(could have, should have)
darling when will you realize
that you cannot own time
that you can set clocks but
you can't control the rate
at which the arms will move
that time is not of this earth
that time never listens to anybody
it is its own mistress
time
doesn't want anything to do
with us and yet it's the most
important thing we have
time
carved itself into the velvet
of the universe
and made a home for itself
time
always seems to morph
into someone you love -
there's always the right time
always not enough time
always time and time and time
again
(could have, should have)
my darling time
is the repetition of the seasons
how everything changes but is
still the same
how we seem to stretch into our bones
but still feel how we did
my darling
time
sinks its teeth into our
could haves and should haves
feeding off the things
we wish we did
the things we wish
we could do differently
time
becomes our enemy
until we realize
that although it
will never listen to us
it will let us in
if we just let it.

Up until my eyes are bloodshot.
I think about my life until my stomach is in knots,
I feel sad, happy, mad, sometimes it gets confusing.
In the end I do fall asleep but tomorrow I know what's awaiting me.

My soul grieves
for a soul;
a life lost,
to the world,
cold.

The world,
this life
full of pressure
she cannot keep.

So she frees
her soul,
for her soul
to cling to a
soul.

He tries
to stand on
the soles of
his feet

O how
he stumbles
and falls.

But how he bears,
for a life to be
shared with
a soul that
clings to his soul.

This spirit
awakened
from memory,
calls to his
bitter aid.

And as if
not even God can save him,
he is bound, chained
to the promise
he made.

O how my soul
grieves for
his soul!
And as he grieves
and weeps for
his own

It is far too late now.

Bound
between two dimensions
a chain.
'Til he fulfills
the promise made
to her.

A promise
for a dead soul.

I found a poem
it was packed away
in a box in an attic is where it lay
dormant in the dark
unable to say
the words he had written
his final day

the attic has light now
he heard the switch click
come to me come to me
hurry! be quick
I've waited for years
for ions to be read
then the sound of turning pages
danced in his head

he awaited the light when he heard paper turning
and the smile of a face would have his heart burning
closer and closer as the pages were freed
then stopped at the title and did not proceed
did not proceed but the eyes he could see
through the thin journal paper the eyes he could see
and the tears ran down cheeks of a child all but 3
Daddy, he said, 'Can you read this for me?'
'Perhaps you can read it some other day
when you're old enough to know just what it might say
Off now my child, we can't be all night
lay down the book and turn off the light

and from that day forward he waited for me
the child to return
to set the words free

piercing nimbus layers,
sun asserts light's reign again.
doom to pall of gloom.

Cool mountain breezes tranquilize
My heavy lids, as I shut my eyes
And soak in the graceful scenes,
Aboard the majestic Himalayan Queen,
With her rhythmic chuk-chukking,
Her coaches lazily chugging,
Each slow screech of her ancient brakes transporting
One to an era of few hurries and fewer worries,
Look at her, winding round and round,
Piercing cloud after fluffy cloud,
Almost like a moving tiara adorning
The artistic Simla greens,
That span as far as the eye can see,
Only punctuated by nature's unbridled revelries
Of wild, white flowery shrubs
And lone, or in pairs, monkeys,
And moss-laden tunnels galore-
"Recorded for this route as hundred and three,
But numbering hundred and two in reality",
Points out a septuagenarian co-passenger knowledgeably,
His random trivia prompting me out of my reverie,
Albeit, temporarily!
For soon enough, my senses slip once again
Into a playful camaraderie,
With the innocent romance that only
The mountains can awaken inside of me.