Oh this longing for the morrow,This queer sorrowThat only the future can alleviate!Onward,onward looking Like a mad mad spinning wheel.The gift of the present never enough,The cloud of the past ever too close.Thirsty for more and better,Can’t stay in placeNor look over my shoulder.Is it fleeing, this fluttering race,Tottering to the unknown?Is it escaping,this foolish dreaming And … Continue reading Longing
📲I wish I didn’t depend on the pingsTo feel seen.And didn’t feel a pangWhen my phoneRemains stubbornly mute. 🎵With no joyful thrill or dingTo ornateMy long days, to hush my cloyingUnease,To answer my chirps. 💅🏾I wish I could meet noticeAnd indifference With the same swagger and self-assurance.Always serene, confident. 💯That numbers would meanNothing.That my self-esteem Would remain Stoically incommensurable. … Continue reading (Un)Seen
A jar of wondersA cup of trinketsA dash of splendor,Shut in a casket... She was a collector.Day and night she graspedAt threads of colourShades of magic. Apt To see, prone to marvellingBut never letting go.A collector I said, and so,Drunk on having Possessing, amassing,Words and flowers. Flowers she sapped of fireWords she emptied of meaning She … Continue reading Chasing Wonders
"For me, the aim of poetry is to capture the true essence of things. But Truth is difficult to catch, understand and explain. Truth is hard to embrace in one sweep. So one must go tangentially, and turn around with a laser beam. One must shed light on each side of Truth like this, with words. And little by little, from this literary exploration, an approximation of Truth emerges. That's what poetry does."
No novel in me
It's nanowrimoBut I got no novel in me, no.Nothing new here you know,I am not versed in the long form, so... Mine are short piecesBolts of what I'd like to call brillianceIt's a jaunty decadence Of words and sounds It lacks discipline.Its cadence is jerky, uneven.How I wish I had lived and seenEnough to write, … Continue reading No novel in me
What life’s made of
Mindless, throwing a thirsty hand forth, Hoping to snatch more. More more and new.
Happiness ... Is a book snuggled against your chest Under the warm blanket. It’s the light tapping of the rain Landing in jaunty rhythm on the roof. It’s his warm hand in yours Cramming a million sweet words In one gentle squeeze. It’s the smile of your sister The laughter of your mother. It’s the … Continue reading Happiness
What are those words, poet, Flying around your mind Like crows, peering over your thoughts? They seize your anguish And knead your sorrow. In their pointed beaks Your delights wriggle, out of breath. The raven exhales. Its sigh’s your essence Condensed in the rims Of its pitch black feathers. Its blood’s a bottle of ink … Continue reading Narrative
My bones, their poetry marrow Are packed with sorrow And yet they feel hollow. Everything’s shallow. Feelings account to zero. I would like to be a hero, Write, leave a trace for morrow. I am but a delusional crow. The world I know Only through my window Which is far too narrow. I thought my … Continue reading A Poet?
I, the book
I sharpened my edges on the spikes of sorrow But inked them with splashes of endless rapture. They shine under the moonlit sky, Sparkle in sun blazing light. Deep in the creamy pages lay glittering secrets, Concealed with shy smiles, clumsy moves and untamed laughs: Curiosity unquenched, Wild hopes unabashed. I buried my diamonds In … Continue reading I, the book