I am laden with advice
by those who seem worldly wise.
These men are loaded with vice
yet are keen to analyse.
They use the well used adage,
and plant the seed unneeded.
Alas! this sprout of knowledge
is better left unheeded.
Sweet and eager to express-
sour the fruit when in excess.
The fire is iced in the box-
unkindled lies in a lair.
Awakes when the desire knocks,
or hides deep inside somewhere.
Sometimes its fragrance escapes
as the ice vapours away.
Then this fire new attire drapes,
and no frost can make it sway.
Gloves are off when undisguised-
ice on fire or fire is iced.
She waits for the tide to ebb.
Old bones creak with every step.
She drags on with resilience
for the beach gives her the pep.
The days appear so clear now-
proof of a long pending vow.
Though dusk lures with its intent-
the wine does not tempt somehow.
Roller coaster days are gone.
What thrill it was to ride some.
When you weigh the pros and cons-
you sense - best is yet to come.
As you stand at a crossroads,
savour those moments and hum,
memories discard and hoard-
you trust - best is yet to come.
And the chords of the soul strum-
you know best is yet to come.
Your words do not match the tune.
An offbeat smile on the face.
How long can you be immune,
and let the soul not surface?
Why do you so camouflage,
and withdraw into your shell?
For I know you by and large,
and I am under your spell.
Memories throb and riot -
even though you are quiet.
I sometimes see her sitting in a park.
At times I see her working with vigour.
I often sense her walking in the dark.
But she is gone yet her presence lingers.
Memories spring up from those old pictures
with her undeterred smile full of pleasure.
They tell me I have her calming features-
I’m proud that is how I am measured.
Many a times I go to bed early
for I know she will appear in my dreams.
That is where I can chat with her surely,
and feel life is not as bad as it seems.
I long for her blessings on my birthdays.
To see her often I seek different ways.
