Get the door

Why is it that poets feel 
among all the chosen ones 
the pain of the past 
and the sadness of future? 
Happiness they all concur 
is fleeting and Blake. 
It sings two songs 
in two tongues 
Of innocence and life. 

They look upon a door 
a very Kafkaesque one 
It's a drawing on the wall 
animated by imagination. 
They are filled with hope
that it'll open to let in
some meaning about the world. 
Soon, the door becomes a deity
and is offered words and words. 

What is left

What's left 
if love is cut to size? 
It takes the shape 
of a terrible poem. 
An uneasy 
silence between lines 
sharpens the arguments 
of why and why not.
Distance accumulates 
like the lines in a ramble. 
And moments seem to be 
in a tensed state of packing.
Preparing for a long journey. 

False step

Wary of a false step
a snail chews on 
the darkness in its shell 
and waits in solitude. 

Foliage

My complaints about life
dissolve into dreams. 
I have super powers in sleep
to deal with each of them.
When I wake up 
I am already exhausted for 
the ordinary living that follows.
This twilight like truth 
doesn't stay with me for long.
It slips into foliage
Wind does its job
and I go on to collect
more material for my dreams.
Prepare the next battle. 

Towards movement

Life reminds us all the time
it is not a check list
but a checkered one.
Litany is always on.
No break in prayers.
Prayers for
luck this and luck that.
Luck everything.
The dark patch is always
a shadow of success.
And while waiting
hope sprouts between the feet.
Tickles us into movement. 

Happenings

Nothing ordinary 
happens in the past
Put ears to the ground 
clods exchange notes.
And memories 
the young mountains 
pierce the skies. 
Trees remain witness and dispatch
progress reports every season.
And the bees carry tears 
glinting on their back  
Dark and golden
To bloom a thousand flowers.

When we talk

History happens every day
and when we talk, every moment.
Peering down the throats
of mighty anecdotes
We remember the times
And narrate it like griots
We play the see-saw game
of the hee-haw.
The pulse of an electric smile
is felt in the air
We could break off into
unknown physics here
But history
it keeps happening
when we talk
and the thrill
is of the future.