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silent is the mourning
when crying seems inadequate
for the hurt.
The ghostess was his hostess
in that wood apple tree
she flirted and she caressed
he was tickled merrily!

In the moonlight fought a mock fight
her nails she dug on him
he hugged her with all might
her bony frame quite slim!

He was bolder as he told her
where had you been all life
wooed her in whisper
would have made you my wife!

Her eyes then smoked in pain
trembled her voice
there wasn't a you among the men
I had little choice!


Two hollow face loved breathless
kisses floated in thin air
lone night owl stood witness
to the two souls laid bare!
how do you go about it
when you write a poem
scribble on a piece of sheet
then think about a name?

or do you just tap the keys
seek a clue to start
your way to save the trees
yet find a vent to heart.

do you sit tightly stiff
intent on the screen
or shuffle in the strong belief
they would pour the way you mean.

how do you find the time
or do you have enough
to betwixt work catch a rhyme
grab the thoughts by scruff.

do you write all alone
without a soul around
in a place quiet to the bone
but for your clicking sound.

or you have but little choice
to be by yourself in a room
yet bud a poem from the noise
grow it to full bloom.

my mind ponders the questions above
but the least I can do is to brood
how you pen a poem of love
that makes me feel so good.
the rooks glare at him
his pawns are all dead
on his neck roars the queen
crown trembles on his head!

smells his fall the neighing knight
hangs on thread his fate
crown would go and so his might
war over the bishops trumpet!

his army of pawns are nowhere seen
the king feels so alone
his chosen war he failed to win
about time he leaves the throne!

victory at last the pieces sing
we have the king checkmate
behind the new face the same old king
readies to wear the crown’s weight!
seeks a way

bird                    out

  caged the

  sees a freedom
            beyond meshed wire

                                                           ­      outward
                                                space
   ­                               a
                          to
   ­               flying
once
        
  finds  itself

 prisoner             still

   a
to tell you a secret
where my eyes roamed
while in the forest
where my eyes homed

if I can tell you without fear
and the secret you don’t take far
it was not the wild deer
my eyes were seeing her

to tell you a secret
what my lens caught
while in the forest
what pictures it got

if I can tell you without shame
and you rightly guess the answer
it was not following any game
but kept on catching her!
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