the take off

the engines screamed.
agonizing.
i heard them.

the rubber scarred the runway.
blistering.
i felt the pain.

the pain of letting go;
of meaningless longing.
to stop.
to return.

the trees are running;
faster, faster.
the mountains flying;
higher,higher.
then,
they can rise no more.

suddenly,
what i know
becomes
what i knew.

the blackrose

in the petals of the blackrose,
i saw a crimson mouth to kiss.
her slender stalk - all lush green;
i was caught in eternal bliss.

deep, dark and lustful, there she stood.
shamelessly, i drank in the scene.
had she blushed deeper still,
further enchanted i would have been.

"wats in a name", he once had said.
"a rose is a rose", it may seem.
why then this scarlet beauty is black?
what could in heavens be the theme?

is her tale of long lost love?
is she burdened with mourning?
or is 'black' the serenity of night?
its mysteries- that keep me pondering....

i felt her move, saw her beckon.
inching close, i heard her whisper;
the dark tales of her dark past,
of dying love and dead hearts that linger.

velvety softness i reached out to feel,
beauty priceless in all the pelf.
seduced by the touch, i did forget,
the guarding thorns upon her self.

a prick, pain, a drop of blood.
the same red as that of the rose.
it trickled down her crimson lips,
she too bled as i held her close.

from us to you and me

if dreams could speak,
mine would tell you,
how often
they saw you.

if shadows could feel,
yours would envy,
the constancy
of me by you.

if the past was alive,
ours would know,
how strong
is a promise.

dreams don't speak.
shadows don't feel.
the past never comes alive.


let the new wind
breeze away the old.
let the new horizon
charm you.
let a new sunrise
brighten your vast sky.

save a place among millions,
for this dull old star...
who smiles at you
each forgotten night.

the clock and i

i have you
in the white
of my palm.

yet,
your white face
scares me.



your soul is
an ever flowing,
bedless stream.

i drown in you.
your currents
pull me.



my life is
a rhythmic spell
within me.

your life,
a rhythmic spell
outside.



you never wait,
you have no friends.
neither do i.

because
you stole them
from me.



in you lies
a part of me,
dead and yet to be born.

but you lie
in the white
of my palm.



you hate the sun,
the spring, the laughter;
for then, you flee.

but you love me;
when we are alone
you stall....

infatuation

you held my hand,
i called it love.

i punctuated my feelings,
i called it poetry.

i saw you with her,
i called it death.

then,

i saw him,
i called it a beginning.

he held my hand,
i called it love.

and,

i punctuated my feelings,
i called it poetry.