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

)

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.

Windows

And a little boy dreams,
Afraid of the wide world without.
The little window is but so large.
Rough the others play,
With no quarter to give,
Memories do often fade,
But scant do they forgive!
Those little others,
Together they always have been!
The nature of the cruel, they have seen.
These little games they play,
The littlest feels not the need.
But for a little dust on his knees,
He would pay this price, even with his dreams.

That little window was never so large,
But for his friend within,
A friend he cannot lose,
The one he cannot hide within.

Three lines to tomorrow

This day I rewind the old worn tapes,
I feel the music we had missed.

This day I read from old torn pages,
I feel the love it had within.

This day I write my own blue song,
I feel the blood in my feet.

(In continuation to Three Lines To heaven)

On a sister

For every errant thought,
For every smile she has bought.
For every promise I have broken,
For every dream she has lost.
I will count my blessings!

For every tantrum thrown,

For every moment she has lost,

For every hiatus taken,

For every tear, dearly bought.

I will count my blessings!

For every beastly hug,
For every missed call,
For all the days I have missed,
For all the rebuke and censure.
I will count my blessings.

For every habit broken,
For every path we've trod,
For every day you have bought,
For all the love, never sought.
I will count my blessings.

Gathering Sand

There are the former's and the latter,
Blinding hate and the rain kissed banter!
Oh what beauty we had! 

We had days in the rain kissed tropics,
When they had nights in the cold cold rain. 
The grasses still be green,
This day they still do haunt!

What the winds missed, the rains killed!
These mildewed days, the sun has missed!
The way to being me, being no more. 
The less we lose, the more we want.

Every speck of sand , each one. 
Loss is not just what one loses, 
But what one has already. 
That what is broken may someday mend,
That what was lost someday gained.
Them that were gone, will be back,
Those forgotten, will be engraved in dark!

But of those that these hands held!
How does one gather the sands together?

A price too steep

Why is it that the winds blow right,
Why for the sun the flowers will rise;
Why but for the smell the birds do sing,
Why for the love of sight the blind will kill.
Why do we feel but when the pain is sharp,
Why is a dulled edge so hard to snap,
Why do nights be so cold and stretch so long!
Memories do die, yet smell so strong.

The night is young , yet do we sleep;
My shadows and me for memories weep,
Tis harder to forget, harder to keep,
For love and a kiss: a price too steep !

A beautiful day

A story I carry, of a singular day,

Of a plot less life, and a somber play;

A wooden visage, of lead and grey,

Of a molten hearth and oaken clay;

A tune to sing of a broken say,

Of the solitude of the sylvan may;

A night so long and twilight grey,

Of them gone, naught but dreams stay.

The roses wilt but a thorn will die,

Behold the day; your god's will lie.

we are men

Somethings never change. Sometimes you wish they would.But then again if they change we will not.

After a long way down the road you realise that somethings need to change. Flowers need to wither and the thorns along with them. Clay will sift and so will the rocks turn to clay.The days will pass and along with them the memories will dim.The sands always shift.

What the young naivete believes gradually grows dimmer till it is lost in the haze of maturity we pride ourselves on. Yes but does the intended maturity really describe the word coined in the dictionary.Do we really grow over our insecurities and start to open our eyes. Mostly we still chose not to believe in facts that we do not want to.That is human fallibility.Ans since to err is human we say to forgive the same is divine. On another though all that closes our eyes to things we do not want to see is either the divine or the implications of evil.

There upon a certain place in the road things seem clearer. At that point we wish we were back to the innocence of the naive.For a certain period forgetfulness would seem to be bliss.Most of us at that point choose to ignore the starkness of truth and trudge along in the mist.It seems so easy. Living things are conditioned to avoid whatever pains them.We run , we hide and we forget that we are all but a mortal race that has to die and turn to ash.

Sometimes I envy the non-living.They do not feel and they do not run.But then again they do not have the liberty to feel which makes them immune to conditioning.But the stoic pose that the non-living strike somehow inspires me.They do not or should i say cannot lie.They do not have to live with their heads and emotions for any meaningful pursuit.We have to and we do. We lie to ourselves , to others just to maintain illusions.The illusion will someday take the place of the person within you.We know that.We ignore that.

We are the race of men.We change.We die.

We love.We lie.

But we live.And we believe we will live again !

Three lines to heaven

This day I cross the rain washed bridge,
I feel not the stream that flows beneath.

This day I pass the burned brick house,
I feel not the fire that burns within.

This day I row with lost broken paddles,
I feel not the ripples in my dream.

I chose what I am to be.

This post is in continuation to Sunset at rum point
Change is strange phenomenon.The more you resist it,the harder it is to contain.

Today I am with the sands again,alone.I sit alone with the sun going down, wondering what the next day will bring. No I am not thinking of the sunsets.With the sunsets I sit alone.The fear of a thing lasts till chance brings it to your door. Today I am afraid of the sunrise. Another new day, another sunrise for a day I can forget.Another day that has no meaning, no colors , no fragrance , no beauty. Today I sit alone with the sunset. The winds bring me the familiar musty touch. But no hair blows unto my face.

I hold unto the sands , afraid to let go of each grain. Each grain that has the indelible touch. I miss the shallow impression on the sands where she stood. I miss looking at the sun, unafraid.

I look back and I laugh, a hollow mirthless one. I laugh at the sun. I laugh at my fears.What am I afraid of?Tomorrow will be another day to live .A day I may forget coming here .A day when I may not want to spend the rest of my sunsets with anyone. But something says the lesser I come here, the harder will the scents get. Harder it will be to defy the sun. The day I stop will be the day I stop to live. I will be among those that jog across the face of the ocean and stop not to challenge the setting sun.

But I am afraid. Afraid of facing the sun alone. I am afraid of the concept of the next day. This turn I am alone. And then I realize, I have no fear of losing it tomorrow.Yes, I will come. I will miss the smell of her around me. I will miss the way the winds scattered her sandy hair all over my face. I will miss the way the sun hid behind her beautiful face. But the sun will go down and will rise tomorrow. I will live. I will face the sun and though I stand alone I will.I will not be afraid.

This day is another day. Tomorrow will end some day. No, I live not to be with her. But every evening, when I come back, I will close my eyes. And I will laugh at the setting sun. Does it have a choice? It does not! But I have. I love her. She whose scent hangs thin. But I will close my eyes and mourn her.The morning may come after the night. But the moment I close my eyes I realize I still breathe. I still love. I still live.

I am what I am, because today; I chose what I am to be.