Assorted Poems
those of us
who speak not
our uttermost feelings
that move oceans
on a moonlit night
have imprisoned
the humanity of expression
those of us
who dream not
beyond our realm of reality
have caged flamingos
and the autumn skies have lost
the freedom of imagination
those of us
who risk not
our most valued assets
have buried the sun
under a cloud of security
and robbed our tomorrows
their rainbow of chance
those of us
who give not our time
to the littlest things
have handcuffed the world
of the laughter of children
and our gift of sharing
those of us
who travel not
to our farthest reaches of ability
have trampled on self-doubt
and our voyages have lost
the serendipity of adventure
like the truth
of each morning sun
whether you see it rise
behind the bars of your window
beyond your thatched hut
or about the horizon
of your timeless beach
each of us
is performing a must we choose
like the truth
of a morning sun
like the lie
of an eclipse
nibbling at the edges
of the moon
we lay marooned
in our own shadows
sketching out perceptions
we lie so convincingly
in the many names of virtues
morals, values, experiences ...
we fill up chalkboards
and so easily answer questions
our voices ricocheting off
each other's mask
as if we have a second chance
at life that is fast fleeting
only to leave behind
our footprints
like the lie
of an eclipse
like the dream
we half-awaken to
yet prolong
like a favorite tune
we recall out of the blue
whose lyrics we have forgotten
yet hold on to the half-memory
we have so much imbedded
within each of us
that we seldom touch
or care to express
and carry on in the pretences
of our own reality
preaching our truths
performing our lies
and prolonging hidden dreams
Ageless and young
In the splendor of amber skies
Chasing after velvet moths and butterflies
Besides the streams of spring
As the morning descended
With a cascade of wild peacocks
And laughter was in the air
Breathless and profound
Time stood on the mantle
Of boyhood innocence
As I danced in the pupil of the sun
In the birth of
Many a carefree day
The rapture of waterfalls
And the call of mynah birds
Were mine to keep
As were the fistful of stars
Snatched from the glitter
Of midsummer nights
And the temple was a distant walk
Alongside beggars and perfume shops
Where up on majestic stonewalls
A jury of honey bats heard
The testimony of a parrot keeper
As he told the fortunes
Of a hundred weary men
When the monsoons arrived
The earth was ripe with paddy fields
Hungry storks on sugarcane legs
Paid silent vigil to the passing of time
And with a sweep of my hand
Autumn was aflame with her spectacle
Of tangerine hills and silver clouds
And catamarans swam naked in the sea
A cardinal sat on her April perch
and sang out a melody:
"That which is beautiful
You cannot possess
For that which is beautiful
Possesses you."
I cleared the mist in my eyes
and listened on.
"That which is the truth
You need not justify
For that which is the truth
Seeks no proof."
And as I moved in closer
the farther she moved me.
"That which is love
You cannot command or contain
For that which is love
Gives without demands
And transcends all bounds."
She sang out her last verse
before flying into the dawn.
"That which is free
You cannot acquire
For that which is free
Is free from acquisition
Free of fear and retribution
And free, free, free
Even when caged."
Depressed heart
Just lugs a cart
Of fears and blues
Knitted brows
Just leave furrows
Of broken dreams
Downcast eyes
Just trade sighs
From barred windows
Dragging feet
Simply retreat
Into a lonely shell
Sunken cheeks
See no peaks
Only valleys of gloom
Sad thumb suckles
Cracks nervous knuckles
And hatches worries
Chin up, face up
Rinse your cup
Let your hair down
Hold your head high
Don't let today die
On yesterday's grave
Don't you doubt
Just elbow out
And get some air
Smell the roses
In heaping doses
Turn your collar up
Walk into the sun
Have yourself some fun
And whistle a tune or two
Be a dreamer, my son,
In this world of make-believe
After all said and done
You have the power to achieve
Let your eyes, my son,
Open your visions far and wide
And may you set your mind
To milestones untried
Life is short, my son,
You hold your fate in hand
Your journey has now begun
Fear not, let love command
You have freedom, my son,
To pause in your hour of doubt
But soon there will be sun
To brighten your voyage out
Take risks in life, my son,
But give them careful thought
There is joy in their pursuit
Whether they blossom or not
Let there be room, my son,
For friendship in your heart
Stay loyal to your friend
Even when things fall apart
Be kind to nature, my son,
To all creatures of this earth
It’s up to all of mankind
To bear their blessings worth
And sleep in peace, my son,
The good spirit guards your night
Wake up, wake up with dreams
And your journey will capture light
In streaks of charcoal
Dusk writes a verse
Punctuated by the comma
Of a silver crescent
And accentuated by
Asterisks of stars
Beckoning me to read
Between the lines
And as I lay entranced
By the exclamation point
Of a fleeting comet's tail
I wake up as in a dream
In the glare of the sun
Denoting the period
Of another poetic night
she draws a curtain, she dwells in her shadows
then sparkles as sunshine on a silvery stream
she cradles her moods in a prism of colors
and captures the soul of a glorious dream
smooth as a pebble tossed timeless in motion
strong as the rasp of a raven at dawn
sweet as the scent of orchids at springtime
soft as the eyes of a guileless fawn
she taunts as a full moon on an inspired ocean
she smiles with the mischief of a star-struck night
she charms like the monsoon on the cheek of a desert
she glides with the grace of a swan in flight
proud as a mountain bronzed golden at twilight
poised as a primrose in cluster of bees
pleasant as a litter of puppies at playtime
pretty as an October sky wearing geese
she gives with her glance, she takes with her eyes
she empties her space and rebuilds her walls
she stays when she leaves like echoes that linger
long after the mirth of a nightingale's calls
she lives her dreams in the eyes of a child
she verses her lyrics on the veins of a lyre
she spills her spirit in the fists of a sculptor
and she ignites the hearth of a poet's fire
If I could write you a song
It would be a soft lullaby
Where violins sigh
If I could wish you a day
It would shimmer in the rows
Of summer rainbows
If I could will you a night
It would climb a starry high
On a black velvet sky
If I could sculpt you a gift
It would capture the spirit
Of nature's infinite
If I could bring you a blessing
It would blossom in the sector
Of sweet jasmines’ nectar