Posted in Poetry, Reflections

Said A Blade Of Grass | Kahlil Gibran

Said a blade of grass to an autumn leaf, “You make such a noise falling! You scatter all my winter dreams.”

Said the leaf indignant, “Low-born and low-dwelling! Songless, peevish thing! You live not in the upper air and you cannot tell the sound of singing.”

Then the autumn leaf lay down upon the earth and slept. And when spring came she waked again — and she was a blade of grass.

And when it was autumn and her winter sleep was upon her, and above her through all the air the leaves were falling, she muttered to herself, “O these autumn leaves! They make such noise! They scatter all my winter dreams.”

~

Featuring one of my favorite poems 

Posted in Originals, Poetry, Reflections

Sometimes I love dramatized randomness | Wet mountains and me

Sometimes the sun dances for me on the walls
A dying cigarette wilts out grey snow in dark alleys
Plastered walls store up rains in green mosses
And out blooms a beautiful yellow flower, just for me
Sometimes the clouds embrace me in their windy arms
The street light becomes the spotlight as I dance
A puddle bows down to welcome my splashing feet
And tiny insects fight the rain just to watch me move
Sometimes I dance for nobody and yet for everybody
Out in the streets, all alone but one with the universe
I spread my arms and fill my lungs with breaths of bliss
But all you ever say is I love dramatized randomness

~

MondayMoods

Posted in Originals, Poetry, Reflections

Dissolving bokeh of memories | Going away, so far away

I was looking at you surprised
Like I was looking at a stranger
Who was saying to me that
He was going away, so far away
You held me in your arms
As if protecting me from reality
Or saving yourself the pain of truth
That you were soon going away, so far away
There were no tears or sweating lips
But a heaving chests and a wide eyed stare
Like you were having a panic attack
Why? Why, just before going away, so far away
What were you thinking? Why were you shaking?
You used to tremble at memories of a horrid past
But never shook before mountains you now faced
How horrid was it to you, this going away, so far away?
I could never ask and now I cannot remember either
I cannot remember the pounding heart nor the heaving chest
Where do these memories go? Where are the details?
When you kissed my forehead and went away, so far away
All there is, is a feeling suspended in a dissolving bokeh
Where we touched, is the eye, rest is now a tragic hurricane
And if I do not focus, I run the risk of being destroyed to pieces
Because the truth remains that you have gone away, so far away

~

Monday Morning Blues

Posted in Originals, Poetry, Reflections

Wait by the ocean, can you? | Stoned Storyteller

When I get stoned
The storyteller wakes up
She tells me all kinds of things
Takes me all kinds of places
Flying with the bees
Or rushing by galaxies
She takes me by the hand
And walks me with a story
Today she brought me to you
Just like that other day, long ago
When I responded with my usual shiver
She held on to me with her eyes of silver

He dived into this ocean
To return with a pearl of love
Worthy of your love, Worthy of my love
Don’t resent, Don’t be hurt
Don’t be afraid, Don’t wet your shirt
If he is delayed and you sit here alone
He is out in deeper waters
In darker murkier waters
Return he will, to you
Wait by the ocean, can you?

~

Monday Thursday Hues

Posted in Originals, Poetry, Reflections

To Fly Or Not To Fly.

I see a dream
I am in flight on my feet
Escaping, rushing – Adrenaline flowing
Sometimes looking at a cat standing guard
Outside my home, where my parents live
And sometimes I need a doctor for my sick mum
And his house is far, far away
So I rush and run or flee to warn my mum
But on the way somewhere my feet leave the ground
And then I am flying, taking elevation with every leap
Until, Until – a sword, a pang pierces me through
I am afraid
Of losing my home out of sight
Of forgetting my mum ailing in plight
And I begin descending back to home
To walking, not flying any more
To the door, to the streets with sodium lamps
Safe, Proper – Safe, Proper
To only find my parents busy in a bicker
Unaware, indifferent – to the danger lurking right out
Or to meet the streets still dark, still empty
And the doctor stilla  long way off.

~

ThursdayThoughts

Posted in Originals, Poetry, Reflections

It’s Alright, To Have A Cigarette Tonight

It’s alright
Have a cigarette for tonight
You dint have any since this morning
When cleaning laundry or completing the writing
When learning new adverbs or sitting with friends reminiscing
It’s alright
Have a cigarette tonight
But those are the reasons I dont wanna have one
That I could breathe through those times without having one
That I could fly up in the air – head and guts – without sucking at one
How’s it alright
To have a cigarette tonight
When today was a day I learned to breathe-in right
When I picked up my burdened heart and did not die under its plight
When she has asked me to quit smoke before my tongue’s nicotine dried
It’s alright
Have a cigarette tonight
You are not addicted to nicotine as of tonight
You can always go back to bearing the burdens of your plight
It’s ok to smoke this one cigarette, as the light goes out, on the starry night
There, it’s not alright
I just smoked a cigarette tonight
Everything you told me it would be, it was not at all in slight
Cheap cigarettes, cheap motives, cheap smoke, cheap delight
I can’t believe I fell for you again and burnt another beautiful night
It’s alright
It’s just a bad cigarette for one night

~

Monday Evening Musings

Posted in Originals, Poetry, Reflections

The Brown River | A Poem By The Caged Bird

One second the brown river was gushing past me
Like a motherfucker
Thick as my thighs, in its carved stone channels
Making a prisoner out of my ‘free’ self
Mocking me with her freedom to move
Like a motherfucker
My eyes, my eyes could not cope up
With the curves and troughs of her dynamic self
Cursing my head for not being swift enough
Cursing my eyes for not being big enough
Cursing my feet, for being there; and my wings, for not
Exhausted, I stand by my metal prison
I stop looking, trying to keep up, trying to flow
Like the motherfucker
Staring at a stone nearby, instead
I admire the architecture of its channels
Thanking them for keeping the mud off my road
Keeping those plump pairs of feet, in crox
Safe without slipping, up the hill

The next second, she stopped haunting me
Beginning to dance for me instead
Flowing in pulses, on a rhythm of its own
I see, she is dying to keep moving,
As if aware of the raining clouds above
That could, any minute, fly away
With her water, her mud, and her dance
I stood there looking her in the face,
By not looking her in the face, for the first time
Releasing from my prisons, detaching from my bones
My mud-blood flowing down my guts, reminding me
“As it was without, it was also within”

~

ThursdayTunes