Where did you go?
Where is your spirit?
Remembered that you told me
that you'll be behind me all the way
That's what you said
The special connection we shared
Where did that go?
Have I changed to a somebody you didn't care about?
My mother , grandmother - all would have been better
if you didn't succumb to the weight of your heart on your shoulders
Why, why
Why do you do this
Was Heaven a far better place than Earth?
If that is so, tell me
how to get there
Or tell me
How to solve everything that comes my way
Life's been going downhill
Since the day you left us
Come back, grandpa
Come back
I miss you
and I love you.

Sacred place, it is
I lay on the ground
Soaking in the moisture and
the very green smell
I look to the white canopy above
and smile
sheepishly
my heart being caressed by the lovely words
uttered by thy soul
It's a lovely place
Close the door, opening my castle on the clouds
Closed from all bad days and bad nights
Closed from the monstrous glares and tiring faces
The endless criticisms
I can never run away to such beautiful places
Because monsters from my either world barge in
Bang the door
And scream
And pull
And drag me out.
O' ain't I the tired soul?

*Why can't you see?

sometimes,
when you are so sad,
so happy
you can't feel
it's a numbing sensation
passivity and neutral
and all
it's debilitating
you can't feel.
you can't know
what you need to know
and what you need to
feel.

when my fingers run over the
ivory keys
my heart beats
feel the staccato
riding over the little black sharps and flats
pounding pounding
little scared
fear fear
trembles trembles
in what music shall come
to the beating of the heart
the listening of the ear
what is there to come

it is apparently in
one's skin
the skin of a thousand generations
the gene structure of an ancestor
that holds the ultimate key
to their benign characteristics and thoughts
they rage, rage at the seemingly regret of
thousands of generations underneath
the pain, the fury, the happiness, the sadness,
all one in many
they pass down and down
and when they reached me,
I wondered.
Is everything still under my delicate skin?
Repent, repent
of a thousand generations more
Repent, repent my
own
skin,
the layer above many
and the layer below many more.

truthfully
to say
society *****.
imperfect individuals harping on the fact
that their kids grow up and mature
to the idea of perfection
and these kids
become the perfect type of imperfect individuals
each generation to sing the same type of
the perfection song.
sing to the tune, say that nobody is perfect
and they try to be perfect.
and when they reach near perfection,
when they are probably miles and miles away from it,
they preach to the song of perfection
amplify the defections of a crowd
and chaos erupts
it all becomes war and love combined
hence
society *****.