you are not attached
to a dead weight.

you are heavy.

II


if it bleeds
then it must love.
and the hours swarming the continuum
have no time for the minutes
of your day, you are too full of loss.
uncoupled from  the shelter
of nonexistence.
you grieve in
real time.

you are too beautiful to mean nothing

but can't recall.

Blooming flowers in the heart of sky
dancing the shades vibrant of butterfly
magic of grass green
blending in light of the dawn serene

Rainbow with all it's colors
sprinkled on the contours of earth
red and green and blue
Like Sparkling drops of resting dew

soothing white lillies
and sensual red rose
captivating fragrance of jasmine
and the smiling marigold

ornamental purple vines of bougainvillea
glorifying in the bright of light
in the cloudy patterns of heaven
inciting mischief in the playful minds

Bells of Gladiolus
supreme in its strength
Sunlit sword of lily
Blushing,when emerging from it's stem


Manisha

Fear not Pride.
For, I find,
Pride is necessary
to bring about certain opportunities
by which One may perhaps
learn.

I'd wager
t'is Hubris
what beareth truly immediate Danger.

Pride
can somewhat force One into various scenarios
wherein One is somewhat forced to come to terms with certain things within one's own Mind, or perhaps socially or philosophically, or some other combinations of the aforementioned and/or hitherto-unmentioned things.

Hubris, by possible continuation,
tends to sway One to overlook certain aforementioned etc. things,
and thus tends to preclude much further character development in sometimes only a few, but much more often many aspects
of one's One Life.

Tragedy indeed!

Tread lightly-
seek always Balance-
whatsoever that may mean to you-specifically-and-only-you
rather than necessarily bowing to preordained notions of Good or Bad,
for such polarity (besides being a false dichotomy)
is, shall we say:
*unhealthy.

Shedding todays like a snake sheds its skins
slithering in and out of dreams and nightmares
eyes blue beneath old unwanted yesterdays
I will dance like the Cobra to your flute
and strike and strike until a poets voice sings
heard aloud in the deep depth of Mankind
where a sister and brother may meet equal
in the celestial pureness of forever and ever,

Next time, I hope you fall in love with someone who always chats back and never lets you fall asleep thinking you're unwanted.

I hope you fall in love with someone who holds your hand during the scary parts of horror movies.

I hope you fall in love with someone who sees galaxies in your eyes and can write sonnets about them, and hears music in your heartbeat and laugh.

I hope you fall in love with someone who tickles you and make you smile on hard days and on easy ones.

But beyond all that, I hope you fall in love with someone who will never leave you behind and will never take you for granted, someone who will stand by you when you're right and stand by you when you're wrong, someone who has seen you at your worst and has loved you still.

I hope you fall in love with someone who kisses you in the rain and hugs you in the cold and wouldn't have you any other way..

At 20, it's adios to childhood.
By 30, you have played your youthful folly card.
At 40, you have ground it out to mid-field.
At 50, the bigger helping was dished out yesterday.
At 60, you enter the final stretch.
At 70, you finally get to play your wisdom chips.
At 80, most are surprised to see you.
After 90, Godot is waiting for you.

*November, 2015

There is a silence full of noise
zip your lips
and listen

The moon light bathed them in midnights
Glare, such nostalgic aromas as petals
Like onyx opened and they breathed
In the frigid luminescence letting free
Their substance upon the nights wisp.

Like dandelion tears they went in to the
Night, touched upon petal soft skin and
All was as it should be the night Called
Upon all with unspoken voices The thoughts
Glided upon and then lost in the wind.

The midnight flowers that bloomed under
Full moons gaze where displaced to a safer
Place. For empty dew drops of onyx tears
Collected in equal measure filled with
Emptiness that blossomed under twilight gaze.

I wonder why the dead only
Pass through my bedroom
Goosebumping my exposed arm,
When I'm alone.

It's as if they won't disturb us, or
Know they'd startle her a lot more
Than they do me.
They're as unsensational to me as

Any gust of wind; falling stars
Leaving temporary tails on the night
Skies like salamanders escaping the
Grasp of a hungry atmosphere.

Faceless footsteps, doors opening,
Invisible tenants at times nudging  
Me awake, whispering wordlessly:
Did you blow out that last candle,

Young man?
Creaking walls, blinking lights.
I welcome them with warm
Sincerity. Dead or alive,

A fleeting mist in an old room
Or flesh and blood speaking only
Of times long gone over lukewarm
Tea; I always respect my elders.

The smell of firewood. The
Sounds it makes when burning.
Yellow light dancing on the
Paintings I made for my
Livingroom walls.

The ghost of my cat curled up
By my feet on the sofa.
Outside, the wind grabs
Branches and brushes them
Against the house.

I sit like this for hours.
Barely thinking; just being
Part of the room.
A song. A poem. Barely hidden
In the air.