Daydream

I looked at nothing today

And dreamt about a place
Where the wind rushes to your hair
Like a lover’s hand
And a Piano constantly plays,
to songs about a bridge
That lay over a river of silver blue
Breathing over her curves and drops
Never touching, never dropping
Waiting for her to blush

I dreamt of a place
Where words rebel against lines half meant
Take back their meanings, their homes inside our head
Make travels to our hearts
To light up smiles, skies
Where everyone knows
That words can make us wonder, hold hands
Swim oceans in a bottle onto washed up sands
Make beautiful things
In a world of gloom

I dreamt of a place where I was truly free
From mad men and their mad dreams
Where time did not dictate
My early or my late
Where morning suns are spent chasing hills
And nightly skies unfold a play
So beautiful and dark,
That a wonder always lasts
way past the worlds of waking curtains
I looked at nothing today
And dreamt about a place
Maybe far far away

Many Whole Caboodles

There are universes we live in

One yours and the other mine

You will never know the music here

And I can never complete your rhyme

Times we share,
But heads we keep. Selfish

So here we go our separate ways,
In and out of the worlds we rake
Friends once, strangers in make
Awkward scenes in pitiful takes

But this is just a small little part
For there will be
Other million caboodles on a summer plane
Of what is to be, to do, to see
to sigh with, to pleasure with a smiling plea
There, I shall see you again.

The Language and I

We were close, once
The Language and I
I was her lover
And she was my pride

Now we sit here
In a room from yesterday
The air still smells of words exclaimed
And the cold fire sheds dismay

She doesn't talk to me any more
Clenching to the fray
Doesn't whisper secrets
Doesn't hold my gaze

And someday soon from now
She shall leave
And all I’ll have to hold
would be the reminisce
of a beautiful day

But what I fear the most,
Is that I may not care.

Riddle me this.

Why do we travel, stray
strive, dismay
Make a wish
for what others pray

Yearn skies
In comfortable cages
Wait for a chance
In belligerent routine

The Last Smoke

Sitting on the bench, the fallen leaves notified of the coming of winter.The cigarette was already half gone, smoked away amongst all the thoughts between the rights and wrongs, practice and abstinence, yesterdays and tomorrow.



He now completely understood where his folly lay, and with it he also understood that he could not have avoided them. It dawned on him that he could only learn, and learn as he might, there were always other crimes he would commit.Against himself and others.There were many more, he realized, that would come cloaked under urgency and chance.He would just have to embrace them, so will his pride.

Still, he couldn't help but miss certain times, and need certain second chances. Some mistakes happen and leave us hurt, and time pulls out the first aid box and we grow out of them.Some mistakes though, stay with us, stinging us from the inside fully shielded against the clock's power to heal.They stay cause we can't let go of them, they stay cause they become us, and we grow with them.
The cigarette was almost done now, and he knew the last hurdle for tomorrow to creep into his life had just a few drags to live.He did not like tomorrows anymore.They were now unkind.He seemed to have ticked them off with his utter disregard for today.It was a sad way to live, but it was just the way it was.

He sighed and breathed in the last of the glowing red.

There are a few trips in life that go by too soon. This was one of them.

What do I tell you

About the looking forward, the wait

About a train that comes in late

A war waged among the old and the new

Many and few, at the doors of heaven and hell

On getting in and falling out

What do I tell you

About the taxi, angry at the gluttonous roads

Chewing more than a narrow neck could gulp

At the kerb

What do I tell you about the elevator man

Preaching honesty, deceived by faith

Smiling as he goes up, to floors traveled everyday

onto times of sundown and up, on the beep of a card

What do I tell you

About the laugh you meet

Once in many a years, at the opposite seat

 across a table of love and joy

What do I tell about the trip that I took

to a city that never sleeps, never keeps

the train that comes back again

to leave you at the very place

of the exciting wait

What do I tell you about life

Overwhelming at its best.

Yearly Gratitude

Thank you yester

year of mine

for the rhythms and the rhyme

that you taught 

patiently caught

awry thoughts and lines

Thank you for the music and the sun

for the stillness and the run

that chased around a restless mind

calmed it, tamed it, set it on fire

and cooled it off again

Thank you for new friends and old

for the wishes and the hugs

for dirt under rugs

drunken dances, funny accents

wishful talks and determined plans

for meetings, separations

Christmas trees and Independence days

Thank you for the thankless jobs

woolen socks, 

ruthless bosses and weekends off

Salesmen Santas in shopping malls

Thank you yester

year of mine

for the very various smiles

heartbreaks and flimsy lies

that you caught

patiently taught

me life.