My heart refused to surrender
the memory of your lips
your breath
your voice
your eyes
your hair
your skin
your legs
your *******

So I did the next best thing
which is
to lock you in a box
and send it tumbling
clattering into the shadows of my soul
where even my darkest impulses
hesitate to roam.

For I have already scattered to the wind
thoughts of you
of where I used to nuzzle your neck
of your sighs as you straddled me
and rained kisses on my shoulders
as I explored the white plains and valleys of your neck with my lips
your opaque tresses enclosing us like a velvet curtain
of that spot behind your ear
that turned you into a convulsing puddle
of the secretive smirk
as your lips ambushed mine
while the bacon burned itself to a charred crisp
ignored for a few stolen afternoon moments.

The waters have swallowed up
the foregone moments
of silence as you devoured yogurt
cup after cup with manic zeal
of afternoon naps interspersed
with locked lips and remorseful embraces
of nights shattered by raised voices and silent tears
of quiet revelations as heaven descended
while you wrapped yourself around my arm.

The few treacherous strands of recollection
I leave to the roaring sands
sleek as silk and strong as steel
obstinate cobwebs sticking to my hair and skin
indifferently recurring flashes of reminiscence
such as
the painful cognizance only theology can exacerbate
how you restrained my hands
when their gesticulations crossed over into exaggeration
those truly rare moments of generosity
when you showed some semblance of affection
or even
your dogged efforts at breaking into my reverie
to teach me to look past my little bio-dome
and live in the world beyond.

What stubbornly remained I managed to fit into that box
which refused to budge
without much pleading
cajoling
threatening
and screaming
oh and
physical violence helped too.

And finally over the edge it went
banished
down to join the growing pile of crates
of memories
also written off with a flippant wave of the hand
and washed away with a burning wave of whiskey.

Take a spoonful of hate
a dusting of jealousy
a cup of bile
and stir.

Set on a high heat
add a family member or two,
cook until tender.
Serve with respect.

Life isn't about sugar and spice
and all things nice, it's about balance.
Balancing the good with the bad.
Love with hate.

Kindness and anger, all
basic human emotions.
Poverty and riches.
Jealousy and forgiveness.

All of us alive, need to remember,
remember, what came before,
and ask one simple question;
"What am I living for?"

I know you're weary, my friend
But the day is almost new
It may not be what you hope for
But you will make it thru.

I cannot wish for anything
But wealth upon your dreams.
Riches any normal man
Will probably never see.

A humble home
With an easy heart,
The wisdom to walk away
Before a fire starts,
Knowing how to choose
What you need and what you don't,
Taking care of loved ones
And a family of your own.

Money is not the value
No,
Wealth lies within your soul,
Reach down and grab it
Live a life that's full.

You can fill your pockets,
But money can't fill your heart,
Be rich, my friend

     And
         Set
    Yourself
       Apart.

I linger at the gate
She is coming late
I can only speculate
How long to tolerate
This painful wait
Woven in my fate.

Suddenly I elate
My heartbeats vibrate
As my eyes locate
Her eyes violet
My woes abate
As lovers’ conflate.

Tyger Tyger. burning bright,
In the forests of the night;
What immortal hand or eye.
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?

In what distant deeps or skies.
Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
On what wings dare he aspire?
What the hand, dare seize the fire?

And what shoulder, & what art,
Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
And when thy heart began to beat.
What dread hand? & what dread feet?

What the hammer? what the chain,
In what furnace was thy brain?
What the anvil? what dread grasp.
Dare its deadly terrors clasp?

When the stars threw down their spears
And watered heaven with their tears:
Did he smile His work to see?
Did he who made the lamb make thee?

Tyger Tyger burning bright,
In the forests of the night:
What immortal hand or eye,
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?

Reflections on own timeline
are neither easy nor fast
as one needs a special mirror
to look back in the past.

A river flowed
for a decade long
as it careened through
the jungle land.

For long it forgot
its own beautiful song
its own little joy
that it had carried along.

And it never looked back
for the past was gone
as it looked ahead
to the sea that beckoned.

And then it saw
a brook run by
a little young stream
singing high.

The brook knew not
to where it went
neither did it worry
through ascent or descent.

But the brook had speed
which made the river see
what the brook’s future
would one day to be.

The river knew the brook
would with time grow
and be its own river
with depth it would flow.

And then the river realized
that it was once the same brook
alive, singing, flowing carefree
unlike today’s look.

Always busy running
the river never knew why
all the joy evaporated
as time flew by.

So the river beholds the brook
as it passes away
and wishes before it grows ahead
the brook enjoys every day.


- Dedicated to Tanvi Jadwani, my mentee (http://hellopoetry.com/tanvi-jadwani/)