Struggle

A silence, a longing, a struggle, 
To get back my balance, 
Lost and found, lost and found, 
Like my love for you
Hiding in my own heart
Surprising and attacking me,
Attacking my reason, 
To follow your steps
Like a faithful disciple
Which my heart is, 
But my reason isnt.
Whom should I heed?

You

Flow with the rivers
Fly with the kites
When you come back
You are the river
You are the kite 
No more you. 

Dreams

Your fingers haunt me,

Your lips taunt me,

Are you real or a dream?

Your voice melts me,

Though I hold my heart safe,

Am I really safe from you?

Your presence is in dreams,

In every face in the crowd,

In every voice I hear.

Invisible and stealthy,

You intrude upon my silences,

And leave an emptiness beside.

Awake from your dream,

I know you were here, near me,

From the sweetness on my lips.

Seasons

How can you live like this,
Anywhere but here in this moment,
Held together by a million voices,
Glueing your existence,
In a life that doesnt move,
Yet with plans that astonish,
And never fail to astonish,
With perfect names for baby faces,
In the right order, too perfect.

How could you make it more perfect,
When beneath the resounding words,
The intent is hollow and changing,
With the moon, with the seasons,
Before deities that dont reply,
An emptiness chanting promises,
Yet at a loss for words,
For that which matters most,
True, close to the core.

There lies silence and a spirit,
That expands in directions,
And grows inward and inward only,
Eyes blind to the future and past,
Not even this moment alive,
Just there, for another dawn.

In another dawn, when the sky is red,
The spirits may call each other to a tryst,
That never was or never will be made,
Consciously by you or me.

A WOMAN CALLED RAIN

Rain sobs, hysterical woman.

Bleeding and lonely,

Forbidden by rule.

Rain sobs, love-lorn,

For loss of fulfilment,

On the surge.

Rain sobs, bursting ovum,

For unborn babies,

And forgotten needs.

Claustrophobia

Voices whisper in the head
Claims of having bred, fed and loved,
While they have done nothing but bled,
Tied by an invisible umblical cord,
A noose on the neck, 
Bled, this poor heart, 
From its freedom instead,
And coming back speaking of
Duties having bred, fed and loved,
When it would have been better
To have left alone without any claims.

A Promise

You gave me a promise

To hold this hand forever,

Through thick and thin,

Come rain or sunshine.

 

From this heart comes

A promise of growing older,

Stronger and wiser with you,

Always at my side. 

mindfulness

The Unsent Letters

The Unsent Letters