after some days of freedom
from the raging rain that falls
it is back in earnest crying
as its full might unfold
...
i see her everyday on my way to work
she is there by the wide window of
an old house near the road where i used
to come and go
...
it did not escape me
those sideway glances
as you stood in that corner
i pretended to ignore
...
be generous with praises
i want to be appreciated
every now and then
...
She passed away today
My dog of nine years
She went quietly as she
did when I first had her on a box
...
twisted thoughts of long ago
reverberates like an echo
haunting scenes
forbidden like the poisoned tree
...
a tiny bud is plucked from the garden
and thrust into a watered vase with the others
it struggled to find space in that little vase
competing with the other flowers
...
tonight i saw the moon
i thought i saw it smile
i lifted my teacup
it nodded in acceptance
...
i pray not for myself
i know i have been blessed
i pray not for wealth
but for those who have less
...
the thing that makes me smile
is not the thing itself
but the thoughts
i gather with it
...
This is nothing to be ashamed of
Her mother used to say
This abject poverty is not
our fault
...
he left a legacy of unpaid bills
from a long lingering illness
those left behind will have to accept
...
i have endured the pain
of letting you go
but not the pain of
losing that one chance
...
i slept soundly for the
first time in many years
and though i woke up
to a gloomy rainy morning
...
there is something strange
i see in your smiles
it was not the spontaneous
parting of your lips
...
I write to express my thoughts. If as you read you find some inspiration, then i have not written in vain. Please feel free to comment.)
Driftwood
The fledgling bush
grew into a tree
not without
birth pains
twigs outstretched
its leaves spread
with pride
the world watched
for its downfall
from hurricane of woes
the now mighty tree
survived not without
scars; until its golden
hair turned into brown
age caught up
leaves wilted
its body gave in
no longer proud
in the river by the
bank of its childhood
a driftwood floats
to nowhere