In Wait (Inspired by Gaza)

As the air whooshes and the breath comes to a still with my entire being in presence, in wait, in watch a decade, a while, an eternity as the ink runs dry and the sparks flicker out A scream rises past gnawing through the throat A bare wisp escapes far from the embers A shadow...

Balm

To whisper into the void And ask for the breeze to carry it into the clouds, To calm the racing thoughts And trust the way the river flows, To write secrets against the skin And confirm the ink fades its etches, To make a pact with every beat of the heart And break word with...

Musing

Why do our breaths get so frail that when we meet death, we leave and do it with such courage that only ashes remain in our wake? And then with memories and souls that survive, we decide to eke out a newer course until later, waiting until breath becomes frail again and the heart gets...

Strife

When pauses get a lifeand the going gets hard,does the tone get bold,or do we spare our breath?When lines carve into fleshand guises etch wounds,does the echo get its say,or does the hush stifle all?When events decide to existand reality transpires as it does,does courage stay dutch,or do we bargain for a nerve?When things decide...

Ricochet

When bullets ricochet, Who do they hit? Does air take the brunt? Or does soil take its stead? Does blood seep in? Or do gasps cloak pain? Does pain exist at all? Or do we float in nothingness? Do the dead deserve mercy? Or is it the living? Or those that exist, the undead who...

White Facades

A landscape of white and toppling greys, A fall nearby, And a mournful sigh. A broken canvas etched in red, Erasing air and persistent breaths. Tiny beings, Hearts and orbs, A shard of ice And frosted grass. Pictures surround, Nature in mind Reality just another haze. Fickle stares, Of helpless souls Of lives gone, midst...

Canvas

Cubes, triangles and asterisks Amidst black watered chandeliers. Roses, dandelion and tulips With blood frosted roulette. Graffiti, chaos and sense In dance with the unknown. Brushes, juries and a paring, And duels met by the stroke. A pause, a query and the stars And meteors hit by the sun. Canvases all for a scene. Daring...

This or that?

Is it the tremble? Or the faltered step? Is patience ever the key? Or rather indifference? Are singularities ever rewarding? Or do generics reign the day? Does anyone ever know? Or are we aces at 'pretend'? Is it those that speak not And endure and go on That fret the least? Or is it them...

Of Rusting Manacles

To windows that gaze, And scenes that change. To horizons unmerged, And crowds untamed. To birds that fly, And chains that seize To those fettered apprehensions And stoic resolves, To those flutters and stutters And suave tethers. To limits and dedications And rambled letters, To senses and wise And awareness unbridled. Of rusting manacles, Cages...

Synapse.

Of bags that weigh a ton, And trinkets that hold a smile. Of muddied poignancies, And grins that are worth a dime Of parched turmoils, And caustic nights, balmy when on mute. Of mercurial words, And sombre steps Of silences unbroken, And hamartias errant Of pauses too deep, And thoughts, synaptic. Of journeys that start,...