Dying slow in the mountains seemed much easier than simply breathing at sea level.

I've been thinking that maybe I was happier when I was still drinking.

I tried to write a poem called Pointless and never made it beyond the title.

Dying seems easier than breathing at sea level.

r ~ 11/7/14

I had the perfect plan
The perfect route, the perfect places
I traced the path, I thought of chats
I readied myself, I thought of jokes
I prepared and saddled my bird
And everything was in place.

I would have shown you where the squared ones dwell
I would have told you where the Laputians work
We would have crossed a jungle in rain
We would have gone through the lowest places to reach the highest
And we would have had a bird's sight
And a majestic sunset as the sun said goodnight
Just for us.

I would have taken you through beautiful deserts with exotic flowers,
We would had jumped off cliffs
And descended slowly

I would have taken you back to the noisy city,
And we would have taken refuge 'somewherelse'
A haven which is also a cafe
There I would had asked you the strangest questions,
I would have unveiled a little more of your deep mysteries
And I would have learnt you.

Everything was ready, all was in place,
Only you weren't there.

Love,
Stronger than death,
Its yearning pull,
Gripping the heart,
Binding the spirit,
The ties, so powerful,
They reach beyond life,
Spanning nether worlds,
Travelling unseen,
Crossing boundaries,
Emotional tethers,
That cannot break,
Not now, not ever,
Holding, holding, holding,
Until the course is run,
Life lived to the full,
Then reunited, ah,
Stronger than death,
Love.

©Paul M Chafer 2014

/
When you are growing as a poet
your pain is pining to born a poetry
where there are too many clouds of emotions gathering,
also a pensive mood longing
then the thunder of thoughts growing,
your paper is awaiting for the first word
as I was waiting for you, my love
when you were coming slowly
then words of rain raining,
automatically,
randomly

When the first raindrop pings on the pond
even you don't know when it will be stopped
how far it will be covered
which path it will be taken
even its density,
dignity,
or the diversity

Your first word inks on the paper
you don’t know when it will be finished
which way the words will be taken
even you don't know
its size or style,
its fashion or the scheme

Either it's a long or a short
or even a sonnet or a verse
even its rhyming
or the rhythm

You should not think about its length
of course words grow as long as
the metaphors can travel
through its thoughts of cohesion
and its feelings moving
naturally,
poetically

You should not count the words
or even you can't stop within a limit
it makes your thoughts imperfect
rather you can tell totally
about the life,
or can tell about
the love easily
or beyond the life spontaneously

The words can grow 3,5,7
lines for a haiku
or even it goes for a mile for an epitaph
or more for an epic  

Poetry executes through words
words come from thoughts
thoughts come from the emotions
and ends with the wisdom
/
@ Musfiq us shaleheen