Joker

Not all is frozen on the ground,
The cold has never bothered before.
Not this day when all I cared is done!
Little distances do always add,
And this day am on this island alone.
The ground before is not mine,
There but is no turning back.
Behind me lies a frozen grave,
Ahead of me lies my future epitaph.
None is to blame, for I have seen not pain,
Nothing to love, for that I love is gone.
Little distances do always add,
My sins will by me be borne.
A little space be always be given,
But that which is gone will never be back.
What sorrows I could not take,
What pain I have left to forbear.
Be sure that nothing changes here,
And yes life teaches all to live.
Smiles are never readily taught,
Jokers are of necessity borne.

The demon and the dork

And a knife to drive into the dork.
By the time she's back
The dorks off.
Nothing the table lacks
The dinner be so waited
is far off unbaited.
So is the story of the demon and dork
An if she comes back
pitch your fork.
For the demon will be back,
And she may eat up the dork.

Of that is past

What sighs does a heart heed!
A lot many regrets to hide,
The biggest we feel are the ones gone,
But to forget the biggest are yet to come.
In regrets do we let a today pass?
For there be no tomorrow seen,
Let what is gleaned of love,
Override all our regrets within.
For little can love fight,
For it knows not reason.

Paper boats

Little boats, little boats of paper,
So quaint they are.
Oh the joy floating around in water,
Little ripples so far.
Little smiles, little games of a child,
So childish they are,
To dream in a paper boat and far,
And forget storms are.

Need

Lonely do many paths be,
None more than the broken path.
Where the feet be naked,
The stones underneath jagged.
Easier paths be on sides,
But only one of the heart.
Times may be harder yet,
No love for the daily tasks.

To be needed by those we love,
Is the greatest need of a man.
When in paths none be,
Still will a purpose drive.
For in bits a life may be led,
In pieces happiness bribe.
For them that we walk the path,
A smile will a million say,
In their need there be purpose,
And the greatest need of man.

The beauty of mortality

All that is mortal will wither,
For that is beauty will ever last,
And yes the beauty is mortal,
For it lay in eyes of mortal men.
Love not immortality for then there is no pain,
The moments of beauty is best remembered,
In the last wishes of dying men.

Last acts

Some walls are put up on one side,
They are cemented on the other.
The hearth warms the kitchen there,
Warmth cannot pass the dark here.
A joker has but a single act,
The world loves him,
And we move on to the other parts.
The mask of the freak hails a gasp,
The ugly face within was always a farce.
The beast never heeds a master,
But the sound of the whip stills it heart.
And forever is that tamed,
The roar that was the lay of the bards.
And yet the masks are loved,
And a joker brings claps.
The tamed beast is yet a thing of awe,
Though the lives are a remnant of past.

Secret codes

When even a fake smile is guilty!
What of the bottle at sea,
The one to find will not see,
In strange hands will my message be.
Little that a poet writes
Will ever for a world to see.
But for the secret entrusted,
None will the wiser be.

Crossroads

Standing by the waters that make life,
And watch the sea shells tumbling,
The salty tang of the soapy breeze,
My memories will not let me be.
Little things wash by slow into the sea,
What it has taken time will let it be,
Wish we could reach into those days,
Wish I could wade and fade into the sea.
The serrated clouds that stay aloof,
They glisten in the closeted sun,
Though they may never hide it too,
But cotton angels will never let a burn.

Mountains and flowers

The little flower always smiled,
It always did smile,
With love it lived.
Never did it see  the dark,
Never did it love death,
Never did it stop the smile.
So many did trample,
The same people that lived.
They lived,
They sang,
True they were,
But they always did walk.
For even a flower learns.
Even a mountain learns,
A flower not so much,
For fewer times does a boot harm,
A mountain stands to be trod.

Untirles

When we have seen those days,
Where little kids play around the hearth,
And when the heart has been around the world,
And still we hold on to small moments.

Where have we hid our smiles,
That cometh thither is times of melancholy,
Needs not the sanguine bear fruit,
Love speaks not Shakespeare to live.

Indifferent poet

Words are not them,
Silence is not it,
And when the words are over,
Heart it is that will bleed.

Time ages not my heart,
Pain drains not my love.
Red is not always bled,
A pen is not always words.

My shadows are not me,
My actions hide behind,
Truth is not always the face,
For masks conceal all beneath.

My graves are not mine,
They will hide a different me,
My epitaph another will write,
In death my story is not me.

What was is what has gone,
Little regrets are but moments apiece,
My heart is mine till it beats,
The world I shape is not me.

Contempt I have seen,
Distance has been a kin,
What my words beg of me,
Indifferent poet I have been.

Love

The prerogative of the peccadillo.
The alternative alter ego.
The tangential poet.
The obtuse prose.
The silent bard.
The lonely heart.
The single couple.
The rich beggar.
The dry winter.
The cold summer.
The deep mountains.
The selfish hero.
The anti hero.
The open plot.
The starving glut.
A prim slut.
A simple god.
The unknown masterpiece.
: That is love.

Inside the blinds

When the blinds are drawn,
Seldom do we look out,
Love within takes a darker hue,
We expect less than is our due.
Love expects not but feelings do,
Of whispered nothings we will talk not,
Nor does candy bear much ado.
Let love be simple,
When life be not so,
Lest we forget the joys of simple,
A moment has been bought with pain,
Let it not be undone in disdain.
Life favors not love,
But love eternal is a quest,
Fear not losing,
For the joys lay in the pain.

God

I found god in the rain,
He blesses not my ken,
Nor did he bless my life,
Nor did he relieve my pain.
One word he did tell,
Write it down he said,
Lest you forget the rain.

Solitude

A blade of grass is never lonely,
Nor are the drops of rain that nourish,
Nor are the stones that tumble down,
Nor the mountain that let it go.
The little lamb is never lonely,
For after its mam it has a herd,
Nor is the shepherd lonely,
For he has his hearth.
So never is the moon lonely,
For it has the sky as its shelter,
For though my moon be dark towards the sky,
The sky always is brighter with her.

And this day I live

There somewhere is all i know
What who why answer slow
Damn all those who ask
In dark such feelings grow.
And this day I live,To die another day.
There someone is all i care,
A night and emotions bare.
But the flowers adorn my hell,
The devils luck do I share.
And this day I live,To die another day.
This day lives for another day,
Somewhere there's another way,
The hand of lucifer they say,
In dark will those moments stay.
And this day I live,To die another day.

To death

Death my fickle mistress!
Where art thou.
For long have I searched your bosom,
And yet to kiss that hem.
Your glimpses are of bliss,
Dreams of the cold embrace.
Cold I do not mind,
Warmth was never for me.
I have sung this song for long,
I am tired of my nights.
Little smiles are me,
Those smiles I find not anymore.
Duties are never done,
Mirages always leave unsung.
What little I have seen,
You my lady, why art thou afraid of me.
Needs I beckon thee with deeds,
Or will a flint beckon thee.
I have no plans of living with you,
Your dominion either holds no glee.
Touch me once and forget,
Wither me inside and I may care not.
My lady intimate
When thou nurtured a kid,
What grouse thou hast against me.

A smile

Wish a smile.
A million stars there be,
But be one moon in me.
What price be a smile,
A lie even tell it to me.
Hook a nose, cringe that head,
Forget the night,
Wish a smile to me.

A thief

Once upon a time there was a thief. He was an artist. The art of stealing. All the kingdom's, all the kings, and all the vaults he stole from. So much so that people started using him to test their vulnerabilities. They would let it known that their vault was the best. The thief knew but for lack of a challenge he kept on. With every passing day he was better. But alas!
The locksmiths had none to offer. Our incorrigible thief then proclaimed to the world, a challenge, to prove a locksmith worthy of honor.
Many came. All left with but their dignity. The thief grew restless. One fine night came a letter. He opened it up and his eyes lit up. In there lay the work of a life. The magnum opus of thiefdom.
The night after our thief went and returned with a piece of the puzzle. Night after night he went. Every night he brought a part. He then realized the puzzle, part by part. His heart grew heavy. He realized that he loved the puzzle. Piece by piece he fell. With every passing day, the more he stole, the more he loved. A day came when he had all. He slept in peace, but all the kingdom was distraught. Children were scared. Elders grew mad. And then there was chaos.
The thief realized that the life of the world lay in his pockets. A thief never gives back. The day was heavy. The artist weary but resolute. And then he knew what he had to do.
He toiled. Every night he returned. Every night a piece restored. Every night he would sigh, but for the children he went back. Every night he put a small piece back. Along with it, a piece of him went. His heart would be wrenched and still he kept going. Finally on a night he was alone again. He looked up and there among the stars was his love. Time stopped.
For himself till this day he steals the moon for his heart. And then gives the moon back to them that love her.
The thief knows not and cared not. He never asked the moon. Never did he ask, what it feels to her to be stolen. To be in pieces and whole again. In his heart he knows not all. But for a life he will steal, for else he remains not a thief. But the bards ask. They see not him. They ask of the moon. Where she leaves her pieces and who gathers them back. The moon always smiles. For she tells not all.

Love amongst strangers.

Where we feel,
Deep down there is a knot,
One tangled thought.
And then there is this longing,
One that eviscerates,
All that is me.
Lost in circumstance,
Love amongst strangers.
Love changes not,
But in love there be love,
Oh how to portion my heart.
Pieces I could make,
And not lose it all.

Passing by those streets

I have passed by these streets.
Then I did count each brick.
I remember each groove I skipped by.
I remember looking at people passing by.
remember their smiles, their love.
I see the water under the bridge.
The reflections never could blind watery eyes.
How I wished I never was here again.

Scared

When doubts feed,
The tree gets not green.
The canopy that was thins,
The roots decry what has been.
A doubt, a circle of its own,
A self fulfilled prophecy.
Doubts I will not let be,
Harsh I am to countenance,
Naive too I may be.
But temperance in me is weak,
Doubts cannot be all that we be.
Mistakes I have made,
And I do learn.
A little patience my kid,
Today I have learnt.
A tree needs love and belief,
The strength of faith and true,
Love questions not a value,
I have yet to prove my worth.
Prove I will,
Even though my walls be empty.
Love holds no hostage,
Love finds not all.
Bounds we can set,
For a room be too small.
One soul is not easy to make,
For souls have a will not of their own.
What we live with is not a curse,
Whom we live with is not a curse.
The heart rejects but deeds will be done,
Do we look at deeds and love begone.
A lot we can fake,
but a evening will hold true,
my evening at the shores of life,
My tryst with unwilling strife.
Deeds may be done,
days may pass,
But a heart solemn lay where it does,
Deeds forgotten is a cowards way,
the way to grave is not with promises undone.
Promises with hearts are the hardest to keep,
Them that are broken do silently weep.
Regrets galore do we carry in life,
Myriad ways to justify our keep.
Haven't got a strength to live a lie,
thousand lies can I tell but die with one.
What truth there be but a grave will conceal,
ways need not be always to heal.
Needs be a path if we walk alone,
A hope remains,
the next fork will be my loneliness undone.
with faith I will walk,
for faith is always what we have,
for a hand that loves is never away,
A night may be alone but there is a day.

Little do word's mean

Feelings create strange deeds,
Poems that mean naught,
But paint a true thought.
Great things a mind forgets,
The deeper words a heart feels.
When reason paints not a canvas,
True does the bard sing.
Long have I made poems,
But life lay not in it.
But when a heart speaks,
Even belligerent words heed.
Little do I construct,
little do I rhyme,
This day I feel a bitpoet,
For truth I speak to thee.
No colors my words paint,
But what colors my eyes see,
Little will I regret saying,
For my heart speaks to thee.

Lost mail

Words that we write,
Like a message in the sea,
Within the bottle of hopes.
Let alone in a wide world,
But not for any to find.
A geas on it to seek,
The one the message calls.
For therein is my soul,
And I have lost it in words.
A bottle may crash on rocks,
Or be lost in the vastness is sea.
Words that should wash away,
A world that none would see.
But a wish with every word,
That a message reaches its shores.
A message better undelivered,
If it reaches not its soul.

The last sight

One last blue line,
And I will close my eyes.
If I open them again,
Hope I am blind.
Never been this drunk before
Sloshed without the wine.
Closed eyes in loop again,
My mistakes are all mine.
And I can stumble all I want,
My past and future aside.
What it felt one night,
By that window with covered blinds.
So high in the sky, so high,
In rain, nowhere to hide.
Easy to hide tears in rain,
And feel not another smile.
Another day might be this,
In a lonely hearts doubts hide.
Companies of strangers,
And love on the blindside.
To couch feelings in words,
And forget the princess bride.
Lies to a heart pierce,
More of me in days to die.
Quiet I stand by the window,
Now I have pulled my blinds.

Rocks

For all the wide world thinks,
There is that beautiful stream by the rock.
They play around.
None asks the rock.
None have seen it bleed but for one.
Life recognized is life given.
A rock cannot talk to anyone else.
For everybody sees it as the prop.
The rock, it remains a prop.
But every now and then it smiles.
Every now and then.
He is afraid of never smiling again.
And a rock lies a lot.
In its nature not to show life.
He still sees his limits.
He cannot move.
She don't arrive.
He has but his company.
A lot many squat by it.
But she thinks a rock would find another.
For if she can someone else can do.
Rock is quiet.
He counts his smiles.
For he knows, off that count,
Rest of his will be but a rock.

On looking up

When I look up,
I call not for heavens.
Nor do I love the blue.
The stars distract,
So does the morning hue.
The twilight haunts,
For I know not the clouds.
So big a sky,
A heart to find solace.
Too big a sky,
For a heart to sleep.
All that I yearn
Is for a lap to dream,
Close my eyes,
For the eternal dream.

The old djinn

At the bottom of a sea,
There was a djinn,
All mottled and gray,
Wishes he could grant not,
But a lap did hold sway.
Treasure did many find,
But wishes were never there.
Every keeper threw a lamp away,
The djinn could no more bear.
Said he to the god of djinn's,
Release me from this life dear.
For as the gods would say,
The voices were never near.
And so a djinn lived,
And till this day stories I hear.
Tales of wistful patrons,
Stories of abandon and leer.
The other djinns mock him still,
The djinn still holds dear.
A memory where he traded,
For his wish, a day of the seer.
That day he wants back,
But he has lost his gear.
Magic quickens him not,
For that was the trade made.
He waits forever in the lamp,
For every wish he held dear.

shadows

A silence pervades
Haven't reached you in ages.
For a part that is of me,
Silence within scares me.
Every nuance plays with me,
A game I can never win.
A voice tells me to reason,
Things that seem,
Will not always be.
But a child that was alone,
To grave does he a shiver carry.
For every passing moment reminds.
The sun does not love.
For if the moon were absent,
He is but a shadow.

my flower tree

A flower I will seek.
That what I am this day,
This world will not succor me.
A thousand lives to seek,
A thousand deaths too weak.
In a thousand will I live,
And still the next I will seek.
A breath is too long,
A life still so weak,
In moments is life made,
In moments life I seek.
My flower this be your world,
This world for you is meek.
Will seek a world not mine,
For mine is not mine to keep.
Answers are not in words,
Nor do words a secret keep.
What a moment has told,
Has taken a thousand to keep.
A thousand more I shall live 
A thousand more yet to die,
Till I am born of hope,
In your shadows shall I seek.

The river and a rock

The river had to flow its way,
For its nature is never to be bound,
Rocks can but impede a flow,
But in time to its will bend,
The trees have to be fed,
Many meadows need the song,
Of flowing water and the nightingale song.
To love is river bound,
The love of ocean to be.
Let those that have chosen to be with
Wash in its glory and leave it to be.
The dwellers know not its worth,
For they live small lives,
Lives too short to see a river step
From their shores to shores unclaimed,
From their lives to change others within.

A rock sleeps on its bed,
It holds memories of another day.
The river flows a little apart,
Its paths have a little change.
The bed has been cut and glisten still,
In colors of stone the twilight plays.
The rock is not the rock anymore,
For it holds memories of moisture within!
The heart of the rock has flown away,
For it stands on its bed a little low.
The green trees have moved on,
So have the birds that sang,
Farther is the melody that the river brought,
The rock today stands alone.
The rock but will sit ages,
And wait for the nightingale to sing.
A rock can but look thither and wait,
For the melody, only the river can bring,
 

My love

What little do strange paths offer,
Voices that lead on to our fates.
What is but known of paths we take,
Are the days we tell our tales.

Tales of evenings lost in retrospect,
Of events there was a tell we see,
But for slights we have ballads,
Forgone are the dreams of me.

Where can I put my head at rest,
But a lap has been stolen of me,
In doubt does our hearts dwell,
Where can find my heart, my love.

Lines to sunset

This day I shed all my armour,
I feel your love unseen.
This day I smile with my heart,
I feel the love it has seen.
This day I am at my broken bridge,
I feel not alone within.
This day I row unto the sunset,
For darker places we have been!

(In continuation to --

1. Three lines to tomorrow
2. Three lines to heaven

)

A murderer's epitaph

These waters run with blood,
The stones be stained red!
What was killed stays dead!
Trust was but small coin,
Love but that small stead,
What was done is but a long rope,
For trust to live, love sustain.
A murderer needs a grave,
Little does he expect salve,
For the forlorn hopes of salvation,
He but pens his epitaph!

By me

And when the blind would see,
For then the ripples would playful be.
But then hope is yet to be forlorn,
These blind eyes shed no tears or glee!
That what I found was never lost,
This heart yearns for that it fought,
The breath that my summer was,
Forever in lost songs will be sought.
Of dark is not love born,
Nor into the dark will it be,
The moments that shone bright,
To my grave will lie by me.