Cause

I hurry because I fear. 

Worry for the path unclear. 

All I do is fuss about 

for I am somewhere though here. 

Bookaholic

Pages of a book unfold. 

Or the kindle-mate lights up. 

Day begins with folklores old

‘fore  the morning tea is slurped. 

As the stories roll and stir - 

every word is scrutinised. 

In the silence of murmur

a peppery tale is diced. 

The scent of the texts galore

with the allure of a lore. 

Pause

 

Now is the time to slow down

for the hands of time slow not. 

Let those dull bygones not hound

for after-time who knows what.

Why look for a cause to fight?

Life is good and yet you whine.

The tired limbs seek a respite. 

This race has no finish line. 

A smile can erase each scar. 

The glass will tell who you are. 

Yawn

 

My days are filled with long yawns. 

Bright no more glares of neon. 

Those dusks that I so longed for -

come eve and I wait for dawn. 

War For Peace

 

Bullets fly to maintain peace.

Who are foes, who are allies?

Nights are long for fires not cease,

and loud are the peace rallies.

Fog of war is blur but clear-

we see but do not believe.

To the past the futures steers,

and all we ask is to live.

Truth is shamed, a lie is praised-

now unsure which flag to raise.

Pyre

And slowly it burns in the fires of pyre 

the figure that warmed us with golden words. 

Even in pale death how neatly attired

all so ready for the journey onwards. 

Old memories blaze as the flames engulf

to wrap me in that familiar embrace. 

Tears well up as I try to bridge the gulf

between truth and hope lest I lose its trace. 

Often I feel the presence in my dream-

in the lovely haze I wish that clears not. 

I wake not though unreal it may deem

for it binds us with those surreal knots. 

As the pyre burns- I muse, fidget and fuss-

if ever a soul lived for a purpose. 

Fragile

 

Can you enjoy the summers

when the heat is on and long?

And snow with its cold murmurs-

or fails to tune in a song?

Do you enjoy the rain drops

or they fall hard on your heart?

Does the autumn bring dep sobs,

and spring seems less of an art?

All weathers can bring a smile

if your soul is not fragile.