How do I say it,
when the clouds still thunder cold
and the wind breaks me in shivers
where all the leaves are rusting yellow
and the sky looks like a grey, mopping carpet
when the sun hides itself
and where all the people loom
ready to pounce and shred me

How do I say it,
as she smiles
and her eyes just gleam and nothing more
because I don’t know
if she will reciprocate
when her friends look at me
like a stranger from a distant land
finding feet, and not yet there

How do I say it,
that the pain of not saying ‘it’ cracks me open
like a cycle of Cruciatus curse on a repeat
so only the wrong words come out
and the tongue feels twisted, forever like a roller-coaster
going faster and faster, getting more intense,
but just not getting there
to nail it.

How do I say it,
that I have sinned
by setting my eyes on her,
and letting her pervade all over me
like the fog on a cold December morning
So when will that day come
When I say it,
and let her know of how I feel.

Its a different town, the one that I enter now.
The milkman stands tall in the fog of the morning.
Wild dogs run wild, hunting for scraps
and it seems as if the whole town is up and alive
So I become someone I am not
I become alive for a moment
and in this embrace of another me,
I see a different town, and perhaps a different me
because all that is worth living for,
is here, right there, in front of me
The sun is not shining; its a cloudy day
yet the leaves have their chins up
as if they do not feed on the sun
but on the energy of me, and the people of this town.
An old lady sits on a bench at the edge of mud house
and she calls me over
With each step that I take,
I notice an odd reality,
the old lady is an anomaly; she is very old
and she’s getting older as I come closer
the wrinkles beneath her eyes grow more defined
her humble-ness becomes apparent with her frail frame
And then something out of the blue occurs
because fury is issuing from her lips.
I clearly fail to grasp why,
but as I drown out the rest of the noise
I listen to her
and I notice the pain in her tone
and this tone tells me a story of a different town
the one I am in now
of how it is not what it seems
of how life isn’t life when its all green
With each word, I toil away for focus
and break down the thought
that this town is leading to a better me,
because I am looking for something
that resides inside of me
and not in any town, or anywhere
where the sun does not shine
or the leaves glow in green
there is nothing to change me
that lies outside of me
and this is where I understand
that life is life, even when its not green.

They murmur of triumph,
then sang its songs
out and loud,
and I could hear
all that banter
that promised a choice
one they took
like the glint of a star
long dead in space.

How could I feel restrained,
more chained, more contained
like the underage child
lost in the tantrum of laws
over a choice,
where it becomes a curse
that brings only pain and nothing more
just so as it stings
that all I do is take a tumble?

I am now tired,
of letting time having the call
on our fates.
So even if they don’t realise this, I do
that time is but an excuse
to whisper of choices and to sing the songs along.
No more shall I fabricate boundaries
to tell myself
that I cannot sing my own song.

No more does a spark ignite
nor can I feel it
these ten minutes are taking too long to end
and I’m drowned in emotions and motivations
as I penned away
a beautiful piece of writing

Now its been long
that I have gone swimming
So I step right in
but the ocean keeps me away
Tides of these times are not friendly
and hope is all but washed away

I feel like a machine
on a noble pursuit
but my circuits are blowing away
feels as if I have lost my will, my power
for I cannot pen
a beautiful piece of writing, anymore

There are sparks at times,
and a fire rises too
for a moment, my mind cannot sleep
but my tongue, it keeps shut
and my hands, they loathe to stir
something extraordinary.

They have a name for it,
like a known, diagnosed disease
the writer’s block
and I’m a fighter
so I will cure it one day
by a beautiful piece of writing

The summer roars in, but why do the leaves fall?
This is the season of the spring,
and the flowers revel in their grandiloquence of colour
but right outside the window where you and I lay
studying for hours on end,
there is a tree that sheds its yellow leaves
speaking of an epoch of time where once it was young and all green
and then I think of you and me;
how the summer is tunnelling through the happiness
that beset our lives right now and we are sedated.
I walk with you for miles and talk with you along the way
and we skip over one topic to another,
as if we were making our own house of cards.
I eat with you everyday, and you let me be with you;
Just like that yellow-leaves-shedding tree,
I wonder if what we have will one day tumble into oblivion
and I will only have memories of you on my phone
and in my heart that then might ache.