She kept the beauty of fairy tales
fluttering about her heart
and the reality of heartache
in the paint strokes of her eyes
she was always
a tear away from suicide
and a dream away from life
she walked the line between fiction and love
on a rope made out of razor wire
and whiskey shots mixed with turpentine
her feet could smoother burning coals
and bled and wrote stories
no one dared walk behind
she could speak in languages
only the stars and the leaves
could understand
and she sang to both
whenever they asked
she knew how to swim
but preferred the feeling of drowning
the cold searing pain
of lungs unable to take a breath
the fear and rush of staring
into the dark unknown
she would get lost at sea
to find her way to oceans end
where mermaids and starfish
waited to hear
the fluttering of her heart
as told by the beauty of fairy tales

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Watching the color of my dreams
Even In the darkness of mistrust
When they become invisible
But I can still feel them beside me
Like a dance in my heart
Like a music in my memories
Like the songs in my perception
Like the senses in my imagination
I will tell you all my secrets

But you are not to become your secret
Then you can live unforgettable moments, with elegance
Hearing in your heart
Serenity, joy, and happiness of life
Whispering from the mist
Kindness like a warm blanket of snow,
Softly covering and gently touching the inner dream

Changing our all rhythms into symphony of the cosmos
Listening to the color of your musical dreams
Without knowing the name of the tune
But then the sky merges with the Earth
When you enter into streams of my liking, as
I love the quote of Maya Angelou
''A woman's heart should be so hidden in God
that a Man has to seek Him just to find Her.''

Written by
~~~Jawahar Gupta~~~

Does youth
more tears shed
than old age?
I scarcely know
whatever
life is much sorrow

should things be such
from where should we
knowledge borrow?

yet tears
of both ages
are not the same
( distanced by years)
as they in their own way
silently and painfully flow

and what they signify
is from their own hearts drawn
youth is the folly of experience
old age is contemplation without blame
the season that makes wisdom grow

in this the winter-depth
of my fast slipping-away days
tears have become weary
no longer are they keen
their past stories to tell
they have so little now to say
I am quiet , tranquil and at peace
oblivious to what would follow
upon the morrow.

A free bird leaps on the back
Of the wind and floats downstream
Till the current ends and dips his wing
In the orange suns rays
And dares to claim the sky.

But a BIRD that stalks down his narrow cage
Can seldom see through his bars of rage
His wings are clipped and his feet are tied
So he opens his throat to sing.

The caged bird sings with a fearful trill
Of things unknown but longed for still
And his tune is heard on the distant hill for
The caged bird sings of freedom.

The free bird thinks of another breeze
And the trade winds soft through
The sighing trees
And the fat worms waiting on a dawn-bright
Lawn and he names the sky his own.

But a caged BIRD stands on the grave of dreams
His shadow shouts on a nightmare scream
His wings are clipped and his feet are tied
So he opens his throat to sing.

The caged bird sings with
A fearful trill of things unknown
But longed for still and his
Tune is heard on the distant hill
For the caged bird sings of freedom.