He listens to the old stuff cause it's better than the rest
And he tells me my taste in music is the best.
He likes to text me when he's too busy for a conversation to keep.
And he goes to bed early, but he doesn't get much sleep.
He's likes clean, but he works in the dirt.
Talks nasty because he was a gentleman first.
Tell me he'll quit whatever vice, never lie.
And he doesn't know about zodiac signs.
Holding hands doesn't still his fingertips
And I never figured him to have such soft lips.
He thinks he can keep his crazy promises
Because overall I guess he's an optimist.
And he's rough and mean and rude but he
Says he doesn't like much, but he loves me.

Music sleeps.....
In my un strummed chords
I wait for the touch of skillful hands
To turn it into flowing melody
A lotus dreaming to see the sun!

How long can I remain silent?
Oh touch me, shake me
Wake me from my slumber
Make me into a throbbing rhapsody

Set free this prisoner
To birth soothing chimes
Note after note in tiny wavelets
Let my vibrations carve circles
Growing bigger and bigger
Oh, give me the timbre and tone
Let me sing once more!

Let the music drizzle down
In healing murmurs
Lifting troubled spirits into calm repose
Leading them to a quiet fold
Free of all fever and fret
Let my soft rhymes
Fill the empty cisterns of the night,
Wooing the hearts
Weaving mystical spells

Let it rise and sink
And finally fade into a soft breath
A hushed whisper
A faint vibration
Over a gliding stream!

Sometime after mid night, it had rained
Putting out summer’s sultry heat
The sky had its face washed clean
And wiped the grime off Earth’s soiled feet

The dawn is quietly breaking
Night lights still glimmer here and there
The blue firmament remains cloudless
And cool is the mild blowing air

The sleeping town is slowly waking up
And at this transitional point
I look out into the street
To see a sight that shall never disappoint

Along the road moves one, ragged and withered
His discolored white hair left unkempt
With hunch back and drooping shoulders
The marks Time has left of the hard years spent

Though age has drained his life sap away
He has a firm resolve never to beg
His frail body supported on a stick
Serves as a veritable third leg

With his staff, he perseveringly stirs
Every heap of abandoned *******
Indiscriminately piled on either side of the road
Hunting for trinkets lying hidden in the trash

A rag picker with a sack on his back
Picking up today’s treasure
From yesterday’s discarded trash
Things, for him ‘priceless’ beyond measure

With complaints none
He faces life and its trials
Never losing the glitter in his eyes
Though a loner in life’s dark isles

I ask myself, why every day
I routinely look for this man who limps along
And I get a quick answer
‘He helps you turn your sobs into a song’