Swirling around the testimony
Are my words with a hundred meanings
                             Evoking
                          Retaliating
                            Repelling
The customs set
And the laws enforced

Words that may not render wisdom
But support the sense of speech within

Hindering with the grammar
So the thoughts can flow raw

Words that cut through
And seeps to infuse with the red messenger
Of all those who breathe
And all who take decisions

Phrases that ,when set alone
Can bring mass to a cause
Can dwindle the roots of a humongous

But these are only chain of thoughts
Which may never be able to have a voice
As hundreds of such voices persist

It's just a cascade of thoughts
Of a city with a lone inhabitant
              My dreamville

They sit
on the riverbank
on rickety stool
or upturned buckets
elbows resting on knees
hand on rod or simple reel

they sit, they wait
they contemplate
and cogitate

hats on heads
with scrapes and muck and holes
old sandshoes
that have long forgotten
the words white and tennis
shorts or trousers
that sit comfortbably on the hips
and old threadbare shirts

they sit, they stare
into the bright river wake
they take breathes of air
they of the ambience intake

about them is a calm
a stillness, a balm
and tho flys hover
and create bother
there is grace
as they swat
and bat them off
their face

even when they hook
a catch, there is a rhythm
to the fight, of reel and splash
as the duel, to bring the hunted
to heel, be it snagged boot
or that night's meal

they sit,  they stand
rod and reel in hand
and thake a punt
on the aquarian hunt

with net and esky
and can of bait
they sit, they wait
and the world
revolves slowly
to them, there is
something sacred
something holy
about the time spent
on the riverbank

catching fish
catching up to oneself
time given to repent
relinquish, replenish
to reinvent, a soul

they sit, they wait
they contemplate
they consecrate

simple things to holy


these old men who fish
on the riverbanks

an ol man river
watches and  gently
smiles

If you awaken before me
And I'm crying in my sleep,
Kiss me gently and stroke my hair,
Give me reason not to weep

If you awaken before me
And I'm smiling happily,
It means I'm dreaming of your love,
Make my dreams reality

If you awaken before me
And I'm shivering with cold,
Let your body become my quilt,
Let your sensual warmth unfold

If you awaken before me,
Gently, darling, pull me close,
Tell me just how much you love me -
In poetry, then in prose

If you awaken before me
Please, never leave me alone,
I panic when I don't see you,
And your whereabouts unknown

If you awaken before me
And you need to hear me say:
"I love you more than life itself....."
Awaken me ..... you know the way!

"Poor Yorick!",
His soul is saved.
Safe and sound,
In cold unbeing.

Cold unbeing,
For whom I am so hungry.
It's bitter tundra will fill me,
But my fire won't go out.

The burning won't stop,
And my ashes only gather.
There's something very wrong,
With a blistering winter.

Oh Yorick,
I envy.
Your sleep is undisturbed;
Where I am only tired.

You are bones,
And King Hamlet is a ghost.  
Floating like him and stagnant as you,
I cannot rest.

My sleep is disturbed.
Like the king, I can't find peace.
But like Yorick,
I am hollowed bones.

Conceived from hurt
Nurtured by pain
Filled by sadness
Born in heart
Tears a call for help
May each drop of tear
Be answered

rain's pitter patter
plops on my weathered roof
with dampening drops