Saturday, April 09, 2011


Just how long
can you hold a flight
by its wings
in the hope that
the passion in those feathers
would soon flutter and die...
Just how long
can you cup a bud
in your two hands
praying that it would
never embrace the world
with its blossoming eyes...
Just how long
can you cage freedom
behind bars
with the audacity to believe
that the spirit is no stronger
than the metal that encircles it
Just how long
can you tether to reality
the wild child of imagination
grudging it the giggles
and squiggles of laughter
of its make-believe world.
Just how long
can you put your arms
tight around a moment
lest it run away
in the blink of an eye
and be lost forever
Just how long
can you push back tomorrow
willing it to return
to the land of its origin
and never be the reality
that you wake up to.

Saturday, February 19, 2011


Aren't humans boring
and terribly non-exciting
working for a living,
pushing and fighting
burying a dream or two
every passing day
one has got to be real
feet on the ground, they say!

And that is why, my friend,
I write of butterflies
masters of their will
creatures of the skies
free to soar and dip
and then rise again
gliding on wingfuls
of sunshine and rain

Aren't adults a mess
with thousand thoughts
and a million minds
calling the shots
divided loyalties
and fragmented hearts
like actors on a stage
playing their parts

And that is why, my friend,
I write of children
with minds and hearts as pure
as dew in morning sun
feeling thinking and
living in totality
knowing not what is
an alternate reality

Aren't humans mundane
with limbs that walk and hold
eyes that see no far
and fingers that simply fold
limited in nerve and sinew
and the length of our bones
fenced in by our frames
shackled by our skintones

And that is why, my friend,
I write of magical elves
wish granting fairies
and babbling bookshelves
figments of imagination
on a flight of freedom
residing on the ramparts
of our so-called wisdom

Isn't it wonderful, my friend
to be able to escape
the smallness of our being
the monotony of our lifetape
turn words into wings
and fly with the butterflies
gurgle with the children
and experience magical highs
Words are but rabbitholes
in the fence of our lives, my friend
escape routes to a world
far from a reality that we cannot mend.

Friday, February 18, 2011


I am the silence in your conversations
I am the blink of your eye
I am your moment of solitude
I am the sound of your sigh

I am the night of your day
I am your last ray at twilight
I am the peace in your darkness
I am the horizon of your sight

I am the stillness after the ripples
I am the lull after the storm
I am the calmness in your being
I am your familiarity, I am your norm

I am the pause after your breath
I am your moment of solace
I am the melancholy in you
I am the breeze on your face

I am the quietness in the noise
I am the meaning in what you do
I am your endless search
I am the nothingness in you