You might just ask
what's the difference
Between the heart
and the head
With one we think
while the other one beats
Both contemplating what's next
While thoughts
are so often fleeting
Here one minute
gone the next
The heart never falters
at the foot of love's alter
That's the difference
between the heart
and the head

A loving mother
A rich father
A cute sister and
'caring' friends;

A good life
you would say;

But I know
I am insecured
feeling heavily insecured

Do you know its all
because of
loving mother
rich father
cute sister and
so called 'caring' friends.

is it in the irony?
is it in simplicity?
opacity of superfluous vocabulary?

Is it hiding in the metro
In the thick of the stench of weary passengers?

Is it in soft petals that welcome a sweet romance?
Or the trodden leaves, wilted soft too?

The moon’s still high In the dawning sky
And the streetlights cut the gloom.
I go for a walk and a mental talk
That sweeps my mind like a broom.

The desert air, to which none can compare
Banishes all thoughts of doom
I walk the street to an eager beat
Like a Bride on the way to her Groom.
ljm

I still pine
       for what I’ve lost
               the promise and
                               fulfillment.

I still search my memory
                for hidden fragments
                                 of that treasure.

     Time has covered
                some of them in
                            shadows of nostalgia.

     But the flaming pain
                        still brightly burns and
                                      tears will not extinguish it.
                        ljm

2010 i tried killing my self survived that its bin a blessing since then

we were poor
but not deluded

and when
van morrisson's
"brown eyed girl"
comes on the radio on
that worn
old
brown rug
my brother and I
started tapping our feet
shaking our heads
to the music and
our sisters are smiling
at us and
our mother is laughing
at us

and all we needed was
laughter and love
a prayer and a song

turn up the radio

Roses may be red,
But I'm always blue.
Someone could show me paradise,
And I'll see a grotesque view.

Roses may be red,
But sometimes I'm blue.
I'm aware of the sunlight,
And I'm slightly warmer too.

Roses may be red,
But I'm feeling less blue.
I've met you, extraordinaire,
A palette of colors, anew.

Roses may be red,
But I'm no longer blue.
You brought paradise to me,
Because paradise is you.