Sometimes you write a poem and when another person reads it, they immediately get into your mind.

Its a very nice feeling when that happens and you don't need to explain much.

Anyway, today I am sharing a poem very dear to me which I wrote many years ago.

I call it SHADOWS. Which may seem unrelated when you first read it. But don't just read...listen.

.Enjoy.

I feel your touch in every dawn.

I hear your voice when the wind blows.

And every friday night, just before midnight, my memory plays a rhythm :

a rhythm that lasts and lasts till I beg the stars for a remedy because it leaves me drenched.

But the stars I beg become a slideshow and I see you and I again on a cloud..Only this cloud feels stable.

Like a couch or better still a sittee .

It reminds me of the black leather sittee in ...??!!??

It can barely hold two people.

Two people from different times with different dreams .

I don't know much about desire, But I know about a tickle in my heart,

one that I cannot ignore lest my spirit breaks.

One that's getting my mind in storms and my blood awake.

By a man I have no right to want. 

And I hear whispers of emotions unfettered, reaching to a duplicate..

And I try to ignore this but EVERY FRIDAY NIGHT, JUST BEFORE MIDNIGHT...

#:-s

We left home

We left home
With a dream in our hearts and a vision in our eyes.
To ward of shame, we fought for fame
While others thought to wine and dine, we thought to shine.
They wanted things so dark,

We didn't want to die,

We cried and god heard us.
Now up high we ride, and we still got our pride.
And when all is said and done,
We will honour the call.
To tell our story, of pain and gain.

I choke

On this fluid rushing through the many unsunk wells of my heart
Every chamber a spring~ Mostly of water but presently bile.

Everyday we play a game of ignorance
Sometimes to hurt
But today, to merely protect self imposed fragility.

I wish I had a map with red marks on the landmines
Better-still , could someone hand me a cloak in the parts where the dust is thickest?
I choke.

Incomplete

My inconclusive historic journey in a land of seekers.

An adventurer of love in the torrent of your eyes.
Yet to find my home.
All the arms outstretched have yet to offer me a clean diamond.
For which I shall spring forth like a butterfly with limited time.
To sample the nectar of my season.
Only I will not kiss the pale hooded darkness just yet.
I am a sorcerer of time lost to the seasonality of my musings.
#peace.