the cool wind in my hair
as you and I glide across
the cement jungle.

You make my life tolerable
in this crazy urban landscape,
my trusty metal steed that
helps me duck and weave in
stand still traffic of the Nation's capital.

nothing like flying through the city on you, my bicycle,
on this beautiful spring day.  I know you can't speak,
but if you could, you would also say "wheeeeee" with glee.

There's a something in the way
You make me laugh at your stupid jokes,
The way you **** your eyebrows
When you are confused in math class.
Something in the way you
Play with my hair,
Something in the way you
Write.
Your words could change lives.
There's something in the way
You're extremely modest
About everything you do.
There's a something in the way you
listen and understand.
There's a something in the way you
Can just look at me and brighten my day.
There's a something in the way
Our inside jokes never cease to make me smile.
There's a something in the way
You are spectacular,
You are perfect,
*You are you.

I see your face
Reflected in every mirror
I pass
And my heart breaks
Like
Shards of glass
I can still taste your smile
The feel of you
Under my hands
And I know I can't wait
To come back

pause a little don't **** in haste
curb the killer in yourself
trample them not as garden's pest
they need your kindness' help.

stop your feet see how they beg
lying on your garden's leaf
call out to you all the tiny egg
don't turn your ears deaf.

when they hatch may not look sweet
still they need you to be fair
not **** them but wait little bit
not be repulsed by stinging hair.

now they must eat more and more food
to grow in pace and quick
if you are patient and act like good
their life can get more week.

once you allow them to grow in strength
give their life the needed lease
they reach their goal of the needed length
turn themselves into chrysalis.

thanks to you it reaches the stage
on flowers as butterfly dance
become airborne beauty on human gaze
for you gave them a little chance!

I really need to close these eyes
they are so heavy on my face,
I could count sheep but there
BAAAAAAAAAAAA!!! keeps me
wide awake.

I try to put my head on my pillow
but I sink in to deep, drowning in
goose feathers, as they tickle my nose,
and then I sneeze A CHOOOOW!!
now I'm even more awake, god I need
some sleep

I need to rest my head I need to rest
these eyes tuck them under there lids
so they can have the rest needed as
I think I had a lack of..........
ZZZzzzzzz........

Your life summed up
In garbage bags
One full of your
Personal things
A snapshot of your life
That no one wants
The end of the life
Of a thief
Broken and alone
But you stole more than money from me
You stole friendship
And companionship
You stole the breaking of bread
And trust
And care and compassion
You stole things that I can't get back
Things that I will never place so easily
In someones hand again
But it doesn't matter to you now
Not that it ever did
Now that you are dead

In the transition between water and ice
I spoke my words inside an air pocket
and let it freeze over

There is grief in every page staring at him,
now it's the eyes of a destitute, a child
starving for a whole week, totally dazed,
as her family runs for their life through
dark alley ways, to escape the guns firing non-stop
fighting somebody's nonsensical war.

There is grief written in dark letters in every single page.
his eyes stumble and bite dust, refuse to move ahead.

In protest he closed the book abruptly,
sat bitterly brooding for a while,
then an urge made him delve deep
in to his muddled red lake, troubled psyche,
after a swim he hears a voice clearly say:
"How could you avoid pain, marking it separate,
and embrace all the rest that are  your favorites,
when you are the wound and the knife in karmic cycle?

Shedding tears, in no way should make you less,
isn't it the moment one becomes more humane
it sows the seeds of empathy, more than any time,

There is no doorway not darkened by the cloak of death
and not trodden by the firm foot of grief,
as the Buddha once said to a woman,
who wanted her beloved resurrected"

As he reads on, it becomes a race away from pain,
which reigns, all realms of human life;
he gets agitated, calls the author a deviant,
hankering after miseries, one would rather not set ones eyes ever.

"This dear reader, is the life we live in this planet,
a dance of black and white from start to finis,
none here has the right to dictate terms
in worlds real, imaginary and that of dreams,
accept grief as a lead player in this stage, on whom
the progression and movement of the story is pegged"
The author is beyond the pale of emotions, in total balance,
just a compassionate gazer he is, in to the crystal ball.

Yes, there is grief in every page, his painful heart couldn't delete,
even with a stubborn will, it remains, a dark pool of ink growing big,
it makes one sad and happy in turns, transforms  wiser at the end.
Grief in every page, it's the truth deeply imprinted about the  book of life
needs to learn to brace oneself every single step, that's how the story moves, as each act progresses, grief, poignant and cleansing, changes  hearts,
with its saltiness, makes the bread of life tasty throughout.