Toes gliding on, the path pebble paved,
a step high, a step low, goes our way twirling-twisting,
towards great towers, and castles carved in caves,
wind whispers a tune, like a clarinet's whistling,
they stand in the surround, around a hall.
Chandeliers floating low, ceilings high and tall,
and beneath, a checkered floor sweeping wide,
in there, arrives the Mountain King,
drums stampede for him and trumpets sing,
bows a council of hills, on his either side.
Lords and ladies before him, sway n' swirl,
while the melody is swelling in distant shrill,
as feet stride past the tiles, tunes rise and twirl,
marble shatters, carpets tear and the Hall speaks,
it bends, creaks, shivers and squeaks,
of crashing notes and collapsing trill.
Apr 30
Apr 30, 2026 at 7:06 AM UTC
In the world of stars, which I had hoped
to be in, to live in, and thrive in,
would be a free, floating, friendly sky,
where stars do shine, and sparkle all time.
But alas—those many, many stars,
far more than I can count
or my sight can hold,
they wish to sparkle more, be seen once more.
I watch, wishing for a brighter sky,
to let them all shine before me,
to see and be seen, in their light,
painting the sky in gold and white.
I had yet to know, to see, and learn,
that the sky isn't as free as it seems,
it trades the sparkling light from stars,
to allow their light to be seen, to shine.
Oh, those stars! how I pity them now,
for they seem nothing to me,
but fireflies, flickering, caged and confined
in that heavenly trade, of that heavenly sky.
They all need to sparkle,
to stay bright, and be seen,
but here strikes their fall,
they need to sparkle more,
more, and more...
till a day rises such that
they're left with no light,
none to sparkle, none to shine,
and wander in the sky,
as dimmed specks of gold and white,
sullen in their shine, waned to their core,
I watch them while I wonder, while I wander by,
in the same vast expanse of that floating sky.
Apr 27
Apr 27, 2026 at 2:37 AM UTC
Minerva thinks she's vanished, quite,
a shadow poured into the night,
that pools beneath the window seat,
so still, so silent, so discreet.
She watches me with emerald eyes
(though these too, she doth theorize,
are hidden well in folds of dark).
The clever creature who leaves no mark,
no whisker-tip, no velvet ear,
for prying human eye to peer.
A perfect crime of hide-and-seek,
but, ah Her tail ! That traitor-speak.
For there, where she believes unseen,
a plume of black slips itself between,
the curtains , and the window case,
a living, twitching, ink-black lace.
by the slip of a tongue, men fumble and fail,
but Minerva gets caught by the slip of her tail.
it taps a rhythm on the floor,
then stills, then flicks, then stills once more.
Oh tail, thou little snitch,
thou sly little spy!
Thou curtain-twitch,
thou velvet lie!
She wills thee still, thou wilt not cease.
She plans thy stillness, thou art piece,
by piece betraying where she hides
with every flick those folds betides.
Dost thou not know she means to stay
concealed till I have turned away?
Dost thou not care for her only wish?
(and must I say, that last swaying-swish,
was particularly seen, dear tail,
it doth her hiding-place unveil.)
At last she knows the game is done,
her tail's confession hath undone
the careful silence she designed,
she rises, stretches, now resigned.
And blinks at me as if to say,
"I know not how thou found'st me. Nay,
I was perfection, still as stone,
my tail, it seems, hath thoughts its own."
I pour the tea, she claims her chair,
her tail curls round her, unaware,
that in its languid, slow repose
it still betrays, but now it shows -
not where she hides, but that she knows
she's found, and loved, and so she stays,
curled in the warmth of morning rays.
The tail flicks once more. I smile, a silent praise.
Mar 18
Mar 18, 2026 at 5:03 AM UTC
the only one I've ever spent on,
is the one followed by all the world,
I keep looking at her all my time,
there isn't a day I don't think of her,
the world asks me to follow her, chase her,
keep gripped in hands, and never let go,
they want me to use her, and produce for the world,
they want to buy her from me ! and they do bid as well.
But I? I never chased her, or bound her,
I set her free, let her run, let her stop,
and in turn the world thinks I've lost my mind,
they say I am wasting her, ruining my life,
I don't mind even if she flies away,
I know she was with me, and will be as well,
I think of her when I think of my own future,
such is my girl, her name is Time.
Mar 14
Mar 14, 2026 at 3:29 AM UTC
Reapeth the withered with a tear laden cheek, plucketh the ripe with a laugh of pride,
his own lass , would daughter second be known,
such care he hath cherished , for the soil and its sown.
from the foul of weather-weed, to the stare of corvid eyes,
canst he protect and flourish his land,
but gets stabbed by a dagger , of the papers he signed,
with the count, with the lender ,
with the crown , with the dealer.
Mar 12
Mar 12, 2026 at 4:02 AM UTC
Must heat and red devour on dark,
whilst ferrum's fuelled with rage?
Must the flames bloom amidst the sky,
whilst we feed the furnace coal?
Achtung ! Dichtung ! the song of steel,
may fill the forging halls,
Schreien und die in agony,
ductile-brittle the ****
Come fourth let's quench the iron's yearn,
lest it strengthen to core,
And forge with pride and wit along,
the tools of our fight,
A crescent for hands who grant the grain,
A hammer to pound our blade !
Mar 9
Mar 9, 2026 at 9:48 PM UTC
Silence and Darkness -
If silence, at all times,
and wherever needle points,
had consumed the voice,
what a world it would be...
If darkness, all the ways,
of all the years, all the days,
had been scattered across,
what a world it would be...
nor light, neither noise, no worries indeed,
neither would there be left any need,
be it betrayal by the eyes,
or ears listening to the lies.
nor does the one that respires,
differ from the one, that expires.
If each drop of a rain,
and of sand every grain,
were in silence, immersed,
and in darkness, dispersed,
what a world would it be...
Noise and Light -
ever since I had first seen,
had I been hearing, ever since,
nor a day, neither night did I,
un-bothered by, ever let it fly.
I remained glaring, back at the light,
remained yelling at noise, did I,
remained I, closing ears and eyes, shut tight,
caged in my own despise, was I,
until once I, did realise the fact,
had I never once, ever thought of that,
it was the very noise, of the cacophonies,
and it was that very blinding light,
which had cradled my ears, with melodies,
and painted pictures for my sight,
which poured the essences,
and made me alive,
which guided my senses,
and kept me alive.
Mar 7
Mar 7, 2026 at 8:53 PM UTC
I know the plane I fly, is still a paper plane,
but the way it flies, and Oh! it certainly flies,
beneath the clouds, in fog, and through the wind that blew,
is no lesser than... than the one, soaring to skies
be it a paper plane, still a plane it is, and the one that flew.
Mar 6
Mar 6, 2026 at 6:53 AM UTC
In a world where lit and lightened, is what one sees,
a sun warmed flower, is the one always swarmed,
cherished and adored, by fluttering birds and bees,
but there lies a young sapling in dark, un-warmed,
what shall happen of the leaves, that didn't bask?
how does that sapling even lives? you might ask,
it grows wide n' tall, in its dark shadowy nest,
since the sun indeed, never rises, ever warms the west,
for it's not a bloom, bowing before sun to be seen,
its fragrance is potent, to fill even the darkest scene.
Mar 4
Mar 4, 2026 at 5:15 AM UTC
I've seen most, in the early spring of their years,
for a coming winter, weeping and shedding their tears,
scrawling sorrowful lines, grieving their pain and despair,
cursing the world for being itself, being insane and unfair,
"Tired just yet, fed up of life?" I say, "it's still a long way before,
rivers to row, hills to hike, and a stride on the sunbaked shore.
yet a puddle filled ditch is all you see and frown,
and say your shoes would get all muddy n' brown?"
I say "that's the same mud some kids may jump in for fun,
what's puddle for a tired travelling is an explorer's ocean,
watch the smiling buds by the road, and learn,
learn how they bloom with the dawn's rising sun.
imagine, imagine the view sublime,
a summit beyond this draining climb...
a carpet of forest beneath your feet, growing lush,
and clouds, a ceiling your hands can brush,
be it the steepest climbs, or a raging storm before,
nothing shall, may, or must, ever cease your soar,
for the summit is indeed a sight, a dream to die for ."
Mar 1
Mar 1, 2026 at 8:46 PM UTC