Words on Thought.

In my heart, there are certain places that are shared by none;
For those are the places restricted to the number one,
Among whom special people share a certain heart-view;
And among this number I count you.

In life, life itself fails to allow words to express each emotion
Every fish can certainly not describe each and every ocean
Aye, at times, a word communicates itself by thought,
In days like these, these are rarely wrought.

The thought to call out lurks all day, then the eye spots an eye,
So this thought suddenly unfurls its wings and begins to fly,
When the eye, done, blinks and rebounds to it, by-and-by,
The thought is consumed by the blue sky.

Words again I use to describe the thought that was forgotten,
Threads of silk I need to use to tie up this wayward cotton,
To let you know, in this place, in my heart, where you reside,
There is but soft simple cotton with no silk beside.

Staying Awake.

My night prepares me for Hope,
Staying awake in silence,
With eyes wide open,
Has made me appreciate the dark.

Loneliness corresponds.

Staying awake prepares me.

Through the past, I built my hope on blue skies and the sun.
In years, I realised the blue could turn grey,
And the sun could burn and set.

The dreams night bestowed
Were invisible by day.

So I am awake,
When the world about me
Blissfully dreams on.

Alone – doing whatever it is I do –
Staying awake at night,
Sleeping through mornings instead.

Quiet night prepares me,
For the rest of life ahead.

5th November 2007.

Like the Sweetness of Wine.

The life I lead is not the one I had;
I have no cause to call either one bad.
I think of years long gone, and feel the tears,
Which bear the pain that never disappears.
I then berate myself for thinking so;
For all those years have left as these shall go;
And as I watch the gentle fall of rain
Recalling times of joy, remembering pain –
I note that what had brought the joy and pain
Is long gone to never be seen again.
And then, I pause. Why weep? Oh, foolish me!
In pining for what was, I failed to see
That as those times are dead, so shall these go;
What rises high now may then crumble low,
And years from here shall I covet today,
For I do tend to think of yesterday.
The present makes its way into the past,
And often moulds the first to bring it last,
And since the old is sweeter than the new,
We see the rainbow but later its hue.
The life I lead is not the one I had,
It has to age enough to make me sad.

20th July