Knowing

The door opens with an easy laugh
That is how I welcome you in
Notice the fresh paint
The walls smile, don't they?
Step closer and you will see
A thousand different stories
Hanging in the air
Take your pick of these gems
And you can begin to understand
My own beginnings and ends.

This is what I choose to show you
But this is not all of what I am.

If you linger in this freshness
From moments to months
Chances are, I will make you stay
Find ways and means
To build bridges and barricades

And when, on reckless nights
Down, way down we go
Into the wilderness
Into the promising depths
Where walls and words both crumble
And the rage of forgotten thoughts
Pulls at those buried within you
You might not recognise me
Though I hope that you might know me.

But know, that this
Is what I choose to show you
And yet, this is not all of what I am.



#NowPlaying

Insight

The real problem with pretension
is that of leakage,really.
We never know what it is
and how much of it
that seeps into our soul

We could be more honest
if we dared
Plant fences with no peep-holes
Around ourselves
With ugly graffitti warnings
And look out at the world
through the cracks
We see too much and too little

Why would we
make the same mistakes again?

Poetry should exist for a better purpose
than bleeding through words
and decoding patterns
that form on blotting paper

We can comb through it
The paradoxes and half-truths
And find blunt insights
in this crimson swamp

But to be honest,
We'd rather not.

Wind

The wind hesitates
As it probes my tired skin
For answers
And tries to decode words
On my lazy sighs

It senses a spark underneath
And wraps me in
Before I can set myself on fire

Her length lends itself to my hands
As I reach out
To sweep stale memories
And brush away the flaky past

She initiates conversations
In a voice that sounds like me
Using thoughts for words
And faces for needs

I hesitate too
To look at what remains
When the dust of the world
Is blown off my skin
And I can no longer hide

Time

as wind rustles dry leaves
I wonder
if one could hear footsteps
rustling through time
but the corridors are silent
my voice dissolves in air
words seep through time
to reach somewhere I cannot

hear me
find me
if you can

Snapshot

Have you ever tried ironing out your life

From the creases of a shirt

Becoming un-stuck and un-tucked

In the tailored circumference

Which can no longer hold all of you in

There are dreams running wild

At the split ends of every strand of hair

Not in its place

But surrounded by a windy chaos

Trying to spell out a lack of care

My words aren't coloured right

Nor do they talk of weather

And the life and times of strangers

I walk through the breezy disorder of your days

Comfortable in my unconcern of your ways

Till you notice

And hand out your disapproval

At times, your amazement

Not that I need either one

We see differently

My eyes dig far deeper into the skin
Right to the soul

Yours get tangled up in the creases of my shirt

No wonder that you cannot find me.