In a world of chaos

Some are choosing their blues

The big ones, the little ones

And they ponder in recluse

So be wary and considerate

That you know not their fate

For some have slept

Only to wake and walk

Walking, but not existing

For some have dreamt

A thousand dreams, yet still sulk

Moping in misery

And for some, they are hoping

For a glimpse of a miracle

Hands clasped tightly

As they mumble prayers of petition

And as for the writer,

She cries out for reassurance

Tonight, feeling weighted more

By the littlest of blues

Broken Wells

I know a thing or two

About broken wells


Of a broken heart

Quenching their thirst

I know a thing or two

About the broken-hearted

Drawing and drawing,

The well, almost bare.

And when broken, none seems to care

I know a thing or two

About these two, broken well, broken heart

But I wish I had earlier known

That one would leave

Right after the mend and quench


If I knew,
That my goodbye would be stolen,
By the silence that is
I never would have been your friend

If I saw,
You treat me as an outcast
Like I was an easy page to turn
I never would have looked at you twice

And if I envisioned these tears,
Tears because of your doing,
That pelt my face every night
I never would have let you see my soul

At the table

The guests do the recap
Table talk about you
And I see myself in transition
From a high to low
A low I knew before you
And they are witnesses
At the table

I once thought never
I envisioned forever
But today is the curtain call
Today is the last pour down
If it takes some time
I know we’ll see the sun again
I know you’ll be fine

At the table
The hallucinations, the flashbacks
The chattering from the guests
All too familiar
Much overwhelming
This is all in my mind
Their murmurs are the voices in my head

I won’t, I can’t.
For the last time
I greet each memory
With the fondness of an amicable farewell
Because they have to go grey
Maybe one day, when I close my eyes
You will not appear so vividly as you do now


When You Meet Quiet

There’s nothing as worrisome

As a quiet fellow

And even more so,

A quiet poet, who has been hurt.


The days go by, and he stays mute

And it’s his silence that utters,

That all is not in tune.

A quiet poet, who sharpens his literary sword.


The time is nearing, and soon you will know,

When the words pierce you in the heart

From the haunting silence, which was

And now is a poem, firing warning shots!


This is the poet, when you meet quiet.

The Other Woman



She blushed, her lips she pursed, she liked what she saw,

That afternoon when paths crossed.

Tonight draped in pearls, dressed in silk,

She’s a vision to behold.

Red lipstick, infallible, and a head full of curls

She bats her eyelashes thick with mascara

Always one to make a lasting impression.

All isn’t well , locks have been opened,

There was always a story to tell.

She makes her way past the fountain

Voices in her head echo what she has ascertained.

A pounding heart, she manages to suppress the ‘waterworks’

It will be okay, it will be.

Rage is not her parting gift,

But her sorrow is a well so deep.

Composure steps in as she leans in for the embrace,

He can tell, he’s been found out.

She knows she is the other woman.

Somewhat complicated, he hadn’t been able to choose,

And now a beauty he stands to lose.

As she whispers, “I don’t want to leave…but I must”,

Her perfume penetrates deep into his airways.

The other woman wants not to be an option,

Tonight the other woman departs, 

She, she has become a woman with a choice.

A peck on the cheek, she lets go, she stares,

The other woman she is, not anymore.

Her shapely figure walks towards the bar.

A celebratory glass of wine, 

For a choice morally inclined.