUST A GAME OF RANDOM CHANCE;

there are words,which touch the heart,
some say it's talent,few call it art,
but you dont really care for
the pen do you?
all you seek is a moment of fame,
people to call you by your name,

LIFE IS JUST A GAME OF RANDOM CHANCE;.................................................................

WHEN I DIE

when i die,

no tears to bleed;

when i die,

no eulogy to read;

when i die,

no flowers to be spread;

when i die,

no praises will be said;

when i die,

friends will just walk by;

when i die, even my pride,

won't spare a cry;

a joy of dark,

when i cease my breath;

like cutting my birthday cake,

with the knife of death;

no sad melodies,

for the grieving ears;

the moment they had waited,

for all these years;

next to next,

death lies in wait;

who dares to kiss it?

flirt with mortal fate;

innocent little kids die,

so do the trees and birds;

but a poet is remembered,

only by his words;

AHH, i've been buried,

under the grey sky;

farewell to arms,

it's time to DIE;

NO REGRETS

no regrets for the nights i've cried,
no regrets for the eyes i've dried,
no regrets for the words i've said,
no regrets for the price i've paid;

no regrets for the crimson thoughts,
no regrets for the dreams i've lost,
no regrets for the sins i've laid,
no regrets for the price i've paid;

no regrets for the words i've penned,
no regrets for the lies i defend,
no regrets for the hopes i trade,
no regrets for the price i've paid;

no regrets for the days in pain
no regrets for the smiles i've slain,
no regrets for the errors i've made,
no regrets for the price i've paid;

no regrets for sharing a verse,
no regrets for writing a curse,
no regrets for the words that fade,
no regrets for the price i've paid;

THE FINAL LOVE

my last few smiles
my last few words
my last few moments
with my final love

for she will depart
far far away
to see me again
on the never coming day

my last few gifts
my last few flowers
to care for her again
in her final hours

i've always loved her
never afraid to try
but she shall soon depart
leaving me to cry

walked along the beach
sang to the moon
who would have thought
this would end so soon

she was my hope
she was my light
who guided my spirit
to the day from the night

she's going far away
leaving me to hurt
ashes to ashes
dust to dust

as i wait for the moment
that dreaded hour
when i shall last see my love
my withering flower

the pain is too much
never felt such sorrow
cant live without her
hope i can follow

life would have been a nightmare
a great big strife
a great big strife
my final love , was my life

GARDEN OF BLISS

I sit all alone

from day to night

from wind to rain

from darkness to light

but i never smile

i know the reason why

you're the only flower i miss

in my lonely GARDEN OF BLISS

none to wipe my tears

bring me a smile

i've been all alone

for a long long while

but i never dream

i know the reason why

you're the only flower i miss

in my lonely GARDEN OF BLISS

surrounded by hues

none of them true

none as pretty

as lovely as you

but i never hope

i know the reason why

you're the only flower i miss

in my lonely GARDEN OF BLISS

watch the flowers grow

the canaries sing

the sweet smell of nectar

the lovely butterfly's wing

but i never blossom

i know the reason why

you're the only flower i miss

in my lonely GARDEN OF BLISS

the morning dew

the petals of spring

their sweet sweet aura

the joys they bring

but i never change

i know the reason why

you're the only flower i miss

in my lonely GARDEN OF BLISS

as my colours start to fade

as my petals die

the birds have all gone

their songs have turned into a cry

i will never love again

i know the reason why

you're the only flower i miss

in my lonely GARDEN OF BLISS

REBEL

damn, will i ever be accepted
or just get thrown into the corner
sadly rejected
i am so furious with myself
it doesnt even make sense
at times I wish I were past tense
dont look at me weird
im not a cookie elf
not gonna change for you
i like being myself
you really think im weird
better think again
still think the same way
youre the one who is insane
may be you are a suit , tie guy
and i am not
i wouldnt dress that way
even if that look were hot
so stop trying
you cant change me
if youre still not happy
might as well chain me

THE FIVE STAGES OF DEATH

DENIAL was on my lips,
I dare not believe,
didn't want to quit my breath,
still wanted to live;

ANGER i was filled with,
rage was all i knew,
the days i had to live,
i was told , were very few;

BARGAINING for my life,
in uncountable ways,
searching for a trick,
to increase my days;

DEPRESSION set in,
in the last few hours,
i decided to spend them,
with the dying flowers,

ACCEPTANCE i had to accept,
there and then,
the flame was about to die,
in the FLAMING PEN;

DEAD TIME STORY

mommy, read me a dead time story,


about the spirits in the air,


that little headless man,


beneath everyone's chair;

mommy,read me a dead time story,

about the walls turning red,

that ten year old girl,

lying under everyone's bed;

mommy,read me a dead time story,

about the priests who stay aloof,

that old woman in black,

that sings on our roof;

mommy,read me a dead time story,

filled with fear and horror,

who's that reverse headed girl,

i see next to me in the mirror?

mommy, read me a dead time story,

about the murder of four,

i heard it from that fat man,

who uses the wall and not the door;

mommy, i love your dead time stories,

they are so bloody and true,

but why am I the only one?

who can see you;

THE PAGES TURN DARK

they said the words still burn,

from the flaming pen,

one which burns the pages,

like it did back then;

sweet is the blade,

soft is the heart,

when it tastes blood,

and creates a piece of art;

words meant to be read,

in the darkest hours,

sipping the last few drops of blood,

watching a little girl play die with flowers;

the pages from my diary,

don't even turn,

do the words kill my soul?

when I let them burn;

do not read the words of the DUKE,

they will kill your soul,

the words which burn,

will leave you cold;

the DUKE gets to the dungeons,

through a walk in the park,

the pages were once bright,

but now, the pages turn dark;

DIRECTIONS

the highway was fast and dark,

seconds were left to stare;

the dreams crash-landed,

hopes were left bruised and bare;

the wheels kept going,

with a spark often to scare;

who knew when the ride would stop?

when , why and where?

with not a companion in sight,

OH , the road was too long to end;

i missed a turn quiet often,

went straight , where i had to follow the bend;

the tarmac was dark and grey,

laid with a lot of pain;

were my tears showing through the ride,

or was the looking glass covered with rain?

i missed the directions,

i took the wrong turn;

i ended the journey all alone,

where it had begun;

DEATH OF THE DUKE

death,death

is a love,

prayer to

the skies above,

lets all

look up

and pray;

clinging to

the heart,

knowing you won't

get very far,

death is not

a real game;

blood,blood

majesty,

the river's now

flowing red,

take a swim,

and feel

yourself;

leaves begin

to fall,

your tears start

to hit the wall,

lay back and

find your way;

treat life

with utter care,

don't break the mirror

with your stare,

DEATH OF THE DUKE

has to say;

CORPSE OF MISERY

close your eyes for a final time,

hold your breath for a final while,

wipe the sweat of your face,

your left only with a mile;

a long long time ago,

you wished you were dead,

you lie a corpse of misery,

on your casket bed;

even the sun is a bloody red,

you don't even see the moon,

you ran away from yourself,

got buried in your thorny dune;

no longer do you write for love,

no longer do you write about flowers,

you sold your soul to misery,

in your final few hours;

what's wrong with your soul?

does it no longer see the good in your life?

you are ready to drop your pen,

and willing to embrace a knife?;

so go on, close your eyes,

the righteous thing to do,

you're a corpse of misery,

no way , you can start life new;

FRAMED

i am innocent,

i've done no crime,

they found me guilty,

had to do the time;

i am innocent,

why am i in a cell?

don't know about heaven,

but i've seen hell;

they made me lose my life,

they made me lose my faith,

made me rot for my judgement,

they made me wait and wait;

they treated us like bait,

like specimens in jars,

they made us fake death,

behind the iron bars;

we were blinded,

by walls of law in every way,

hoping we would be free ,

to see the sun on another day;

they would not let us go,

they made us hold our breath,

and then they made us smile,

they made us hang till death;

ROSES AND CHOCOLATES , JUST FOR YOU

do i knock on your door?
i don't have a clue,
just roses and chocolates,
just for you;

the flowers are very bight,
but with petals a few,
fresh from shangri - la , nevertheless,
these roses and chocolates, just for you;

don't mock my attempts,
they are honest and true,
like the canopy of your beauty,
and these roses and chocolate , just for you;

your smile is what makes me smile,
the moments being very few,
as few as they are, they are sublime,
like these roses and chocolates , just for you;

please accept my affection,
these tears of mine , like the morning dew,
i don't know a lot about love,
but i have these roses and chocolates , just for you;

A FATE LESS KNOWN

join me comrades

on a journey not known

as i sail into the sunset

to reach a place called home

i know not what lies ahead

and what lies after

will my journey end in a tear?

will I sustain my laughter?

as i brave the waves

as i slay the beasts

will my fate show me a funeral?

will it show me a feast?

will light shine upon the faces?

which i crave to see

or will i drown into oblivion

to be a part of the sea?

will i dine with kings?

sleep on a royal bed?

or doomed to be a captive

live the life of the dead?

i know not my fate

what my destiny holds for then

i burn my uncertainties

with my flaming pen

so i wander the woods of future

in an adventure all alone

as i search for my destiny

for a FATE LESS KNOWN

MY FINAL MEAL

I can't wait for my final meal,
it's gonna taste like never before,
like two lovers walking hand in hand,
watching the waves break on the shore;

i just can't resist myself,
i would beg,borrow and steal,
i can't wait any longer ,
to taste my final meal;

my mouth moistens,
as dinner time nears,
i'll eat my morbid final meal,
with hungry bloody tears;

relishing every single morsel,
that just stops my breath,
i'm gonna eat my final meal,
on the silver platter of death;

come out , come out , wherever art thou,
where dost thou hide?
OH , waiter , i'm ready to order,
maincourse of ecstasy , with a side - dish of pride

pride can be hard to swallow,
unless properly fried,
garnished with pain and sorrow,
flavoured with the reasons the DUKE cried;

alas, the DUKE could not find his final meal,
amongst the midnight lanes,
he decided to find it in himself,
MY FINAL MEAL, gushes through my veins;

THE NIGHTFLAME

the flame still burns,

through the dark night,

embracing the dark,

only to kiss the light;

the yellow and the blue,

to bring life to a piece of art,

to bring light to the blinded sad,

to warm the lover's heart;

a dot of light,

to the distant eye,

a touch of comfort,

for the perpetual cry;

a prayer it is,

among the woods of death,

from the day you open your eyes,

to the moment you stop your breath;

a friend to a loner,

a storyteller of a lover's tale,

the sailor's only friend,

on a ship which set sail;

NIGHT FLAME, a portrait of hope,

the signature of lover's apart,

it slowly kisses your lips,

before it burns your heart;

THE NIGHT FLAME, a token,

on the nights i've wept,

MY NIGHT FLAME, a friend,

all that i have left;

FROM THE CANARY'S HEART

the sun has set behind my back,
care no longer for its view,
just watch the tides hit the cliff feet,
that was all that i could do;

i've waited for just too long,
even the canary has changed its song;

as i lay the wall of sorrow,
with the bricks of despair,
i decide to confine myself,
life just doesn't seem fair;

i've waited for just too long,
even the canary has changed its song;

as i waited in my lonely room,
waiting for you to call,
seasons just went by,
summer,winter and fall;

i've waited for just too long,
even the canary has changed its song;

my pen has run out of flame,
it just writes grief,
all I could think of was you,
as I sat , crying under the maple leaf;

i've waited for just too long,
even the canary has changed its song;

i realised it was not meant to be,
that time would have its say,
i did not realise between dusk and dawn,
i could not tell between night and day;

i've waited for just too long,
even the canary has changed its song;

i waited , i waited , i waited,
you just never came near,
the flame in my pen was killed,
by a rather stronger tear;

i've waited for just too long,
even the canary has changed its song;

SHATTERED DREAMS

now, you're eyes full of tears
your throat full of screams
you took away my life
courtesy,shattered dreams

eyes wide awake
bleeding on my bed
dont try to save me
im already dead

hanging from the ceiling
you will let me down
wanted to live like a king
died without a crown

made a hole in my head
did it with a gun
life seemed like hell
death seemed more fun

you filled me with anger
filled me with rage
now,look at my face
in the obituary page

you forced me into the corner
forced me into the kill
the next thing you do
is read my will

black life
bloody red death
my last few words
from my very last breath

now, you're eyes full of tears
your throat full of screams
you took away my life
courtesy,shattered dreams

AND , IT STILL RAINS

closed my eyes
to enter my haven
trying to forget the pains
surprised , im in my dreams
AND , IT STILL RAINS

for a moment of joy
with a song in my heart
try to get out of these lanes
surprised , im in my dreams
AND , IT STILL RAINS

hoping to not cry again
and escape the gloom
try , to listen to the saints
surprised , im in my dreams
AND , IT STILL RAINS

listen to the sound of the sax
rhythm and romance
on the DUKE plains
surprised , im in my dreams
AND , IT STILL RAINS

nostalgia to rule
to bring a tear again
this is where my word wanes
surprised , im in my dreams
AND , IT STILL RAINS

THE LADY IN PINK - PART 1

hey...............everybody....this is jus an attempt to bring out da lighter n da rather humorous side of sometin called " LOVE"...........SO before u reply as to how awefull this work was.........remember i wrote it during my ELECTRONICS ENGINEERING CLASS

she passed me by

and gave me a smile

curse you cupid

was in heaven for a while

just wish that smile

was more of a wink

i wanna be da squeeze

for my lady in pink

started to chase her

went through all the way

chase started on a weekend

ended on a friday...........

she startled and said " who are you?

tell me you're smart please"

i went " ofcourse i am,

even know the moon's made of cheese"

she said," im a fancy girl,

are you rich?"

i went," lets hold that thought,

i kinda live in a ditch"

she then said," are you tough,

have you ever been in a fight?"

i said," not lately.................

but i saw wrestlemania last night"

she went ahead," im romantic,

what do you think of valentine?"

i said," i dont care bout the saint,

as long as you'll be mine"

she asked," tell me now,

what do you think bout girls?

as human beings

other than pony-tails and twirls"

i said," they lie and deceit

never believe their talk,

they say they like sensitivty

and elope with a jock!!!!!!!!!"

she went in," im a girl

really like flowers

you wanna be my boy

you'll have to spend a lot of hours"

i said,"ofcourse i will

with a smile and not a sob

i'll spend days and nights

don't have any other job...."

..............TO BE CONTINUED...............

LOVE IS BLIND

THIS POEM IS A STORY OF A GUY WHO DONATED BOTH HIS EYES TO HIS ONE TRUE LOVE.....WHO HAD LOST HERS...........SO THAT SHE COULD SEE AGAIN.........INSPIRED FROM"KISS"BY J - ENTERCOM

he lost what was his,
for his one true love,
only black he could see,
even in the heavens above;

is this what was his will?
such love is eternally true,
its priceless,
only known to a few;

his love knows not,
what lightens up her day,
she would Know not,
her love would never say;

the poet asks the reader,
what is in a pair of eyes?
if your love was blind,
would you love or despise?

these were the mirrors,
he used to gaze at her smile,
but, all was lost,
for a long long while;

he felt..he lost his love,
searched for a place to hide,
he always kept a picture of her,
his love for her never died;

he wrote to his love,
it was not meant to be,
but did not reveal,
that he couldn't see;

his love sensed a tremble,
wanted him to be near,
but when she heard the words,
HIS LOVE'S eyes were filled with a tear;

she confessed to him,
her love , in lonely hours,
aahh..those words , letters,
those poems and those flowers;

she was heartbroken to see,
her love in a state of dark,
as he sat on the bench,
all alone in a park;

she saw in dismay,
tears , she could not hide,
as he sat their whispering her name,
with a picture of her beside;

she was filled with love eternal,
and wiped away her cries,
held his hand , at sunset point,
and promised to be his eyes;

this was a tale, which pierced
the heart and not the mind,
i did not believe in love,
and now i say , LOVE IS BLIND;

AWAY FROM THE WORLD

away from the world, for just a night,
a moment in time for you and me,
on the boat , which sails the water filled with stars,
to dance hand in hand , in the love filled sea;

away from the world , amidst the roses,
i laid for the beauty from your smile,
the candle I lit next to you,
to gaze at you for a long long while;

away from the world , just for you,
to live life in this moment of time,
care no longer for poetry or the pen,
I confess , to you being the most beautiful rhyme;

away from the world , to be with you,
a testimony to who you are,
how i would love to write a verse or two,
but no poet's words can reach so far....

away from the world , only for you,
for your smiles and your cries,
i find my atlantis of gold,
lost in the wetness of your eyes;

away from the world , to make you happy,
being a mirror to your light,
to scar my heart with the knife of love,
as i find myself with you tonight;

away from the world, hoping to stop time,
so this night would end never,
it is as close i've been to heaven,
wish i could write this forever;

LOST

indeed the world has lost
what it once had
faith , justice and love
not to be seen again
by anyone

foul thoughts merge
for darker misery
feed on the hope
of innocents
who once prayed
with great fervour

shall the dark soldiers rule
bring untold doom
on the lighted hope
making them wonder
what blood it is
which rushes through
their veins

as days pass by , words linger
trying to give hope to the
grieving and the quiet
they shall live to see another day
and yet again they pray
hoping that all is
not LOST......

DEAR LOVE

dear love, this write is for you,
for you are all these words,
they speak not of flowers,
they speak not of birds;

dear love, this ink is for you,
and all that you mean,
you're all that i 've heard,
you're all that i've seen;

dear love, the shards of love shall again be whole,
when I embrace you soon,
aren't you the light from the sun?
aren't you the shine from the moon?

dear love, the beat to my heart,
the melody to my ears,
you're smile the petal of bliss,
you're the days in my years;

dear love, what a tragc end..
my dream is nothing but mist,
why do I deceive myself?
dear love, you don't exist.....

THE ROGUE

gothic face

messed up hair

dark black room

a dragon's lair

confused soul

dazed eyes

many a sin

a handful of lies

cuts and bruises

legs and hands

pierced body

covered with strands

you call me a rogue

don't really care

you're no dream

im no nightmare

im just different

is that a sin?

you try to burst my bubble

with the morality pin

you chose you're own way

and i chose mine

i chose cocaine

you chose fine wine

you blame my persona

it's not my crime

could have been different

if you gave me some time

all you do is accuse

all you do is blame

this phase of mine

is it just a game?

you will never stop

not even when i DIE

you'll get you're wish then

and dress me up in a tie......................

( this was just an attempt to have a look at how the ppl whom our indian society calls rogues ...percieve the world and the ppl around dem...........plz reply)

MOONLIGHT , ON HUDSON BAY

sipping the last drop of dew,
gazing at the stars so beautiful;
why would they not be pretty?
are they not , just pieces of glass,
being mirrors to your beauty
under the MOONILGHT , ON HUDSON BAY

the night's sweet breeze,
caressing and smothering the soul;
like being touched by the feathers of the golden swan,
why would it not be so gentle?
was it not your feel that it embraced,
under the MOONLIGHT , ON HUDSON BAY

the sounds of the orphan violinists so distant,
yet their tunes so sweet;
why would they not be so soft?
was it not your heart melting voice they heard,
under the MOONLIGHT , ON HUDSON BAY

the artist's sketch i can barely see,
yet so colourful and vivid;
why wold it not be?
was it not your vibrancy that blinded him,
under the MOONLIGHT , ON HUDSON BAY

the ripples on the water,
so timid and shy;
why would they not be?
was it not your touch which set them into passion,
under the MOONLIGHT , ON HUDSON BAY

these words of mine,
futile but yet from the heart;
why would they not be?
was it not your dream which brought me to life,
under the MOONLIGHT , ON HUDSON BAY..........................

DEARLY DEPARTED

dearly departed we have gatehered here today,
to bid farewell to the poet's dreams,
they shall soon journey just one way;

as we say a prayer and put them to rest,
the pall-bearers whisper,
they departed because they failed the test;

but none have grief or tears on their face,
for long ago they had,
started numbering their days;

the poet was the last one to say goodbye,
he had spent the last moments with the deceased,
and the only one who attempted to cry;

no one knew if they were destined for heaven or hell,
no one really knew the poets dreams,
all they could here was the sound of a knell;

and soon the dead were left to their fate,
there were just so many,
some filled with love , some filled with hate;

the poet wondered if the deceased were mislead,
he was left alone at the newly dug grave,
left to live the life of the dead;

THE LONELY CRADLE

my tears say a prayer

filled with despair and sorrow

hope someone would rock my cradle

and wake me up tomorrow

to get me into bed

and sing me a song

there's no one beside me

the nights are really really long

to make me breakfast

and make me lunch

bake me some cookies

with a whole lot of crunch

someone to get me dressed

walk me to school

someone for me to fool

on the day of april fool

someone to give me gifts

when I turn a new year

listen to my dreams

and always lend an ear

someone to hug

someone to kiss me

and when I am away

someone who would miss me

to teach me to share

to teach me to play

someone I could wish

On Mothers Day

to clean me up

when i play in the dirt

to wipe my tears

when my knee gets hurt

to tell me a story

and put me to bed

to show the green trees

and the roses that are red

i'll never play with her now

it's all too late

i see her in my tears

i was undone by fate

she talks to me though

when i am in my dream

only then am i happy

as sad as it may seem

i have a few memories

but they are just a trace

how i love to see my mom

when i draw her face

she wont came back to me

i will never see her

the only time i see her

is in my prayer

so, i spread my arms

and i start to pray

i wish i had my mom

for just another day

( DEDICATED TO ALL THE SOULS WHO HAVE BEED DEPRIVED OF THE MOST PRECIOUS GIFT , A MOTHER...AND TO ALL THE MOTHERS IN THE WORLD )

SUNSHINE KIMONO

the little lady walks
up and down
in her lovely sunshine kimono
with a little smile
for her tiny round face
like a dent on a tomato

with her lovely little feet
doing most of the work
she wanders out
into the big wide world
still with a smile
on her tiny lovely face
with the hope and promise of tomorrow

she has with her
a lovely wooden doll
much like herself
in a silken kimono
with lovely red ribbons
on her silky black hair
hoping she could turn
her smile into a laugh

but,alas! the sky turns red
there is a monster in the air
not aware of the sunshine kimono girl
to the monster , she is part of a plan
to her , the monster is just a new adventure

she still smiles , while people fall
for she is too young to have a frown
she is not scared of all the screams
that surround her sunshine kimono

with her last few words
she calls her mother
to look at all the lovely fireworks
that light the nagasaki skies
but none come to her help
for all have died
the colour of the dirt
now looks a lot like her ribbons

alas! she lets the doll go
she falls quicker than it hits the ground
tomorrow has turned into the oblivion
for the sweetest little thing
i see in the sunshine of my dreams
the little sunshine kimono girl

DEDICATED TO ALL THE INNOCENT KIDS KILLED IN ALL OF HUMANTIY'S MOST BRUTAL MISTAKES.......................

YOU'RE MY LOVE

give me a poem , i'll read it to you,
you're my love,i'll sing it to you;

in my skies,you're the soaring dove,
you're the chosen one,you're my love;

you're with me, no matter where you are,
you're my love, my shining star;

to my cloud,you're the silver lining,
you're my love, you keep me shining;

with you around, there's never a dull day,
you're my love, you're a butterfly in may;

think of you everyday , think of you every hour,
you're my love, you're a beautiful flower;

you're the one , to whom all I sold,
you're my love , carved out of gold;

you're smile is like a diamond's sight,
you're my love, my star - filled night;

you're the light I see , music I hear,
you're my love , you're always near;

you're my only rose, blooming in its season,
you're my love , my only reason;

you're the flower in my garden , the robin in my tree,
you're my love , you make me free;

you're my love now , you were my love then,
you're my love, you're the reason for these words from my pen;

KISS BEYOND HER GRAVE

i wander in the woods of darkness,

there is never a glimpse of light;

my love has left me all alone,

i live in eternal night;

till my death, all that i crave

a little kiss , beyond her grave;

still a friend on cold nights,

her heartbeat next to mine;

whispering songs into my soul,

she took with her , my pleasant times

till my death, all that i crave,

a little kiss , beyond her grave;

never again to be in my arms,

her touch is no longer near;

cry for her with every breath,

cry for her with every tear;

till my death, all that i crave,

a little kiss , beyond her grave;

remember the words she sang,

our memories in the rain;

life has lost all its pleasure,

left to live with enduring pain;

till my death, all that i crave,

a little kiss , beyond her grave;

a smile lost , a laugh forgotten

life is but misery's slave;

every night i open my heart,

shed my tears upon her grave;

till my death, all that i crave,

a little kiss , beyond her grave;