Friday, 26 February 2021

The Songs

At some point, 

life seemed to be overwhelmed by everything 

drab and lifeless, 

every single juice had been squeezed out of it 

no drug would cure it 

the days lasted a lifetime 

the songs that were a lifeline 

took off for the hills 

there was nothing 

earth became empty and desolate 

as though waiting for god to breathe life into it 

it wasn't so. 

It is still drab, desolate and barren 

but the songs are nice again. 

Thursday, 25 February 2021

Once

once everything seems to be still, 

and the world as calm as a sleeping baby, 

you will be assailed by long dreamless

nights, and days 

there are no storms

may be because you learned to swim 

but then the storms are always never far off 

but for once, you tell yourself 

once, everything seems still 

it may not last 

but you take solace in the fact that 

you lived every second of it. 

Sunday, 21 February 2021

Wanton Sighs

Phew! 

That was close, 

sigh!

why would you want to get high 

even?

because, even Stephen

the martyr

sighed and bowed out earth 

and lived to tell the tale 

thousands of generations later   

Friday, 19 February 2021

The Sun is Welcome Today

 the sun has risen today, 

its warmth and light penetrates 

the curtails, 

its welcome on this part of the world, 

it could be a good day, 

there is hope, though a glimmer of it 

when there is a glimmer, 

it is as good as any other day 

today sorrow takes a break 

today's dawn heralds new beginnings 

short-lived they may be, 

but it will be worthwhile 

The Wingless Bird

atop, the vistas are no longer 

breathtaking, 

there is no allure in trying to perch 

on the highest points 

instead, I'll clip my wings 

and forage on the ground 

for worms, 

then, I hope I might be the early bird 

for when the rest swoop down from 

their intricate nests 

I shall have had my fill 

And, being wingless, I shall have my thrill 

Thursday, 18 February 2021

Aromas of Solitude

the beckoning aromas of solitude 
invites the senses as best as it should 
for a man dangling on the life's precipice 
and every situation is met by resigned sighs 

the stale stench of intimacy 
awakens moments that were once rosy 
and the picture of it looms 
despicably hallowed - a dictator's portrait in a room 

because everything has been said and done 
there is nothing more except be a man 
journey across various life's spectra 
stripped of any mystery or aura 

Wednesday, 17 February 2021

A Cacophony of Bad Dreams

a chill, 

an ice cold serpent slithers  

on my back 

and I lie still, 

playing dead 


these are the nights 

running up and down chasing sleep 

and when its within my grasp 

a night crawls underneath my blankets 

and devours it all 


sleep becomes intermittent 

coming in between long spells 

of bitter wakefulness 

thinking the same old thoughts 

and when sleep is finallly roused in its slumber 

the dreaded nightmares crawl for their feast