A PARAGON OF SOPHISTICATION

colorful-1325264_1280Even if you don’t understand my footsteps

Adore the way my body sways

Even if you cannot see my perfection

Remember I started this journey, naive

I have walked the narrow road

And fought with iron rods

I have climbed mango trees to hide

Waiting in silence for my attackers

I have trampled on fear and regret

And given birth to the end of worry

Your visions may not shown you my mission

But I have not earned this title by mistake.

 

Why do you look at me with questions

As if you can repair my painting

Why do you call my art a child

As if you were there when it was born

I have learned the signs of the ink holders

Those who drape words with mirth and wisdom

I have met heroines of good fortune

Who never let depression impress their spirits

I am dancing in the rain of these days

Though always believing that the sun shall shine

I am becoming a paragon of sophistication

Even if you first met me in naivety’s mansion.

UNSPOKEN RULES OF OUR PORTION

Often too quickly the new becomes old
A beautiful story is no longer told
The crawling toddler is now a limping aged
The sunrise has soon returned to bed.
By days or moments, we stay locked out
Shielded by something raw and round.

Like a tyrant wielding a rod
Ready to whip one that runs
These rules bend us, break us, belittle us
They tell us the things we can’t want
They remind us of our disabilities
As if humanity shares not one disease.

They are codes, invisible symbols
Crafted into people standing by walls
Staring at you with the corner of their eyes
Ready to drill you till you pay the price
We soon cower under their gaze
Too frightened to try to win the race
So we accept in simple resignation
Our million doses of painful portion.

A TRACE OF MAY

Twitter80fad54As this May fades, I still see traces of my previous dreams

Upon this bed, I listen loud for questions writing wills

Have I been sour, upsetting all that tread upon my path?

Have I been kind, a sparkling light that brightens every heart?

Is this how youth goes away

When there’s still so much to say?

Is this how night turns to day

With too little time to pray?

Does my mind only conjure

All the best thoughts I can draw?

Does my spirit stay ashamed

Of the purpose yet achieved?

As May fades away, I see traces of hope

As I tick this day as gone, I still await a show

Maybe May was a stage sent to test my living skills

May May leave me good traces of these daring drills.

A BUFF OF LIVING

As this day fades like dust long sprayed
As the moments of the twenty four hours complete their course
As the moon overlays the skies
And the stars appear in their graceful apparels
I think to myself of the minutes saved
The moments lost, the times poorly used
Perhaps brooding over misfortunes gone
Or wishing for future fortunes.

Many like me archived today
Storing it in a briefcase without codes
Hoping that we may repair yesterday
In our ideal sketch of the morrows to come
We keep tiny bits of our breakfast till nightfall
Often too panicked that our bowels will scream
And cry pitiably for want of satisfaction
Or dearth of seas in our intestines.

What if we became buffs of the present
Living a day at a time, one step in the line
What if we turn off yester woes and future fears
To live in the present and just dance in today.

MIRACLES AT MIDNIGHT

Like strange appearances
They stand at your entrance
Waiting in eager anticipation
Willing to bestow a solution
Dawn woke you to crack the nuts
Dusk left you hitting your head
But like a gentle touch in sharp cold
The door receives a knock
And your heart ignites with shock.

What happened to joy and merriment
And the three wishes of love, life and laughter
What happened to justice
And the carefree systems of order
Yet like infant babes naive of danger
We welcome the warm winter
Uncertain of the hovering outcome
Of an angel’s arrival at the dark hour
But thankful for the timely truce.

DETONATE THEIR PIECES

In anguish, we watch the weary grow weaker
We act concerned, but stay aloof
Frightened that our help may bring hell
Or that their curse may stain us
These children of humanity walk our roads
Seeking shelter and relief from the rain
The one that denies us harvest
Clearing off all the farm yield and grain
But shall nonchalance forever grace our faces
While we detonate their pieces
As if they are bombs without need of mercy
Or wanton frames hiding from survival.