Whenever I think and have it strongly willed
I fly to the place where stands the play field
to run in the sun and burn in the heat
be again amongst faces that haven't changed a bit.

Catch they cry out the ball in the sky
coming down fast tho soared up high
staking my heart I roll on the green
both hands grabbing to smother the spin.

Who'll be in which team they call out loud
to be in the game is enough to make proud
blazes like lightning the foot with the ball
attack and defend, rise if you fall.

The bruised little frames are smeared with dust
have given their all though win isn't a must
so in this field they'll again come to play
the children of past and then another day.

She led me by the hands
saying she would never leave me.

I was happy
for once believing
and loved her more.

The little I had in the purse
was hers
saved nothing willingly
sure as I was
one day
her love would save me.

When I fed enough winds
to her wings
she flew away to a pasture
better and greener.

She led me by the hands
and for once I believed
she wasn't Miss Leading.

Dostoyevsky lies above Chekhov
The yellowed pages of Marquez
Stands aside in sad mood
With hundred years of solitude
From the bearded Tolstoy
Peeps out an innocent boy
For a small piece of land
Just enough to rest in peace
It's all a wildly strange mix
Where Tintin rules over Asterix
Hawking confuses the soul
With time's history and blackhole
On a pedestal Shakespeare loses might
His musty volumes half eaten by termite
Tagore not yet ready to lose his vigour
Shines upon eyes with portly figure
There's astronomy, history, magic and science
Rubbing shoulders with morality and conscience
Neatly stacked one upon the other
Mostly crumbling by time's weather
Ill preserved and not anymore read
Muddled words lost in the head.

But I only admire the tidying woman
Who labours hard does the best she can
Arrange them to restore their old glories
If by chance someone reopens the stories.

Those were long languid days
Sparkling wines
and beautiful children
overhanging trees
and flowering baskets
And there we were
living amongst this
beauty
and light
and sunshine
Easy days that lingered into the night
Blond dogs that caught the light
You were easy to love
I was restless
I was stormy
And I was always
fighting
against
being
yours.

Draw child, mark on the wall
before life is dull
and you may not even
put your pain on the paper,
has to scribble mindless hieroglyphs
to qualify in some cruel test
and find a job that'll make you forget
where your heart is.

Do your paintings on the wall child
to your heart's content
even if they mean nothing
only mark the life's time
most well spent.

Spread your marks freely child
on the wall, floor, glass, wood
before your age suddenly vanishes
and the world binds you
with the shackles of rules
your freedom gone for good.

I won't scold you child
I would rather love the short time
you are wild and
the sweetest rhyme
my world would ever hear.

Leave child your marks behind
leave them firm and bold
so when I grow old
senile and dull
you will still smile on my eyes
from the wall.

Today I’ll ponder,
on these scars.
Tonight I’ll wish,
upon a star.

Tomorrow may bring,
another wound,
but wounds can heal,
if treated soon.

Yesterday,
I thought of death,
and felt the wind,
sigh with his breath.

Not today,
he whispered clear,
perhaps tomorrow,
but do not fear.

In the end,
he comes to all.
The weak, the strong,
the big and small.

He’s timeless and constant,
Death’s always “been”,
and he has no pity,
foe or friend.

He’ll lead me on,
to the unknown,
giving me the thing,
he can never own.

So I will not fear him,
and I shall not fret.
For tomorrow,
has not happened yet.