But some of the secrets have to stay
like shadows in the garden,
dark shades for singing birds
hugging the old branches.

Do not look deeper into me
for some of the secrets have to stay
where they were born
bearing the thumping of the good old heart.

but some secrets have to stay
like unsaid love
in some gay corner of the heart
lined with dreams and some distant song.

and still if you think you can get deeper into me,
and think you think like me,
then come dance with me
in the wild, wild woods.

and still if you think you can get deeper into me,
I'll show you the leaping green spirits of the trees,
the true blue dream of the sky and the sea,
and one last hug of the rainbow.

but still some secrets have to stay
like hidden words in poetry's womb,
like sweet honey in wild flowers,
like a long tale that never ends.

In the moon's gentle glow,
where secrets unfold,
remind me, my dear,
of the dreams we hold.
Like a moonbow's arc,
let our spirits intertwine,
My moon! My guiding star!
In your orbit I shine.
In the realm of dreams,
I'll return to you, to
reawaken the dream's tender start,
where destiny's whispers intertwine.
Then, embrace me
in the darkness's art,
till I ascend,
a moonbow's divine line.
My moon!
I'll orbit your celestial grace,
in this ethereal, moonlit haven.

Silence wraps the night sky
except for the snoring stars
and a distant night plane
plying past parting the winds
that rush down my neck
marking spots in my body,
making it scintillate with longing
to absorb the shocks of electric waters
rising from your flesh
separating passion from love,
tearing off the marked boundaries
of unholy and holy, impure and pure,
sin and virtue, blasphemy and reverence
and breathe passion, tearing
through our egos that feed on our sanity
and part as strangers who've never met before.

Who treads upon our land so high?
Please don’t stare so hard.

Fear stalks our verdant home,
A shadow lurking, unseen.
Each bite may be our last,
Our hearts with terror keen.

Move softly, tread with care,
Lest our young ones startle.
We’re prey, marked to die,
Beneath some hunter's eye.

Who hears our cry from the cocoon
and days we spent in contemplation,
days we shunned our silky existence
as a worm, worthless and young.
Sometimes we wish we never saw the light.
Little did we think we will grow wings
someday. Colourful, beautiful wings
with which we could flit around.
Afraid of the changes in our own lifes,
how often we cling to the familar,
to the known!
But still we emerge as butterflies,
embracing the beauty of change,
spreading our wings, and dancing around,
letting the world witness our transformation.

🐛🦋🦋🦋🦋🦋🦋🦋🦋🦋🦋🦋🦋

The Blue Jacaranda

I don't wish to make a home in you
or hold on to your heart
like a fragile Autumn leaf
but sit with you under
the blue Jacaranda
and breathe your lavender deep
recalling those dreams you did dwell.
A stranger but more familiar
from some other sphere.
Under the blue Jacaranda
hold my hands with no promises made.
For a while, let me believe
you're still not a dream.

The afternoon sun opens the day
wiping the morning mist from the sky.
A robin sits on a mossy wall
overlooking the glistening valley,
basking its little chest.
I speak to it,
words gentle, soft and kind.
It looks at me,
a gaze curious, yet knowing,
seeming quiet at its best.
Suddenly, with a song
it takes to the sky,
where old memories lie,
before its ancestors sang,
the caged bird's song.