Your voice shook
"What are you doing?!"
that's my daughter!
Alcohol on your rapid breathing

Skillfully he mumbled something
An elaborate excuse
It's normal

The fury on my mute face
DON'T YOU EVER COME BACK

He sat down
I watched you try
Try to wrap your mind around it

Blood runs thicker than water
He was your brother
Rest in pieces you sick ****
But blood runs thicker than water

If only you had had momentum
If only you had...
Yet you were still on time
Dad, the conquering hero

Because blood runs thicker than water...
And when it comes to the offspring
I'm blood
And you're water.

As if he read my mind:
"I'm never coming back"

The water was quiet and unruffled:
Though intemperate winds blew on it
Ne’er once did it ever really stir
And we got so used to its pervasive presence

In line with global trends everywhere
We took notice only when loud waters bubbled
       Like wayward children we scoffed
       When delectable words of wisdom
Wafted like therapeutic mist out of Wisdom Well

But now that the well is empty and dry
Our deprivation begins in earnest
And soon, very soon, nostalgia will whip us
One and all till we learn the bitter lesson:

That second chances belong to storybooks only;
Now that this veritable repository of true wisdom
Is in other dimensions our dilemma cries out
Who amongst us shall quench our thirst
Now that the water in the well has dried

I dream about coming back immediately and                                                      Without any hesitation                                                                                            To my own homeland                                                                                              That I did willingly or unwillingly anytime ...                                                       I do love our house ,                                                                                                 I do love all our neighbors,and                                                                                I do love everyone and everything over there ...                                                    That's my true dream ...                                                                                           Everyone knows about my dream ...                                                                      ___________________­__

I see in front of me                                                                                                       A little glimpse of hope ...                                                                                            I try to cling to it,but                                                                                                   Those ugly stumbling-blocks                                                                                    Hinder me greatly ...                                                                                                   I attempt a few time to overcome                                                                             Those ugly hindrances ,but                                                                                        All in vain ...                                                                                                                finally a big light emerges from                                                                                   Inside that tunnel of hope waving for me                                                            To come forward ...                                                                                        _________________

couch!
ouch ...

as life will have it
some are explicit poems
while others are implicit ones
When you sigh and shake your head
and when you pace the tired floor
and steadily approach  that door
to the hatch that ushers you into a tango
you're quite obviously a vivid poem
with a rhythm and a diction all your own
there is always someone dying to know you
when you brood like an intellectual
and when everything is reality virtual
you're an implicit poem, morose and taciturn
when you paint pictures in weeping colours
and from ubiquitous critics seek no  favours
you're a dirge in e-minor - a veritable lament
that will only go walking when the day may

When the grass has  sprouted and the countryside is a soft green hue
and the hills are clothed in feathery russet and gold
Remember me upon a drowsy afternoon
with the cicadas singing in hypnotic monotony
Remember me when the milk-laden cows are lowing
for it is in such serene moments that we recall our regrets
When the countryside is mad with life
and natural perfumes spice your safari with wild abundance
Remember me upon a dry riverbed
where once we stood upon an island happy and free
*Remember me when the milk-laden cows are lowing
for it is in calm and peace such as this that we mellow betimes

With the furrowing of my intelligent brow
With my glistening muscle and brawn
And my rhythmic thrusts in shrouds of mist
Father, see me build a home for the young

With my smile and my agony alternating
And formidable forces galore frustrating
The creativity of my persistent yearnings
Father, see me build a place called home

With pangs of regret and sorrow banished
In moments of temporary accommodation
And with joy unlimited in the ascendancy
Father, see me build from a fusion of desires

Spurred on by the mellow essence of femininity
Wrapped like a surprise in garments of pleasantry
Blown gently to float like soap bubbles in the air
Father, thus see me grip an opportunity come

Silence is not keeping quiet
because you have nothing
to say...

Silence is having a lot
to say but no desire
to speak...

she slides her slender
white fingers down the
branches of his spine

her eyes melted like
glaciers and lips as soft
as freshly fallen snow

skin lustful, but heart
unforgiving, exhaling
his every intention

she is autumn in his
palms, her trees bare,
the leaves rust fallen

flashing indifference,
thoughts plucked in
shades of violent rose