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The poet lives two lives.
One on the outside,
And one in their mind.

When you look in their eyes
You could see an abyss.

If you looked long enough
You could sink into it.

But most people don’t see it.

Take the time to read the words, though,
And you would know for sure.

The poet lives in two different worlds.
A little escape from the madness.
Or maybe, into.
Grinning wide by the riverside
two bubbly girls click shots
between them whisper confide
share the secret thoughts!

The giggly cutes they walk like dance
caught in a sunlit pause
not mind the boys stealing glance
seems not worth a cause!

Their cells follow where they go
the lens beamed right on face
one more please and then one more
frames add up happiness!

I was watching the sun go down
pretty much in a fix
light was getting dullish brown
would turn darkish by six!

The urge was great surged the will
it grabbed the whole of mind
to have a photo me standing still
with the river flowing behind!

The butterfly girls in the sun's last kiss
they readily said o yes
each of them took a shot apiece
my joy you can easily guess!
The Strand, Raipur, July 18 2018 5.45pm
The old blanket is so hard to discard

dramas have unfolded in its folds
upheavals of winter's orogeny
trills of two birds in ecstatic thrill
to the rest in the ripened knowledge

we have made a home
we have earned it.


In the still of night
under the old blanket
the tales are relived
without a touch
a word..

The old blanket is so hard to discard.
Thrown like ripples of a star
From a dreamer's somber shade,
I gazed about frisky birds afar
In coats of blue, gold and red,

And they sang: Sky maidens we,
That dost float on high forever
Atop vales, mountains and seas,
Forests, and many a lonely river,

Lets flap our gentle wings and wing
Yonder the land of lofty mountains,
Where dwelleth the mighty King
In halls bedight with silvern fountains

Beneath temples of burnished gold,
Where golden run nectar streams,
Where beauty by any bard yet to be told,
Where leaves dewed by fair sun beams;

In a realm where naught doth ever age,
Where song birds croon loveliest lullabies
In a realm where love is the language
Unto all that walketh – unto all that flies.

And from there we’ll fly nevermore
But mellifluously whisper a paean
To echo golden from shore to shore,
Beauteously through many an eon.
©Kikodinho Edward Alexandros,
Los Angels, California, USA
             18th/09/2018
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