Today

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Today is a gift

That yesterday will

Never know of,

And tomorrow will always remember.

 

So choose to live it

With wisdom.

Because what is dead is gone already,

Taking with it even the embers of all

That we knew once to be our only own.

And what will come surely will bring with,

It offspring of joys and sorrow

We make love with

Today…

 

 

I have attempted to do something new today.

I was gifted this calligraphy set by my beloved from the gift shop at William

Wordsworth’s residence last year.

And of course, I needed to put it to some good use.

And hence this idea was born, although I must admit that my rookie struggle is quite

evident in the picture itself.

I shall try this more, if time and my mindset are kind enough to permit me to do so.

Hope you enjoy this piece, as much as I did creating it.

Merci beaucoup!

 

Time

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It is time to say goodbye to another

Time we welcomed with warmth and hope.

By remembering that glorious sunrise.

 

Time that stands testament to games of dice

Between truth and lies.

 

Time that kills us slowly like wine

That ages as patiently as us,

Nestled in her shrine.

 

Time,

You sodden column of death and dust

You hurt us with the old

As much as heal with the hope of something new.

 

Time,

She is that old lover

Who forgives but does not forget.

She chose to leave you

But remembers when you clawed her

Heart out with a mere whisper of another era.

 

All us babies will sing of our unpigmented loyalty to time

Tonight.

“Tomorrow will be better and happier”.

An cuss to her ears.

 

Well who am I not to abide,

I am as much a sinner as the other one beside.

So remember it like a gentle sad sigh.

Tomorrow is your friend

If you know she can be your foe

In fleeting beats hereby.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Home

A Long Road Ahead

It is a long way to home.

Home, where sometimes I know

no Home.

Well, what is a home

When the heart is

Always a nomad.

Somedays here, somedays there,

Somedays found and

Somedays lost.

The sun shined above the fields of heather for me

Today.

Maybe an invite

Wrapped in purple to lure

and call it a

Home?

*

My mind runs faster

Than my deformed feet.

*

My heart is still sunk

In the memories of

Yesterday’s winter.

The cold and dark

My motel for a long time.

They let go of me

Even the frost needs rent,

And I am penniless

With no dimes to rub or spend.

I am back with my old friend

The shadows from the alleys.

Together we lurk

Like the ghosts of a long lost legend,

Listening to the jingles and looking at the twinkles

Oggling at drunk wanton cherub faces of

Joyous December,

And remembering the warmth in the innards

Of our soul

That could vein in us

With hot boiled spirits.

*

I ran the entire length of spring,

Blooming buds of cherries and daffs and all.

Baby greens dotting the widowed trees,

A new promise laid in

The womb of time.

Branches singing together

With the mirth of mynahs.

 

Let this be where I breathe

In and out now.

This cloud and sun speckled ground

Where I dance the songs

Of lost dreams.

Lost,

With the youth of time.

 

But I still know

I am miles away from home.

And I still know,

I will return back to that motel

I once belonged.

 

 

 

 

Seine

 

 

I stood by the banks of Seine,

Watching a million faces talking in

Smiles and lines of pain

Dwelling in hope,

 And losses lost in

Dreams.

 

I watch lovers kiss,

And lovers cry,

And lovers giving 

Life a try.

 

The breeze envelops me 

Like a strong man’s embrace,

And he whispers into

My nonchalant ears,

“Happiness tonight is measured 

Not in gold, nor in silver

Or signs or silk slivers.

She lies waiting,

In letters written,

With years and years of yearning

In the middle of time,

Hiding in the crevices of

Crackled spines, 

Mopping up their breath into

The fibres of dried pulp,

Like a lovers’ lips

Sealed in her nether heavens.

And broken dances ,

Strumming from the strings 

Of a vagabond ukulele.

Once a kid’s, once a nomad’s

Once a collector’s,

But forever someone’s.”

 

By the banks of Seine,

My friends and amors 

Dance and caress,

And drink the moist sweat

Of an evening they will remember 

The rest of their lives by.