Behind curtains ablaze with summer’s dying fire
I picture her solemn sigh for an unending spring
Her lips like dew parting from a lovestruck leaf
Part, and whisper to the souls of summers gone
For hopes that fade before our eyes could blink
Or the hearts could flutter in frenzy obscene
The summer is dying still, the light is failing still
My love, I am leaving still.

The smell of wistful sea in a land sunk in misery
A spell of insanity or the sign for sweet release?
He waits beyond my window in gallant torment
For a glimpse to the dream under sunsets lively
And I kneel for hope to souls of summers gone
And weep to the walls as the shadows grow long
If I leave the curtains still, if I hold my sorrows still
My love, won’t you linger still?


Born Into The Storm

Two young flowers in a grim winter’s morn
One for tender love, one to ride the storm
Waving with the wind, breathing in the blues
Waving, waiting, breathing through the noose
Two weary flowers in a grim winter’s morn
One of them is wild, one of them is gone
Fighting with her fate, sinking in the storm
Waiting, fighting, riding through the storm
Fighting with the wind, sinking with the storm
Two dead flowers as out comes the sun.


A little tribute from my side to Mandela, Gandhi and every other great of similar ilk and life.

To Melancholy

Under pale Autumn moon
Blooms a flower lone
Through wailing wind
Hung a fragrance cold
In black moonlight
Cold lips kiss a flute
Withered leaves rose
As the dead choir wept
To melancholy

The blind man drinks
His cup of despair
A cold fragrance sinks
A lost soul drowns
In the abyss he chases
The dead choir’s tune
And under a black moon
He plucks a flower lost
To melancholy.