Dragon
Swallows
Tail

Left arm
High

My boy Jack
Caramel and honeyed

Union of
Opposites:

Twenty-five
Years
Beyond odysseus

Wandered from you.

Your mother,
No penelope

My picture
Disfigured

Darted
Wounded

Cursed I roam
Wine-dark aegean.

Suitors succeed
And you are
Lost to me.

Goodbye telemachus

River boat gambler

Pencil moustache
Shoestring tie

How I picture you

Jack of hearts

How the ladies
Swoon

I watch the light from your eyes,
the memories along those distant tides,
through the rivers and icy lies,
I sing to you,
and give you the moon.

Vines and willows brush you face,
caressing the seasons and changing grace
while sleeping in fields, the leaves now lay,
I sing to you,
and give you the moon.

Loveless songs by eve of night,
among the seas of candlelight,
the dreamers dance to sounds of midnight,
I sing to you,
and give you the moon,

Flowers along those broken bends,
the celestial petals the blossoms tend,
you murmur the names of lovers and friends,
I sing to you,
and give you the moon.

I lull you to sleep with your hands in mine,
as shadows befall through the thickness of time.
I watch your breaths fade from everlasting sighs.
Still, I sing to you,
and give you the moon.

How do you measure
What can't be seen
The heart of a man
The in of between
The conscience that follows
When something's done wrong
How do you measure
The depth of a poem

How do you measure
The day you must face
If it's taken for granted
If it's given in grace
Or measure a seed
That has yet to show growth
How do you measure
What you do not know

How do you measure
The hour before late
The width of a shoulder
Where a tear is laid
The inkling of an idea
The moment it's made
How do you measure
Love before it's given away

How do you measure
The chill of the wind
The guilt of the pleasure
That comes from within
The sliver of light
Before the sun has it's say
How do you measure
The end of the day

I hear stories of an ancient land so pure.
I see photographs of bluer than blue skies
over a lake of molten gold.

I drink kahwa flavoured with almond and saffron
and add honey, sweetened by bees from the valley,
my hips swaying in a crewel work on wool skirt.

I hear songs of freedom, I know people who fled.
The muezzin prays for peace over bloodstains and tears
while children still play under walnut trees.

Clouds gather to pray at Shankaracharya Temple
on a mountain dipping its toes into water
while empty shikaras speak of visiting ghosts.

Mothers whose eyes never tire, looking over the sunset
for long lost sons; wives who still lay out their husband’s
slippers on a carpet with frayed edges.

Postmen deliver letters to addresses long abandoned;
a generation of elders, eyes of agate, gnarled fingers, brew tea
surrounded by memories of children killed, daughters *****.

I write for all people who live in war.
I write for the age of innocence to return.
I write for soft rain to wash away sin.

I write for the return to reason.
I write for peace to flutter gently through groves
of apricot, almond, apple and walnut.

Feel the pain. Hear the refrain. Smell the emptiness.
This is now. This is now. This is not in the pages
of a fading history text. This is now. This is now.

won't you stay for toast and jelly
the day has just rose
like cream all over the hills
and vales are beckoning

with songs and daylilies
opening and the winks
of oranges tang sweet still

oh
the flowers just awoke
most of the village
is asleep
and will never notice

the beauty of
the sunrise of ten minutes more
enjoying
small nuances
of golden stars
setting

replaced by
the bright snowy clouds with an
angled sun glowing

If I could sing, I would write the melody of us in the key of happiness

If I could draw, I would paint a portrait of you just so you could always see the beauty that I do.

If I could dance, I would dance the night away with you in a fit of burning passion.

I may not be able to do every wonderful thing I wish I could for you, but I can write and these words are what I can offer. Will you please accept them and hold them close to your heart?

I have scars etched across my skin
like raindrops that drizzled down and stained
the yellowing pages of your notebook.

I don't like talking about the black outs,
where my mind goes,
what's left of me.

I don't like talking about what triggers them,
or who I am after I come to.

but these scars are physical reminders
of memories I never got to remember.

and every time you kiss them
I think to myself
"maybe even that part of me,
whoever she is,
deserves to be loved too."

and I wonder if looking
at my hands and arms
makes you sad,
or if feeling the raised skin
makes you uneasy
but either way

I love when you kiss my scars
and make me whole.

Familiar eyes staring at him
Instantly she was gone with the crowd
Haunted by her melancholic gaze
Like an animal, followed her scent from miles

He ended up in a small ice cream parlor
Dug dug dug dug dug dug dug
His heart singing a song of nervousness
He’s just 2 feet away from her

----------
Four years ago, a boy met a girl..

“Two vanilla ice cream in the largest cone please”
The boy is in queue after her
Out of nowhere stars will light up the room
Only for the two of them

“Vanilla ice cream is my favorite”
“Good, I hate it” he answered back

And the conversation continued
Inside and outside the ice cream parlor
They just clicked for each other
They just..

It became their new favorite place
He started to love vanilla ice cream too
No need to state the obvious
Their eyes spoke of affection and love

----------
He ended up in a small ice cream parlor
Dug dug dug dug dug dug dug
His heart singing a song of nervousness
He’s just 2 feet away from her

----------
It was the place where they first met
Where they first talked
Where they realized they like each
Where they confessed their feelings
Where their love turned as sweet as a vanilla ice cream

Two years ago when he last visited that place
Two years ago when he last tasted vanilla ice cream
Two years ago when he last saw her
Two years ago when they broke up
They ended in the same place where they have started

----------
Sweating despite the cold weather
Tongue seems to be tied
Palpitating heart, butterflies in his stomach
But it wasn’t her, it will never be her
Because she was gone, she was gone

----------
He wakes up from the bittersweet dream
It was just a dream, a dream, a dream
A beautiful yet a sad dream that will haunt him forever
And then he remembers, it is her 2nd death anniversary today

And instead of flowers,
Vanilla ice cream is what he brings on her graveyard