Lego houses and Moonflowers.

"I'm gonna pick up the pieces and build a lego house.
If things go wrong, we can knock it down."



Chimes a new singer, straining my ears this early morning.
Forty four years of marriage, said the couple last night.
Almost the double of my existence, spent with another set of eyes, ears and heart.
What must that be like?

I couldn't put a finger on the words I'd use to answer back.
And then I remembered: "Moonflowers."


Moonflowers:-

Beautiful.

Tragically non-existent in the vacuum of Space for the practical minds who have sworn never to dream.
Alluring for those who choose to believe in these rare gems of matter,
as they sparkle somewhere in the hazy concoctions of a free mind.

Forcing the rest of us, such doubtful believers,
to stand by, somewhere in-between never and always.
Wanting two steps back for every one step forward.
Building homes with lego pieces
just so, if needed, they are easier to break down.


Which of these must ache louder?
A heart that has never tasted love,
One that dreams of love with all their might,
or one that is too afraid to fall?

Nomads.

The thing about nomads
is that they belong
to both the oceans and the seas lying in-between
their land and yours.


They are, at times,
like hesitating autumn leaves flying in mid-air across the skyline: ambitious, always desirous of height, yet falling.
Like brisk walks in quietened rain that you'd seek down at the Park  -- around its pond-- in a city that never stops, never ceases to spin endlessly.

And, at others,
like crowded, noisy streets burning with dust and relentless heat: savage beings, indifferent and careless of what may come their way.
Like temples galore around every block, with standards doubled for the rich and poor: disenchanted with their own existence, less hopeful.

Like chimes moving with sudden wisps of wind,
They become music to ears living oceans apart.
Friends to many, foes to some,
Always making their way through others' lives.


Nomads.
They are little bit of you and a little bit of me
But mostly, a little bit of nothing.
For they live, often with zeal, often without,
in your land and mine
but never belong.


#New York
#New Delhi

Layers

The best part about me is I try.

To speak, and to not.

To utter all that I must,

and to cave

when I should.

For the better of the worlds

both within me and outside.

With sun rays peaking through my windowpanes,

you'll find me a few layers beneath these shards.

In the flickering light of truth,
as it slowly dances on shared tales still paper thin.
A little known, a little unearthed,
deeper within,

you'll find me.

Please don't.

For the fear to be known is greater than the joy of being found

"It is, although it shouldn't be."

That's what someone said to me anyway.

#3 minutes.

The Inside of Love.

The inside of love.



Is it full of dreams pricking on the edges of the stars strung outside the window?
Is it the taste of water dripping down their collar bones?
Is it like fire spreading across branches in an iced land?
Is it the coming together of two souls, or just two halves back into one?

A mother's, a friend's, a lover's.
In different forms, through different plights.
Often with, often without.
In someone's eyes, in someone's hands, in someone's promises.
Sometimes a lot, sometimes none
And sometimes fading through wavering times.

We've seen love from far all along.
but what is it like on the inside?

Silence.

"In between thoughts and expression lies a lifetime of peace and war." 

- Me.

In silence, I could devour her gentle eyelids
strip them of their candescence glow with stolen kisses
dim the lights down, a little lower than before
until her eyes hold the darkness of my face near hers,
firmly.

In silence, I could leave her worries estranged
as I'd breathe love into the pulse dancing on her fragile chest, into her timid heart
Clashing footsteps in my mind and hers, while the street lights cast no traces of life.
This world of frenzy trapped inside her head
"Are we staying here, in this moment, only to leave?"
Her thoughts drum faster, through her lips into mine
Fears. unfathomable, unconquered.
She lies there, having won the game of loss
in hopes of building a home
with me.

Soldier My Way.

To leave or be left

To be remembered or forgotten.

To sink or swim

Love or friendship.

Like the pulse of tranquility in a no man's land,

beating loudly in between the chaos on either side of crossed wires,

There lies my heart content, instead of being ripped in two.

Rhythmic, resting lightly, unbroken

thinking about the choices that never showed up at my doorstep.

For she took me and changed me before I could speak

and tell her she had me at hello.

And these wars of the mind that raise qualms and doubts that needn't stay

in your eyes and in mine

Don't you know darling, through all the letters I sent back home

I'd soldier my way through our fate, this pain

Just to have your fingertips checking my pulse

after this blood storm.

#a little real, a little fictional. was just inspired by some choices I'd been talking about earlier tonight.

Lies.

Lies.

Engulfed by the sea of morbid storms still raining on his pride
In little nooks and corners of a quiet mind, that now rests unconquered and free
They lie.
Hidden.
These Lies.

From the eyes that surround him
and hold his gaze tight
From the hearts that breathe into him
A little bit of love, another chance at life.
They remain undeterred
unfathomable
These lies.

Why not paint the sky with your virtue and might
Hold your sins by the reign, on display?
Ah, such exquisite distortions in a life gone awry
And the irony of choice between
Threading me another tale of misery, of truth
Or, granting him the chance to save me with
These lies.

Contemporary Love.

So while you heard songs of love and merry tunes on your ways back home
from a long day at work, with tired eyes squinting through traffic's haze
I stood on the corner of my street, missing every chance to cross, thinking of you.
While you sat on your side of the world, away from the eyes of many, breathing just fine
I stayed still, near breathless, only to hear an echo of your existence through social media tides.

Like water, forever drawing me in yet beyond my grasp
you are stuck inbetween my fingers, like traces of a hand I held onto
under the sun, under dim lights
in the wake of my mornings and long sleepless nights
a love as pure as white 'twas
but nevertheless, in my head.

# 4 minutes. no joke. literally because while worlds fell apart, happy songs were on their mind.

To The Moon and Back.

To The Moon and Back.



I could close my eyes and let them breathe for once - away from his photographed eyes
I could stop my heart from being split in two - and for once, conquer the way it feels.

I could tie my hands to his wrist and let him lead
I could hold onto this ill-made boat of love
and with it, sink.

Like the sky - too far to be truly ours.

Like silence from lips left uncertain.

Like tomorrows and their promises paper thin.

Like the dismissed agony of storms within.

Like love that'll never see the light of day

and measure to the moon and back.

He's mine.

Yet never will be.

# this one took me really long. mostly because I was trying to not write it.

You.

I wanted you.

A little bit, and a lot
parts of you at different times
and your whole every now and again.


Sometimes your eyes hidden behind your glares
the lines around their corners as you'd hint a smile
Sometimes your carved nose and the way it holds your face together,
and your glasses up
So our eyes would meet often, but only through that glass, and never truly touch.
Sometimes your lips, and the little that comes out of them
Sometimes the crooked teeth and the witty mouth
that speaks of everything
but love.


Sometimes a little bit of you
Sometimes a lot.


I wanted you.



#let's see. 2 mins? again random scribble, but this one's before going to bed.

Distance.

Too close too soon.

Past barriers keeping everyone out.
When you reach where you ended up,
in the arms of a new life,
without remembering whether you had even set out to find it.
What do you do?

When some destined eyes hold your glance,
And you find yourself letting go of safe shores.
A drowner unknowingly ready to take a swim through life's unexpected.
What do you do?

Arriving at the doorstep of what could possibly be your destiny,
While you sat there waiting for nothing.
Do you let yourself let go of your fears?
Open armed,
and brave hearted,
Do you love?


Or.


Run.
Away from it all.
Clasping tight to every inch of land.
For you fear sinking
and becoming the other half of her one.


Too close, too soon.
What do you do?

Fall.

No I will let you breathe
But after I test your will
as you drown a little deeper
and walk up a steeper hill.
face it, conquer it
or
succumb to it like a heap of clay
they're going to leave you behind
best you get up and trudge along
follow if not lead
become calm if not fully composed
this is your challenge
rise to it
or disgracefully fall.

Fall.

clip your wings
turn around, there are none.
swim to the shore
from the deepest end
you are somewhere in between
that ocean
and your destiny.

Drown not.


Rise up
conquer.


Fall.

Strange.

Like strange birds
we sit on wires
waiting to fly

Like strange white lies
waiting to find honor in their purpose
and guilt in their denial.

Like estranged thoughts
that flash by
through the doors of your eyes
still wide open

Hiding. wanting. wondering. restless.
yet so quiet
are the strange waves of the unknown
within me.

Strange is the beat of your heart
still knocking on these wrists under my fingertips
Strange am I a little
If a little of me is still you.







#2 mins?
# feels incomplete. but i lost track of where i was going with this.

A shoulder

I don't need you to fight my battles
or tell me I'm strong
I don't need to hear you whisper
a prayer for me long after I'm gone
I don't need a crying shoulder
or a giving friend
All I need is silence
and the chance to look at you again.


I can fight life as it may come
in small packages and big surprises
live through dismay and huge sacrifices
I can do it all
It'd just be nicer somehow
if I had you too.


You're missed
not because I'm complete
but because I'd be more than whole
if you were here.


I guess we all need a shoulder sometimes
and someone to watch us face our life
It's just nicer sometimes to not be alone at your lowest
not so they can pull you back up
but because they'll be waiting there when you're done
and give your end a better name
and your worn out self some love.


# not a poem, just kept hitting enter for no apparent reason.
# 4 mins

Deeper.

‎"Inside my empty bottle I was constructing a lighthouse while all the others were making ships."- Charles Simic.

What this quote means is this: I was standing on the shore holding a light so I could be found, while everyone else was going out and facing the waves of life. 

That's how some people live. They want to be found so they stay in their corner, holding their little lights and waiting for the right ships to come their way. 

While with the same bottle (with the same chance at life), others make grand ships and take grand steps to go out there and make their destiny.

Which one are you?

Are you waiting for life to happen, for the right time to strike? when suddenly your life will fall into place because that's how everything is supposed to be in the end: "all right".

Or are you a fighter? a struggler? and a survivor? Have you dared to pick a dream and fight night and day for it? Have you given yourself the chance to step out of your mind, and realize that this world, its struggles, its miracles, these constant aches of peace are here to stay. 

They say that ships are safest at harbor, but that's not what they're built for.

Like it or not, it's not about you.

You won't be found locked up in a shell so tight

You must strive

Reach for something higher

and deeper

than the reflections of your eyes

Find meaning

Find life

and maybe while you're at it

You'll find yourself too.

#3 mins, before school, time to run!

Broken.

You're not broken.

The land you conquered and split in two
devastated, as it may be, with its demarcation
But, is it broken?

The wings that fail to soar endlessly in scorching daylight
their shreds and feathers lying on the roof of a Delhi veranda
left behind as they may be
But, are they broken?

The whims and fancies of a girl in pink
wearing a torn chunri as she asks you for change
returns to her mother in dismay
on a busy street
Denied and less hopeful than before, yes
But is she broken?

You could be torn like a land and its valleys
falling apart like the wings of a soaring bird
You  could be engulfed by endless denials too
You could be damaged like them all.


But I can't fix you.
for you're not broken.




(#4 mins)
(#Indian context)
(#crap)
(# Coldplay's song "Fix You")

That's okay.

If the heavens are red and the sky isn't blue
If tomorrow isn't here yet and today is long due
If you're stuck in time, in between the arms of the clock
running in circles, and chasing tails
Stop.

That's okay.


if you've opened all doors and climbed through windows
if you've crossed valleys and dodged raindrops
if you've ever seen a moonlit face
in the cloaks of beauty in a midnight haze
now lost.

That's okay.


If you've ever tasted love on the tips of your dreams
rescued their demons, and made them your own
if you've ever seen failure
where once stood your pride.

That's okay.



If you haven't that's okay
because tomorrow will come
They say you're alone now
That's okay
The game isn't over
because you haven't won.

If the sun eats the moon each day

and you see the same stars that I do too

If we're under the same sky

in my eyes and dreams and heart

If you still linger in my yesterdays

but on the same page we're not

That's okay.

They Go.

They Go.

They go so we can learn from them

They go so we can remember them

They go so we can miss them

And some go so we can still love them.

I’ve lost many along the way

Though I can’t say I never left the ball in their court

Following the “doing my part” policy seems like the only option each time a bond’s story goes awry

For me atleast

But how is it that they still reach a distance so far away from the realms of our yesterday

That no hello or smile or words can cross

And suddenly in the blink of an eye

I see these faces I loved before me

Separated from me by this abyss

Of silence.

So they never tried the way I did

or is it that I never noticed?

What I really wonder is this:

If I really was as great as I seem to be

Why am I writing this alone?

I miss you P. I miss your catwalks down the hall way, your ink stained jeans and your orange and white striped shirt. I miss the fact that you played your role in my life so well. I miss that we’d burp together and sneak off to lunches and coffees and huge ice-cream sundaes, away from the eyes of judgment and away from them all. Because they won’t get it, I’d think., but turns out I didn’t. How is it we can know someone so well yet never enough about them?

I miss you M. for the person I thought you could be. For the fairy tales and castles you built so high, and the way you were rooted at home. How is it that even good people can surprise you?

I miss you P, we could’ve been great friends. We were. 

And one day I’ll miss you too A. but for now I have to let you go.

Lost are gems in the sands of time

they'll glisten someday

on an unknown street, on a sunlit day

under a stranger's roof

or out in the world.

In their silent shine

I'll find you

Life is long

and shorter for some

but

I'll see you

I tell myself it's alright if you had to go

Would it have been okay if you had taken me too?

Change of Heart.

[ took 4 minutes, random scribble right after waking up, doesn't count, i'll actually want to delete this once I'm wide awake! ]


sing to me
won't you please
of the time
when the sun rise meant I'd see your face
of the time
when being in love felt better than being without it
of the time
i'd smile at the chance of meeting you someday
of the time
there was a world of tomorrows
in my head.

Like an ounce of sunlight in a jar
I'd trap those moments, too, in my boxed heart
and let them linger in the corners of my closed eyes
as I'd lay
waiting; holding;
they'd flow out on the creeks of my face
at the sight of you
someday.


But, that is never going to happen now.

For today
I'm changed.

Has it already happened?

“And then I felt sad because I realized that once people are broken in certain ways, they can't ever be fixed, and this is something nobody ever tells you when you are young and it never fails to surprise you as you grow older as you see the people in your life break one by one. You wonder when your turn is going to be, or if it's already happened. ”
 -- Douglas Coupland "Life After God."

"A thousand half-loves must be forsaken to take one whole heart home." - Rumi

What Do I Do?

The beauty of drafts is that you think you've deleted the 4 minute 30 second rant you jotted down and thought to yourself "wow this is pathetic, nevermind". But no, they stick around, lingering in your drafts folder, waiting for a decision to be made. Life should be like that too, there should be a draft button. So you can write and edit and delete and add and take away and hold onto it a little long before their eyes can see what I do.


So what do I do
when the sun is out
and I'm stuck in my head
thinking of you
When the dusk settles
and the lights come on
and I'm stuck in the moment
remembering you
When the cars come home
and the curtains are drawn
inbetween tomorrow and today
while I long for you
These cycles go on
into the early morn
as another day is lost
for a love forlorn
Isn't it strange
like a knot undone
Because I want what we had
But I don't want you.

The Loser's Poem.

Through this tainted mirror of journeys
which reads your reflection
and the years in my eyes
Let me sit beside you in the wake of this storm
and show you the place I'm in.

Can I crack you open into pieces
and gather them the way I want
Can I take out the ones that fit me well
and hide the ones I'd want out.

Can I string together a thousand reasons
for why we do the things we do
I don't think about love that often
But is it love if I think about you?

That's the trouble with wanting to write
to chain myself to these keys and "let emotions flow"
I start out to write about the journeys that have been
but like my life, I've made this, too, about you.

Where is Home?

Home is where the heart is 

or so they say

but is your heart with you at home?

Where is your home I ask myself
back in the land you were born in?
Or in the land you are in now?




Your passport's been stamped every few years
the traveling has been documented
but the effects of it all on your life
are invisible
for everyone's eye but your own
or maybe they too can see right through you
and the incomplete being that you really are
the entity who's stuck in the middle
of a little bit of both
and a little bit of nothing
the half empty glass
that you've become.
the has been and never will be
that you've become.


Memories tell me this place is half your home.




Then
Why don't you
Belong?

Stuck in a Ghost's Cycle.

Past the local shop
through the park around the corner of this block
Into the alley next to the abandoned church
And onto the busy street with cars rushing by

I could vanish.

Put my shoes on
and line these amber eyes with kohl
one last time
and be gone.


Yes I could.
Pass the local shop
Walk through the park around the corner of this block
Enter the alley next to the abandoned church
and reach the busy street with the cars rushing by.
Vanish.


But I wouldn't remember seeing the grief of the mother at the store
The smell of flowers as they lie on a grave near the park
The candles she lit against the wind at the altar
The dust on her knees and tears on her face
I just wouldn't remember it all.


Past the shrine I would walk
onto the busy street
"No one cares about me"
"Would anyone even burn a candle
If I, too, were to leave?"


No, I wouldn't remember the mother's pain
and the end of life she mourns
I'd walk right past her
even through her sometimes

As she would sit there
and grieve
for
me.

Shallow Success

Success.

To laugh and share good jokes.
To smile at yourself in the mirror.
To sleep to the sound of your favorite song.
To eat good food in company.
To have peace under the roof
and warmth in your heart.
To care and be cared for.
To have people who listen to you
and value you.
To matter
to atleast three people in your life.

To have it all
and not You
Is to have won
the game of loss.

Goodness On Our Sleeves.

She's got her back turned to me but I know it's her. My friend for years, I could tell her apart from a sea of heads just by the way she'd stand. Shoulder-length hair, a sleek waist that ran into her wide hips, her feet adorned with chappals all the time. My pillar for years, sometimes unsteady herself.

All the good that there is in her, I wish she'd wear it on her eyes before she left the house. So when she stares back at the people watching her smoke, they can see deeper and realize the wonder that she really is inside. The damage that she can never do to any soul, I wish she'd wear it around her slashed wrists. So when she shakes hands with strangers over coffee, they can see she's the kind of friend who'll never let go.

How do I rescue the demons inside of you, take you and put you infront of you. So that you may see what I do.
Do I paint a picture of your goodness
or write a song of your ways
so that they see what they should
not the wrongs they see instead.

Wouldn't it be simpler to wear our hearts out in the open
With our goodness on our sleeves
So they'd know the difference between the girl you are
and the type they judge you to be.

What Have I Done?

On the wrong track
finding a way back into love
There's been more harm done than good
What I could've been
and what I'll always be
is crystal clear, so different.
If I had known this would be today
I'd linger in my yesterdays
I'd rewind till the days of scraped knees
and start all over again.


"The years teach what the days may never know"
I tell myself along the way

But I would if I could

Had I known what I know today.

The Heart.

You make me want to write.
I saw that image and the first thought that ran across my mind was: "I've got to write about this."

The most prominent part of the image isn't the cliche phrase "Love is Blind". Why, of course, love is blind. That is why you fall in love, not walk into it or pass by it. You fall -- head over heels, heart over head-- into a pit of emotions. You fall yes, and into a pit indeed. Only to never really crawl out of it. You ought to fall into such a terror, no one is going to sit or stand their way to it.


For your fall to take place there must be an element tripping you over. The sparkle in his eyes, the way her hair falls on her face, the way his laugh echoes in your ears long after he is gone, or the way her eyes shine with your reflection. There's got to be something that caught your eyes (I really mean heart here). You slowly begin to know more about them, and soon you can spot them in a sea of people just by the way they walk, you know what they sound like early in the morning, you know what makes them tick.


And suddenly, after long weeks and months and years of observing them and understanding them and seeing them, you are suddenly blind. Blind to see whats coming, blind to notice you have fallen, too blind to know 'tis love.


But it happens. We go from a phase of seeing everything about that person so clearly, into a phase of utter blindness. Where nothing else matters, sometimes even we ourselves don't matter to us. All that matters is them.

While I was uncomfortably trying to remember what turns fondness into blindness, I realized why I liked this image to begin with.

The heart's shape has stayed true to its origin. No more valentine's day type sweet-heart shapes, but the closest a heart can be to its natural form. 
It sparks a sense of reality in me the moment I see what's left of the heart's vena cava, artery and veins (the small extensions coming out of the heart at the bottom, on the top and on the sides). I realize the stark contrast between the hearts we hold to those cliche <3 shapes that  represent it.


It reminds me that a heart is actually "a muscular organ found in all animals with a circulatory system that is responsible for pumping blood". Pumping blood -- that's all that it's good for.


But we take it and objectify it and personify it. We give our "heart" to the person we love, we feel it break when our faith is broken. We say words we truly mean and claim they are coming from the bottom of our "hearts". We trust people way too easily and our best friends always tell us to "stop wearing our hearts on our sleeves".



Stop. 
Your heart isn't broken, your heart isn't torn between what was and what could be of you and him. Your heart isn't tired of waiting, you are not to succumb to heart-ache of that sort. Your life and its fashion of breaking into a pieces isn't because you wore your heart on your sleeve.


Your heart is a pump.
Let it be.

Does the pain ease the moment you don't have a heart to attribute all your ache to? Maybe not.

But this image makes me want to write.
It makes me want to say this:

God placed your head above your heart.
There has got to be a reason for it.

I Hate Humans.

They say things they don't mean. And, when they do mean things from the deepest corners of their hearts they don't always say it.
When they smile at you, across the hallways, on the train, in the middle of the road, from windows above they don't mean a thing. While they look at you, straight in your eyes, whisper in your ears, they still don't.
They write big words, and commit to great standards in life, but their reality is full of mistakes. Their words can heal you and their warmth can help you weather the worst of storms in life, but they later become a storm you can't handle, the reason behind the tears you can't fight.

They lie, they cheat, they love, they pray. All at the same time.

And I, too, smile and pray and love and lie to myself that I don't hate humans. Because, I do.

Facebook

Hey everyone, thank you for following my site. Just wanted to let you know I've created a facebook page and would love for you to join it.

Please search for Under The Same Sky- Poems. The facebook link is also posted to the left on my blogspot site. With 25 followers, I will be able to create a facebook username for my page and share a direct link with you.

All you have to do is search for under the same sky-poems and like the page.

Thank you!

Maira

The First Page.

First pages have a funny sense of optimism. Everything, in the starting, seems so beautiful, so bright. The wake of dawn, the birth of a baby, the start of a new relation.

The sun rays hit your face, and you wake up from a deep slumber. Untouched by worries or sorrow, there are these precious seconds between wakefulness and sleep, where the mind walks across the bridge built between dreams and reality. In those mili-seconds of bliss, we trudge across a path of tranquil serenity and pure oblivion. We walk on the unknown shores, on the sands of dreams, while the waters of reality slowly touch us, as we lay there in bed,  and slowly wake up to the world we had left behind a few hours ago. We trudge along, becoming almost indifferent to the distant lulls of our fantasy-land, yet unaware of the reality that awaits us. Before the waves of memories, responsibilities, chores, regrets-- the weight of it all-- encompasses our state of waking, before we enter the lands uncontrolled by our wishes and wills. For the first few moments, unlike any other in the rest of lives, we are free.

Who would've known that love can concoct evil? That the simple pleasure of finding your reflections in another other soul can ruin and devastate your own existence. Where the magic of growing up together can disable you from growing up alone. Where the joys of passion and remembrance can turn into sordid thoughts of chaos and ache.

Why does a beautiful beginning seldom reach its beautiful end?

The coming together of two souls bleeds love and purity in its truest form. How then does a child grow up to lead a life of despair? Why isn't the beauty of new life sustained as the child grows up? Why do the memories of his childhood, and the dreams of a good career, a good future, a great life never translate into the present reality?

Why are all the first pages of all these stories you hear the best that'll ever be?


"Yeah", she told herself. "First pages do have a funny way of seeming bright."

Change Me.

Take this glow off my eyes

the sparkle & shine

from the depths of my dreams

and make it fade.

Take these lines on my hands

& the way they burn with my faith

in what tomorrow may bring

and cross them till they can't be read

Take this depth of my heart

and its ocean of wait

and fill it with your truth

not your lies

or deceit

Undo yourself from the spaces of my mind

from the corners and the walls and the rooms inside me

pick these pieces

of your laugh; of your smile

like your bags

Take yourself, and leave

Undo yourself

and all that I know of you

And if you can't

then just somehow

Change me.

On the Outskirts.

And what do you say
to the silence that plays on the outskirts of this deserted mind
Patiently I wait for the dawn of your voice
on these ear drums of mine
Fluttering in my gardens of plight
are these strange butterflies
colored with hopes and bedazzled dreams
of seeing you again
and the likelihood of that being
not just a trick of my mind
but a possibility attained.


(I took the quotation marks at the ends off because I wrote this, I realized that can be a bit misleading. I was just trying to quote the voice in my head.)

An Egoistic Shrine

I look at all these strangers, and they seem to have it figured out. I see all these faces of stone, wearing the world on their shoulders, carrying it around. But they must bleed when the going gets tough, they must have some sort of these egoistic shrines. Where they go and vent their pain & anger, and show truth to those unknown. Isn't it funny to sit here and be yourself- more calm and free. For eyes that don't know who you really are. In the day you soldier out and build your castles, to return to these shrines of shame. Where you write your mind, and hang your soul, only to wake up and win the world the next day.

For The Eyes That Are Never Around.

I’m looking for your face

Down these blocks, in the train

I keep thinking that these doors will open

and you’ll walk in.

I stand on the corners of these streets

Waiting for the light to turn green

I keep thinking you’re standing across somewhere

Looking at the way I walk, the rhythm in my feet

I fix my hair, I wear these clothes

I live

I be

In every little way

Just the way you’d want me to be

I don’t speak to strangers

Never look with anger at the eyes that devour me

I never run to catch buses

I walk, because you’ll be seeing.

I always look out windows

In the distant alleys, behind shadows of trees

I smile while staring at walls

At the smallest of moments

That cross my mind

I think about you more often than

I should

Maybe even more so

Than I knowingly breathe.

I be

This way and more

For the eyes that are never around

While the sun comes up to touch your face

There is darkness in this town.

Peace & You.

While into the arms of heaven
I shall soar
relentlessly, painlessly
with all my might
I will find my way
towards peace.
Out of darkness
Into the streams of light
around the corners of tomorrow
if not today
but one day
I will find you.


Find you, enchain you
into the spaces of my mind
keep you, hold you
through wavering times
But till then, I mustn't wither
my strength to look for you around
If not now, maybe somehow
I shall find peace
and maybe
in it find you too.

The Games We Play.

Spill.
Take your heart and your soul
the pieces and bits of you
you hide so well.
Out from the corners, and into the light
Let the hidden be known.
locked and untouched, what art thou but a broken tie
a fragile bond, my yesteryear
always there, but never around
like a song in my head
and a beat to my feet
you are truth; a reality.

Do not twinkle or let me blink.
Stay till you must be gone
Like rain must pour and I must breathe
Let your presence be my possibility.

As I scour through remains
and put you in an old box on the left
Smile at me through these photographs
As I hear you call my name
and live this love
in my head.

Must.

They say the shell must break before a bird can fly.



And, the moon must leave before the sun can rise.
Like rain must pour before there can be clearer skies.
And there must be lies before the truth can be known,
There must be dismay before you can smile.

Look not in the passings of your daily tides.
At the colors on earth or the etchings above in white.
Look deeper, closer
into the unwritten tales
of there being darkness
right before the day.

The Dreamer Within.

Hundreds of faces, locked in the rooms of his eyes. He sees strangers, he sees friends, but these faces, these smiles, these words, they pass him by. He hears them speak, but I'm not sure he's heard any of it. He laughs with them, but I'm not even sure he means it.

It's not sadness or heartbreak. He's restless. Isn't it better, much easier, to know what you want? To know the dreams you want to see, is half your battle. But what if he travels, without knowing where he'd rather be. What if he lets it all pass by, hoping for something else, when he doesn't even know what that really is.

He's a soldier by day, a dreamer by night.
But which battle wears his strength down more?
The struggle to be someone in life
or to find out who that someone really is.

They say a dreamer is the one who can find his way by moonlight. But, his punishment is that he sees the dawn before the rest of the world.

You must not dream till the night is over
for the cycle of these days and nights is but a lie
the earth will spin, and the sky will burn
with crimson mornings each day round
you must find your path in moonlit streams
before you drown in the rays of dawn.

A Silent Prayer.

And this world will take a hold of you, your feet enchained by watchful eyes. Will you ever be free? At your will, will you ever get the chance to let go? Off this ground and into the sky. You beseech the unknown with a lion's might, as your wings flutter. But do you have the strength to face the winds of truth? For you shall never know what lies beyond, until you get there. And you shall never see what lies within them until you're wronged. Some are shattered, some are broken. But, what is it to be cracked? There is a strength in you that is undeniable, a spark in your eyes that cannot, will not, ever be lost in the flow of your crimson tears. For you do not cry when fate is at its worse, you smile. Because you know this all too well. You will make it, you will survive. But they shall never know. For you are a silent prayer; whispered often but seldom heard.

Choices.

Sometimes I wonder what I'd pick if I got a chance to go back and pick all over again. The path I chose, the thoughts that ran through my mind, the people that surrounded me that time. Would a change in my choices really have saved me? I keep wondering about the moment in time, whether there was any at all, that drew a certain line between what is and what could have been…when was the exact situation in which any changes made could have changed my future then…the present today. Was there a certain day in the time that was (the past) which could've been played out differently, and almost directly changed the course of today?

Is there a control group somewhere in our conscience which could measure the impact of each event individually on our lives.  Somehow show the exact things that lead to today, what exactly made us who we are today… more so how we are today. A way to determine what went wrong. within.

Truth is I wonder if I could've stopped it. If there was a way for me to be a different person today.

Different person. People would probably want to be a different person when they are ashamed of who they are. Am I?

I've sought solitude with passion, closed all doors that led to me. Refraining from anyone and everyone has helped me find peace. Without any external provocations, your inner self find this equilibrium within. greater good may not get to you, but neither can the bad. you become a sum of your own vibrations. you sit in silence, and you resonate your own light. your mind returns to its natural state, its original place of being, where it is untouched by the constant deterioration and depletion caused by indulging in matters of the world. A blank heartbeat, a blank mind, blankness in its truest form gives you the chance to remember who you truly were…without external influences and unseemly consequences, it reminds you of your natural state of being. the person you are in your heart, the person you are meant to be.

Like the rubbing of two rocks may leave scratches on its surface, we are bound to be influenced, to be effected through life's travels. it is unreal to presume that what we are, how we are, shall remain through the course of time, and that years later there will be nothing lost and nothing found. As long as the dynamism of existence prevails, the air around us, the life forms around us will rub against us, interact with us, and it is certain we shall be eroded, changed, influenced.  Life seldom lets you pass by untouched.

Choices. Could we have picked the right things for us all along if we'd have known what they might lead to? We couldn't have known then what we know now. Its true that years teach what the days may never know.

So the naive will keep thinking they had a choice, trying to determine which string pulled the wrong chord of their life, and dreading they didn't pick the right course in life.

Choices are man's way of empowering himself, his conscience. That he could've turned the tide his way. A surreal mirage if you will.

Today is because of yesterday, and the passings of yesterday were because of the day before that. How then can we figure out what could've been done differently?

Choice of deed, your actions are definite. For example, to lie or to declare the truth is a choice.

But what life brings to your plate, in which form and manner life erodes your natural being, and what, as our inner child's grievance, could we have done differently to have a better today…that choice is nothing but a mere facade.

Choices. They are the absence of acceptance of reality. The absence of forgiveness to yourself for the reality that couldn't be.

Choices. 

There are none.

I have run.

Stand back, be forgotten. Let the waves of time wipe you clean. Give precious moments of solitude to a damaged heart if you may. and it might just beat again.

But please, for now, don't look me in the eyes or I might come undone. like a knot held together with a child's might.

I have run, for I was scared. of being known and seen and heard

But if I hide longer, this way. away from your eyes, away from the sun.

You'll never know the veins beneath my skin

or of storms running within them.