The Twins.

Storming the brain of the mind of the twin,
Had not the measure of love that would give
Joy, nor the hurt, nor the pain that could win
All the interesting decisions to live

Flying from Worlds where Happiness lives on,
Rested in homes wherein Lust oft deceived –
Laughing and waving with him Hope had gone –
Smilingly, Life in a whisper believed:

“Lying for thee, and then pining for thee,
“Crying for all, to be happy for what?
“Vain and unkind, to be sure, thou shall be,
“Naught to the world, in quandaries caught.”

Just like the Earth, in a dream for the Sun,
Blissfully aches to unite and be one,
Hearts of the two (like the Prodigal Son)
Waiting to feel then be crushed by the ton.

Waiting and waiting, to wait is a curse,
Lasting forever like darkness of death,
Hope has been carried away in a hearse,
Gone and forgotten to never be met.

Life which follows with a staggering sway,
Breathes with the burden of living alone,
Crying in anger and begging her stay,
Losing a twin is a reason to mourn.

Looking in eyes that do kindly seem true,
Life in a dilemma is scared to be weak,
Searching for Hope in a crowd of so few,
Now, to be happy, a love she does seek.

The Same Moon

The brightest stars twinkle in their places,
In the cloudless, dark blue sky.
On warm earth the flowers lie
With a dewy sprinkle on their faces.
The breeze sifts in a soft lullaby;
A nightingale croons: “Not him, ‘tis I.”

The lover sits beneath a leafy bower
Reviving a memory,
Of what was destined to be.
Remnants of it fall in a wary shower;
Wisps of an immortal mystery,
Of what is to be or not to be.

Always so distant and never too close;
Neither the ground for flight,
Nor the question of might.
Always the sun gave way as she arose;
The same love at her fair sight,
The same moon for us at night.

“The rape of youth, by cruel fate and time”

The rape of youth, by cruel fate and time,
Long since negates the sweetness of those flowers;
Betraying love and murdering the rhyme
Which tells of hope surpassing deadly hours.
Those flowers you gave to me are red, the red
Which’s all that’s left on a virgin bride’s bed;
Those flowers you gave to me are soft and bright;
Tomorrow, tell me, will they please my sight?
Will those petals shrivel and lose their hue,
Or will they remain so – to love just me?
Oh, no, do not reply. (I know those tears, too!)
Those dew drops upon those petals I see,
They fade, e’en now, before my wary eye;
‘Tis best not to know that e’en now they die!

10th October