all the things that a mother does
a loving touch, a hand that heals
I wouldn't know what that is like
I wouldn't know how that feels

she is just another stranger
though, the vessel of my birth
she never did what a mother does
though, she put me on this earth

I felt a bond when I was young
but that bond faded away
these words only burn my tongue
"happy mother's day"

the sun disappears
some say the world goes to sleep
but really it wakes

Can a blind man
Become a poet
How can one write
about the things
they have never seen

Could a deaf man
Write poetry
How could he express
the sounds of things
He has never heard

Would a dolt even think
About writing poetry
and if he COULD put down
on paper what he feels
Who on Earth would ever listen

There's a professor at Harvard
Who teaches poetry
left, write, upside down, and sideways
but, she was never
Write for me

No expectations
No hesitations
No diving in too deep,
No taking for granted
What could be passing
No build up to become incomplete

Just take your time
And you'll be fine
No regrets
No misery,
Enjoy each day but don't betray
Your feelings within each week

Enjoy the ride
Live your life
Consume the unknown and what's to be,
No second guessing
No pigeon stepping
No fighting with your own two feet

They'll take you there
Where ever they dare
Trust their judgement
Trust their needs,
Become less concerned with what's to come
When it can't be controlled by 'me'

It's out of your hands
So enjoy this land
And all it offers you,
Just be grateful
For every day full
Of pleasures which you seek

Because nothing's forever
So today we must treasure
The current ******,
Of pure emotions
Stark devotion
Whatever will be, will be

Eye in the sky is my mood
And I slip lazing into blue,
The darkest true of your
Eyes, who cast me away,
So unmerciful, in the tides,
Sometimes the moon locks,
Is master of mine and aye,
Of she am I made.  

Tonight, as you held me,
So white was my spirit,
Luminous as Lazarus' grave,
As the holey silence, some
Wraith of looks in the sky,
Sometimes the moon shows,
Wears my face and I hers,
Of she am I made?

The night is brisk and raw,
So heated am I next to you,
Ghostly sad and beaming
With joy at the indigo sheet
Of floating stars on the sea,
You hold my heart like faith,
Nebulous as moon in ocean,
Of these I am made.

Trick me yea
Trick me nae
It is April Fool’s today
           A day of tricks
           A time for antics
           Just like those in politics
A POEM BY BAPCHA, MY LOVING WIFE

time flies through your fingers
each poetic endeavour hewn from the rock face
a stoic contender for your love emerges hot and flustered from all the effort it takes to wield words heavy with eternity hanging from every breath you steal from the sky. Yes time has flown, it always did, while you were distracted and looking the other way.