Love comet

Love comets 
in a long orbit around a circumstance. 
Sighted now
it juts across the hazy silence. 
Will return 
years later to mark some words.
Longer tail
Sprouting, a smile at the blazing head.

Table manners

Wounds of the daily grind
are put into words
that shine with loneliness.
Yet, the sheen
of someone else's sadness
takes its time to cut through.
My armor of good times
has to thin itself for that feat.
Empathy is often table manners.

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.