A Travesty

From a river you regress,

and like a fountain, you dress,

and settle for less,

for people to stare, in awe of the mold

and pass along, once the story's told.

Its amusing how you choose,

to mix your purpose with your blues,

your fears for your muse,

as you sketch your song, a mile long

on your withered knees, feeling strong.

You watch as the morning dawns,

On your garden floors, the sunlight spawns,

You panic and cage the prancing fawns;

their strides accused of  hubbub a lot,

The black kettle mocked again by the pot.

The Shore After the Storm

Serenity of the calm waters

reticent about the storms;

An aftermath, concealed.

Trapped vim and life

breaks out in waves sometimes,

breaks at the rocks. Silenced.

The Bourdon horn of a distant ship,

Like the muffled moan of my heart,

Fades into the endless.

Tides that kiss the feet of the shores

fall back to rise again,

seeking forgiveness, since forever.

Sands that yield to the footsteps,

yet hold no drop of sweat;

footsteps made, and washed away.

The ferry, vivacious and hasty,

sails faster on the current;

The forsaken island, unnoticed.

The Merchant

Muster my strength, after myriads of failed tries,

Wings that flutter for their share of blue skies,

Would my deepest sorrows serve for the bribe?

With a faint memoir of our tryst and the misinterpreted lies,

my yearning eyes longed upon your empathy's prize;

I merely hold the pen, whilst you be the scribe.

My anguish and delinquency were the vigor for your vies,

My penchant adding hues to your evasive disguise;

Like a thunder cloud I pour, like sand you imbibe.

Oftentimes, our actions become what we despise;

Shipwrecked, and deserted, when our braces capsize,

Struggling, so I stood, amidst arsenals of gibe.

The truth lies in what is overlooked by the eyes,

The pageantries of the night lose the splendor in sunrise;

Thence, can you sieve the pain from the continuum of my describe?

Asylum Diaries

Waking up from a nightmare

I look around to see there's no one there

A warm drop of sweat brushes down my brow

Eyes deluging with terror and sorrow

It's still dark when I wake up again.

I guess I just can't sleep right

not with these memories, not in this life,

Its all futile; trying to fall asleep in vain

Living undone, quietly as I watch my life drain

I haven't breathed a sigh since you left

I have never smiled since you wept

An oblivious life, I lead in self-deprivation,

in false imagery and vague anticipation

The tears have all dried, its been long since I cried

Gazing into nothing, with eyes open wide

No voices around me, just whispers in silence

No sounds of your laughter or tunes of your violins

When midnight strikes, I sit by the window

No more songbirds on the branches, only a shrieking crow

I hear the sound of your footsteps on the fallen leaves below

And the cold wind knocks down and leaves open the door

Grasping for the wind, confined in this unholy constrain

What's this life, without you? Why do I cling so dearly to this pain?

I walk a corpse, I can't feel my own breath

Finding meaning in longing and purpose in death

Through the Pane

Gazing through the window pane

at colors and forms, moving all around

in all their shades and tints,

and Glory - conquered, inherited, claimed,

or sometimes just a disguise 

hiding the inner turbulence, the darker fears,

trying to fill the bore, the deep void,

attempting to veil the failures.

Lovers walking hands in hands,

in oblivion, in the bliss of ignorance;

And friends, claiming one moment that they are

and then forgetting it the next.

Looking through the glass

as the sunlight spreads on the grass and the pavements,

as some choose to face it, some search for shade

but never truly finding one to rest in.

Faces, they're all a stage.

Expressions, never alike.

A zealous lot of youth playing in the distance

as innocence echoes in this lifeless vacuum.

What's a victory on the field, when you've lost your soul to the material?

Everything looks alive.

everything lives, walks , in and from all walks of life.

I see the beauty, but I see no purpose, if you're not here.

What's a life that wasn't touched by you?

Why is my life? Why must I live?

Tabula Rasa

The sounds of silence please me,
their rhythm flowing through the hollow of my being,
the holes in my sanity impart the music
Just like a flute;
Amusing to you it sounds.
That's my purpose, after all.

The objects in the dark fascinate me,
shapeless, hidden, forms unknown,
scared to be dragged out into the light;
Just like my existence,
Hiding away in the corner of a murky abyss,
in fears and repercussions,
Struggling to find peace.


Where fire dreams of calmness, and smoke of comfort;
where dust wishes for wings, and clouds for feet,
Where angels dig for venom, and the devil falls in love,
where objects seem to wail and hearts turn to stone,
is where I live,
is what I witness.

I choke on my own breath

A Dirge and a funeral

I wail before my own decaying soul,
I weep over the corpse of a dead tree
the tree I saw, wistfully, in my vague reflection,
wryly, grinning back at me.

Its seeds I carried beneath my skin,
nurtured them with blood, my own
I tore my flesh when I sowed them down
Watered it with tears until it was grown

My dreams, I fed to the soil every morn
And Oh how I cried when I saw the first leaves
Visions, sure I had, of how it'd rise
And Oh how I cry now as the tree bids me leaves

In the torments of the burning sun
Did I not stand beside you for shade?
Notwithstanding the whirling tempests
My arms, your haven had I not made?

Did my love clamor loud of intention?
or covert perhaps a surmise of greed?
Did I shelter you because I expected the same?
Would I rape the self of my own seed?

My whims, urges and all my dreams,
I bred underneath the branches you grew.
All my pain and all my secrets,
oh when were they ever secrets unto you?

And then the drought of empathy when struck,
and dried your soil of fathom and discern;
and they punished me for dreaming, and rebuttal,
For compassion and forbearance, my heart did yearn.

I sang to you my serenades in our days,
and oh how you'd sway as if it did pour;
Now I chant you a requiem as I bewail unto thy mort
The carcass of the tree I once envisioned soar.