On Remembrance

The view is growing smaller
From the glass at the back
In the hills, the sky is still close
As a band of gypsies passes by
Their music lingering behind
In the pinching coldness of dusk
Eyes glisten in the wilderness
As the view grows even smaller

Late in the night, the forest blooms
And somewhere far a nightingale hums
The voice lost as a stream nears
And in the vast stillness, moonlight
Glistens like pearls on her neck
The wheels keep rolling, farther
To somewhere, to nowhere
And the view keeps growing smaller


This poem first appeared in Vol. 2, Issue 3 (December 2016) of The Literary Herald.


Winter’s Child

Perched atop the pines heavy and white
Her gaze moves the worlds far away
Yet in stillness, she sighs under the grey sky
With marble eyes and a heart full of bells
That toll to no one, but wait
In the fervent sweetness of hope
And for her I wait, beside my broken window
Where the snow settles in meek despair
Tomorrow, will she still be there?
Or will the sad bluebird sing today?

Months pass through the forests of time
The pines still stand in assured solitude
The snow has gone but the window remains
And I gaze at the sky lesser with each passing day
Today I sit and count the fallen leaves
As the sun sets behind the freezing hills
I see a star fall on the frozen lake
As I lay on the wet grass below the yew tree
And at dawn I heard the bluebird sing
A wintry song for me.


Between soothing petals and weathered thorns
Lies an idyllic emptiness, the nectar of quiet
Where the lights of heaven saunter through
In their infinite cosmic resplendence
And be what they are, and nothing more
Without the veneer, the chrysalis that shields
Or the bleeding echoes of life that change
And haze a pristine soul.

Yet we gaze at the light’s blinding march
From islands eternal of petal and thorn
And in our moments of crossing between the two
As we bathe in the celestial lightness of quiet
The heart forgets what it yearns
And beats to the rhapsody of the night
This moment that is soon lost
As we swiftly reach where we were headed
Yet oblivious, in our desperation assured
To have passed by what was sought
And thus forever march back and forth
This moment, that will soon be lost again
Until we break though our homely chrysalis
And before we reach the other side
Let go of the oars, as we row
In our lake of ephemeral quiet.


They gaze through the bars in silent wonder
As the swirling snow floats in broken lament
To shield their glassy eyes from the shadows
Of an eternity shrouded with their race’s sins
The winds too did howl in torturous despair
As their loves kneeled for their final goodbye
To drown the pale requiem of cold dead lead
From ears that only knew tranquil lullabies
Their glassy eyes saw a tear streak below
And felt it freeze upon the pale cold cheek
An emotion they knew not raged and grew
Within a heart too tiny to keep.

On The Stairs

When the last light of the night
Trickles down your pensive face
And in the pregnant quiet
Your eyes gaze at the road ahead
As we sit on the stairs
In a time lost in space
I listen to your silence
With your hand in mine
And wait.

I wait, till I could remember every line
Every little line on your face
I wait, till I could remember every rise
And fall of your eyelashes
And I wait, till I could remember the melody
Of every frenzied beat in your heart
As you hold your hand in mine
As you lock your eyes in mine
And smile.

And I crumble
Under the serene lightness of your smile
And I melt
From the glowing warmth in your eyes
And there lies a sweetness in the air
Between your heart and mine
And a little sadness
Between your heart and mine
And love.

In your every touch, your love rushes through me
And builds into a crescendo, that gladdens
And terrifies me
Like a billion stars in the pitch black sky
Your love blossoms, like the first day of Spring
And sparkles, like the golden sea at dusk
As I hold you close when the night falls
As you hold me tight when the sky falls
And kiss.

And we melt
In that moment between what has been and will be
When time is frozen for you and me
And we melt into the night, and into the silent sea
In that moment between what has been and will be
We build our castle of sand by the sea
In that moment between what has been and will be
We stand between our castle and the raging sea
And dream.

A Valley Too Far

I gaze at the trees in a valley too far
Beyond the wild and before the war
On a solitary patch of homely land
We built a nest on the greenest sand
On banks of a river, mellow and pure
The trees grew tall, the roots were sure
A sunrise smiled with the love of yore
A sunset bathed in a dream for more
A cuckoo sat on the branches long
The valley drowned in a dreamy song
In a morning blessed, on a starry night
Away from death, we swam in light
Beauty smiled from the rainbow true
Alone we breathed and alone we flew
Blinded by beauty, by timeless peace
The eyes saw not the building mist
The raven sat on our pristine sands
And flew back swift to the olden lands
A wild wind howled in the valley quiet
The cuckoo wailed in an endless night
Leaves that breathed on trees too tall
Could never rise up from a mighty fall
The wind takes them to lands too far
Beyond the wild and beyond the war

I stand at the door in an alley too quiet
And knock to the wind for a starry night
It creaks and opens to a room too black
As frozen winds rush the doorway past
And a cold hand dives with an evil might
As it holds my hand with a grip too tight
An old bell tolls for the end of my war
As Death pulls me to a valley too far

The Promised Land

As the last vestige of a weary day fades
And we bathe alone in its final sunset
Her eyes wistful of our merry escapades
Of a time forgotten in sands of regret
The seagulls still stare at the distant sky
A wish too pretty for their broken wings
Dreaming the dream where they all do fly
To the Promised Land where the angel sings
And so the sands slipped from my hands
The leaves all fell and old grew the trees
Our songs of spring lost in wintry lands
In deserts of sorrow across stormy seas

Her empty eyes lost in the sanguine sky
Rays gold trickle down her misty cheeks
In a horizon far we watch the seagulls fly
To a distant land beyond the mighty peaks
And fallen leaves rose with a crazy breeze
As I held her hand in the sunset bleak
Those eyes then talked under starry trees
Too heavy the sky for the lips to speak
As her heart yearned for the true escapade
And the shadows spread at the final light
As the last vestige of old sorrow did fade
We drowned together in the raging night

The Haunted

In terse reflections of heartfelt delusions
Under morose twilights of caged despair
Stay haunted souls beside open wounds
For ghosts beloved may yet trudge back
In glittering plaques with long lost names
Or headstones quiet with withering grace
Flicker memories soaked in sepia flawed
That savagely burn in bosoms hollow
Thus fifty-seven winters have ravaged by
The dim mausoleum of a mother’s hope
And fifty-seven more may still light by
Their invincible pyre of glorious despair


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.