Category: Poetry
Time
I couldn’t love you more
When I thought I couldn’t love you more then thought becomes a blindfold and you become my eyes
» Read moreBlindness
I was driving at sixty-five Going for a picnic, with family; Old Hindi songs, Homemade sandwiches, drinks Affectionate, caring words Floating around Dancing inside out Laughing, giggling, The air, so embracing. I saw another family driving The car I wanted to buy Brushed past, Anger painted my face With sharp eyes, I was engaged in the race, Hopping to […]
» Read moreEach Day
They say each day brings a morning, a meaning Days meant for living, breathing, seeing For laughter, for crying, for grieving Each day born of the sun, , man’s choice. Man’s inhumanity to man, bird and fauna The window of seeing, we see what we’re given A fleeting moment, a vision of completion Not yet fulfilled and seldom achieved An […]
» Read moreNatural truth
Truth will always out, and there is nothing you can do to stop it; like a force of nature, it is mercilessly irresistible and absolutely neutral in its callousness, no matter what objections humans might find justified; no matter how dishonourable it could be to ladies, presidents or priests, the nature of the truth is such that nothing can […]
» Read moreLet’s Go
I am therefore I am
I am therefore I am But do I exist, in what is existence This realm of being, this being all there is and not And what of Am, what of Not To think is a journey, a curse, a gift A scene of being, of believing of believing in what, believing I am ? If I am, then what […]
» Read moreWords!
Words can come distant, some close, never far from tongue or brain What’s on your mind you say? Words, letters, meanings, together or alone Words can thrill, sometimes kill Shout out , scream, whisper, sobre or drunk Normal, abnormal, in fear, in love, in happy times, sad times We use and abuse words We play and say words for […]
» Read moreI Have A Cold.
Run those sodden streams, those rivulets of ooze, to fall beneath the tingle and the torment, in torrents no tissue can assuage. And now…the sweating starts, oh joy. Just the cough to come it waits with baited breath, upon constriction of the lungs, barking like an angered hound when silence drains the hour.
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