Forever is a day
Lasting more
Than the few hours of dusk
Till dawn.
Forever is a day
Surpassing days
In its shortest time
The most lasting emotion
That you shared together.
Forever is not a period
Measured in bland seconds
That tick, tick
On that old grandfather clock
It swallows winter
And fall, autumn and summer.
Forever starts now
Forever never ends
Maybe a minute
Maybe a lifetime
All that really matters
Is that you are together
And maybe a day.



I could send a note
Wrapped in the finest papers
Calligraphed by the best artists
Scented, painted, scripted,
Into perfection
Printing into my missive
The entirety of unspoiled beauty
That she is.
I could send my report
On the wings of the golden eagle
Or perhaps, by crystal bottle
On gentle sea.
But she knows all already.

Here I was about to tell her
Of imperfections I found
Sharp edges spoiling
Those perfect curves.
The crookedness of her crown
And blemishes of the perfect purple robes
She is adorned.
But I discovered- she knows these already.

She knows the best, she knows the worst
How much more special
Shall be my gifts
When the most precious- my heart
Is hers?
So I do send just this one word
You encounter her close by you
Remember to tell her, that whatever
I still love her.
But then, she knows that already.


It is not the quiet shower
Gentle marker of those middle months
Which they, over there, say is spring.

It is not the powerful, yet tidy patter
Of refreshing drops
Sounding upon these aluminium roofs.

It is not the peaceful drizzle
In August, interspersed
With that tanning – type sunshine
Yes, that is summer.

It’s the stormy noise, rumbling thunder
Brimming seas, and flooding gutter
Sharp cracking lightning,
To the child, very frightening

It’s fall, it’s autumn
It is the beginning of the end
It is September rain.


The streets are quiet, shadows lurking in the oppressive darkness.Maybe the shadows are all in your mind. You know the mind plays games. You love games of the mind but right now these games are the last thing you want.

The streets are quiet, yes, eerily quiet. But you know you have to walk these streets. Even if to just escape those shadows that creep up in your mind. Maybe these street shadows will push away those ones you are trying to escape.  You remember those ones. The ones with the whistling whips that crack loudly in the darkness covering your mind while it roams over the thistles and thorns that make up your life. The shadows that always remind you of those things you cannot escape, those festering sores that will be the death of you. You are sorry, you cry, you are always sorry, you will be sorry for the rest of your life, yes you will. For these shadows will never leave. They will regress, pull back, they will run away from those tiny spots of quiet light that you call happiness. Those tiny lights that will chance upon you once, twice, thrice in these lifetimes that add up to what you would call a fulfilled life, what you explain as fate. But they will never disappear.
They will forever haunt you. They will forever stalk you. Across those paths, bright or no, clear or no, they will seek you out and weary the very breath out of you.

Oh, what did we set out to talk about? Pain. Yes I remember. You want to talk about pain? But this is pain! This is that fearful feeling that will remind you of your humanity. You want to run away from pain. You want to escape your shadows. You will fare better escaping your own skin. I wish you luck.

*Make of this what you will, and I would not be averse to knowing your thoughts. Good day. Good day? Whatever.*


The distant moonlight rays
Gentle rustle of these tree leaves
Are the painful remembrances of our long walks
Memories that linger
Then the questions come,once again
Is this my fantasy, or your reality?

I’m here again,thinking,wondering
The most true thoughts in those recesses
Always upon the secret words we spoke
I wonder,why bother?
For surely, you have said
It’s my fantasy, not your reality.

Still,still yet I wait
I know of truths,half truths, and lies
I know of that language
It’s spoken,and unspoken parts
I know of what is real and what is not
And consider,and hope
My fantasy may be your reality.


Love will break your heart-
Its pieces,
Ever floating in a hopeless vacuum.
Love will make you cry
In lies,in truth,returned,or not.

Love will break your heart,
Its abiding trust,
Shattered,by that one throw.
Love will make you know
The enduring power of truth,and strength of lies.

Love will break your heart
Lost in your own fantasies.
Love,when lost on you
Welcomes reality,discovery.

Love will break your heart
Even when true
Its powerful heat on the heart-it shall melt.
Love will make you weak,yet strong
In the other’s receiving arms.


Even the wily tortoise
Can only squat
And wonder…
The absurdity of a nation-state
Then retreat into its hardback shell
Afterall,it doesn’t need fuel for this
It retreats,for protection
From the gobs of spit
Like heavy drops,raindrops
From God knows where,falling
Maybe from the darkened clouds in their minds
Darkened,painted black
By the watercolours of corruption
The paintbrush of illicit power.

Its not the beat,
The heavy rhythmic beat
Of the raindrops upon
Our cracked skins
That hurt
Our skins cracked
Like our ever-renewed hopes
On bitter foreboding rocks
Of unfulfilled promises
Dashed,I say
Broken open
Like sores on our skins
Its not those raindrops that hurt
But the touch,the soft touch
Of dew
As it settles upon us
Upon our dry grass
Enticing,promising…empty words
Reviving those hopes
Once again
And yet
At the birth of the scorching sun
Dry off,in their hearts
And put us back
Back into our boxes of pain
Smiling and suffering
Its that soft, deceptive touch
Of dew
That hurts us,again and again.