Category: Poems

He put the helmet,
Started the key,
Held the handle,
And imagined himself,
Riding free.
Riding the Enfield,
He looked imposing,
On the gear, rested his sandal.

Suddenly, it all went grim,
The traffic ahead, decomposing.
He cut through
Walkers with disdain,
Gullies and potholes,
Cars and crammed buses,
Only to be stuck again.
He abused a few,
Rode over the footpath,
And honked the trolls,
Avoiding the crashes,
He rushed with wrath.

He finally reached office,
And he felt like Che.
Ahead of many similar,
The top of the food chain,
This very routine every day.

A song finds me,
It makes me stop,
Listen to in repeat,
Than I move on.

Another shakes free,
Its rhythm makes me hop,
I ping and share the beat,
And then it is gone.

You  choose to slumber and dream,
See things wonderful and bizarre.
When I sleep, I wake and scream,
Reality is like a dream and sleep, a scar.

In the dead of night, the un-dead awakes.
Are they really dead, or are they just asleep?

In the dead of night, the living sleeps,
Are they really asleep, or are they dead?

In the dead of night, the blind awakes.
He is not even sure if its night or day.

In the dead of night, the machine sleeps,
It doesn’t matter if its night or day.

In the dead of night, I am awake,
I am not even sure I belong above!

 A fruit, any fruit,
 Is either eaten ripe,
 Or it withers away.
  
 Some things, many things,
 Are like such a fruit,
 Eaten ripe or withered one day.

I am waiting on the shore,
With my black hair braided straight,
Intricately weaved; my plait,
For you, my love – to adore.

I stand here in the twilight,
Dark silhouette of me,
Shadow of my hale body, 
Hiding my flimsy naked sight,

Stare into my big blue eyes,
Tell me you love me crazy,
Show me your love – you lazy,
Embrace me into you, your ties.

Kiss my supple, pink-red lips,
Hold my body in your arms,
Give in to my girlish charms,
Your soul I will take as tips.

I will remove things from you,
Things that you really loved and cared,
Things you had happily shared,
Tear them away to a coup.

What else is there to love,
Other than me, why else?
Tell me; I am your pulse,
Tell them; we fit like a glove.

I think you know who I am,
Your addiction, your meekness,
Bleeding you slowly venous,
Thrashing you into a sham.

In the grey of the evening,
I walked the dirty black street,
Tired and drenched in the pouring rain,
I felt cold, lonely, deplete.

As I looked up into the sky,
The drops felt like artillery shells,
Dropped by bombers above and high,
It hurt a lot but I couldn’t yell!

And then it happened on the way,
My soul flew from my carcass,
Slowly, steadily to the grey,
Floating, without a conscience.

I flew steady – higher, higher
Astound and shocked, to the clouds,
Like a newborn, with no desire,
But with plenty of doubts.

Thunder boomed, but I didn’t hear,
Lightning struck, I didn’t see,
The sheet of rain went through me clear,
I reached the sky, cleansed and free.