writer

Pockets

A day at a time

A tear that will dry

There is a reason,

There is a season

But still there is despair

A hug to say all is fine

A word of encouragement

To calm a racing mind

But there will still be that moment

Hands in pockets, and emptiness felt

Such is a revisiting sorrow

That comes in waves

Such is a daunting anxiety

That comes uninvited

Such is the guilt felt

For shifting the mood

So I ask that you bear with me

You jolly soul, best friend, confidant

One day it may be well

One day the pockets may be filled

With something other than emptiness

Something worth remembering,

Something that will carve a smile

How many more sighs

Gone are the hours of yesterday

And dawn, knocks behind the window pane

Before we let her in,

There are some matters to resolve

A worrisome heart and a pondering mind

Loud is the silence

But louder is The Voice

Beseeching and reassuring,

That we worry not about the morrow

And spare some minutes to rest

But stubborn as we are,

Owing to our human nature

We toss, turn and fret

And try to reconcile with hope,

With one question taunting, “How many more sighs, Lord ?”

The Best

The best is yet to come

It wasn’t today

Nor was it yesterday

Perhaps, a morrow sooner

The best is yet to come

I tell myself every day

Someday, one day

The waiting time, shortening

The best is yet to come

Said gleefully, because…

Who knows, it may very well be

Right after this utterance

Broken Wells

I know a thing or two

About broken wells

Consequence

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

poetry

some fall in love

others love the idea of love

some thirst for water

others sip champagne in delight

poetry

i’ve fallen for you

you’re a scarf to smoothen out of place strands

you’re velvet to skin

cognac to the lost weeper

tea drank by the grassy bank

a sail to brave through strong winds and tides

pot of gold under the rainbow

a listener, comforter

nurse to the banes of my life

Calm

It’s as hard to explain

As it is to watch

Because today, Calm won’t even as much

Meet my eyes, or break into embrace

Two or three gather

There’s a crowd

Involuntarily losing control

I must prepare myself

A breath in, a breath out

What am I inviting in?

What am I letting out?

I’m held back suddenly

Silence, as I try to articulate

It’s like I have no voice

And something keeps pulling at my nape

Ten fingers, seemingly turned dozen

I tell you, Calm is out for me

She steals my voice

Latches onto my neck

And casts me into the springs of anxiety

Haze Art

The wretched awake

From nights of despair

The elixir bottle down to drops

There is the haze

To remind of pressing affairs

That life has seized our props

Heavy are the sighs we make

Pleading to our avengers, helpless whispers of ‘Sirs’

And by eve, the fallen tears must see the mop

you or the silence

you or the silence

I must choose

but regardless, you both will kill me

 

you or the silence

I must choose

but surely, you both will steal my sanity

 

you or the silence

I must choose

but either way, I’m in deep water

 

you or the silence

today the voices in my head, louder

but yet still, I am choosing not to choose

 

you or the silence

haunting, perturbing me

urging that I must choose