Sometimes,
I want to tell you about the night cold,
and my cigarette lit on my right hand,
and a poem that describes everything
I see the day I pass,
and the sad song,
and dim light on my eyes,
and your eyes will see me from the screen on your phone,
and that melody of a night owl,
and the moon,
and the wind,
and the last breath your fragrance clothes on my jacket,
and your lips hanging out my rose,
I gave you.

If you were there,
I would've believed the lies you rained.
But when you said you were there for me,
I believed the moment was a flood of lies you caused.

If you didn't mean to hurt me,
I would've bore all your pain to just hurt myself.
But when you cried out and begged it,
You just did exactly what killed me more.

If you were loyal to me,
I would've never left you, ever.
But when you said it,
I peeked through, and there your man stood, smiling.

If you loved me,
I would've died, but never leave.
But when you told me you love me,
Thought I'd rather die than stay.

'Cause all I were to you,
were just your lying tears.

what is the measure of sorrow
is there a standard unit
against which we may rule
an overladen mind
and a heart demolished

graphing with infinite precision
each shattered hope
and marking the dimensions
of dreams ground to dust

are tears numbered
or more properly
and accurately accounted
by volume
or weight

shall we assign a value
on a sliding scale
to the mutilation
of a human soul

can we make comparison
among various torments
or attempt to visualize
in a chart of bright colors
splashed on a screen
the lifelessness of one person
to that of another

is despair loss
or hope denied
might it be joy withheld

does suffering
have weight and volume
that we might
determine its mass

is it instead a void
where something which
was present
has been removed

is it possible to create
an image of wretchedness

a ruined and rotting
playground of lost innocence

a charred and crumbled husk
of a home shattered

an arid uninhabitable waste
of aspirations unbirthed

with what pigment
shall we produce such art
which color wheel
will be used

in what earthly perdition
are the gauges found
reading the depth of misery
or the height of anguish

what is the magnitude
of the grief
the touchstone of devastation
against which all other grief
must be measured

I’ve suffered for my youth,
I’ve discovered who I am
but lost myself along the way.

I’m finally at a crossroads,
I am finally facing it.

My river flooded,
my roots are overgrown,
my hair is turning grey,
the wrinkles are not going
away.

My crack’s are getting deeper,
my hair is still losing color,
my blood pressure is getting higher,
my pain is settling in for longer.

Ageing is a bit! with a
bat and ball, it beats you
until your blind and still
expect you to hit a fastball
and reach home plate.

©️ 2022 By Amanda Shelton

I stand for all forms of peace
and against all forms of war.
Can we love each other
as we are human?

भारत की आत्मा गांवों में बसती है
यहां झूठ महंगी और सच्चाई सस्ती है।

खाने में अवयव कम है
पर जितने भी हैं उन में दम है
दिखावा कम है
बातों में वजन है
तभी युवा पीढ़ी आज भी बुजुर्गों के आगे झुकती है।

घरों में बातें कम होती है
काम ज्यादा होता है
आने - जाने वाले का आदर होता है
भूखे को खाना प्यासे को पानी मिलता है
चौपालों पर आज भी रौनक रहती है।

बात की पकड़ अभी बची हुई है
युवाओं का भरोसा बुजुर्गों के
अनुभव पर कायम है
युवाओं में फिक्र कम
कुछ कर गुजरने का दम है
तभी तो सामूहिक परिवार गांव की बपौती है।

त्योहार मात्र औपचारिकता नहीं
बहन - बेटी के घर आने का अवसर है
मिल बैठकर खाने और
हंसी खेल की चौसर है।
रिश्तों पर विश्वास की एक कसौटी है।।

होली हो तो रंग - गुलाल से ज्यादा
नाच - गान पर विश्वास है
नए-नए स्वांग देखकर
हृदय में भरता उल्लास है
पीते  हैं मद तो भी आंखों में  कान्हा की रास बसती‌ है।