Liar

 

When the silver sands of the beach beckon,

I tell myself that I don't want to roll.

What does a lone ship at the sea reckon 

when I sail not but she can read my soul?

Though far away, I hear the mountains call-

I tell my limbs you are too old to climb.

And the echoes of the valleys recall

but I fear that I am not in my prime.

And when the long gliders fly in the sky

I close my eyes for they seem just too high.

But I am awake when the seagulls cry

for even daring to dream I am shy. 

How far do horizons appear to lie?

Or is it just me I wonder and sigh.

War-Cry

 

War is over and fewer men return

now aware that it wasn’t yet their turn.

The teary eyes thirsty for a long sleep

but pillows will dry after nightmares burn.

Butterfly And Bee

 

I would want to be a pink butterfly

basking in the yellow morning sunshine.

I would flap my colourful wings to fly,

and hop from flower to flower to dine.

Or rather I live as a honey bee,

and make the golden liquid of pleasure?

I will disguise it from those eyes greedy,

and shall use my sting to guard the treasure.

But a honey bee buzzes all the while-

for people like us who steal her nectar.

And the poor butterfly is so docile

that it lives to please us like an actor.

If ever fate gives me a choice of role-

I would not know on which path I would roll.