I am a tiger
pacing restlessly
behind the bars

of an open cage.

Each time I say it,
She brushes off my seriousness
With a careless laugh,
But I swear her body
Emanates this enchanting waft
That comes from no other.
It's exclusive, it's divine,
The language of her apocrines,
That's mine,
Just mine to understand.
And if I could, I'd take all that fragrance
In my bare hands,
And securely I'd preserve it,
Immortalizing in my possession,
Her- in all her glory
Her- in all her heat.

At the end of the night
you will fly to her window
and kiss her goodnight
with lips that promise
forever,

but you will be back at my side
before her window has closed;

and I will follow your
laughing blue eyes
into the night

dreading
the next person
who will use my     
pixie dust
to fly into your arms

You are as close as I will ever come to love.
              
                                         (Yet you are still

                                                          so far away
                                                          that even if I ran around
                                                          the mountain of mistakes
                                                          growing quietly
                                                          between our bodies
                                                          my regrets would reach you
                              
                                                                                                      before I did.)

If I could be a poet
Not just on paper,
But in every moment of life,
I know I'd keep you much happier.

I'd have no ego
To bruise you with,
For a slave of rhythm,
Doesn't sing egotistical hymns,
Like a poet, I'd be giving and kind
Like a poet, my heart would double up
As my mind.

If i could be a poet,
Not just on paper,
I would never be the heart breaker
I am for you,
For who would know better
Separation, agony and pain
Than someone who cries only
through words and smudged ink stains.

I wish I were a poet
I'd be truthful and loyal
Like poets are to their art,
Like a precious manuscript, I'd guard
Your gem of a heart.

Forgive me love, for this handicap of mine,
For being the kind of lover
Whose poetry for you either
Stays bottled up inside,
Or manifests itself
Merely on paper.

I want to dream the dreams
that you have dreamt
and chase you through
your nightmares,
on bare feet,
through darkness and the forest of your memories.

(When I am close enough
I will catch your hand
in mine
and gently remind you
that soon
you will wake up

next to me.)

It's 7AM
     where you are
and where you are
         I am not.

So time
does not matter
because its passing brings you
no closer to me
                         (nor me to you)

All that matters is that
I am   here
and
you are       there
and I am
missing you
                           (again).

I have a weakness for a boy
with shadows in his eyes
and fire in his throat.

When he speaks,
like a dragon,
he exhales his truth
singeing all those who dare
come close.

A knowing fool,
I dance daringly
through the flames;

aching for a glimpse
behind a mask
he doesn’t know
that he still wears.

I do not hate you.  
                                                       But I wish that I did.

(Maybe it would make this
     aching loneliness
easier to accept
if I understood
why

you were not worth
      the love
                  you lost.)

If I were a bird
you would have crushed
                                             my wings
in your grip;

too mesmerized by my
silent song
to notice the rapid beating
of my heart
against your palm
as I struggled

                                                to fly away.

Gasp!
I stutter!
Chest rising, air-hungry...
Again, I sputter!

Efforts to resuscitate
My grappling form
Are all falling in vain
What is this storm?

Hands reaching out
With a desperate yearn for something
I lost, while I was busy
Extracting, gaining, bargaining.

Parched throat
Unmoistened by water
Tremulous heart
Beating feebler, faster.

No antidote works,
No therapies suffice,
Oxygen flows through,
Still I'm devoid of life.

The world dejectedly shakes its head
Everything known to man
Has been done. But
twists of fate, who can understand?

'Cause in a magical instant,
The Hand divine
Rests on my ebbing existence
One more time.

Once again dysrhythmic heart beats
Start dancing in orderly unison.
Breaths start entering-exiting
In perfect, beautiful, natural fashion.

In goes life,
The reason for my being,
In goes truth,
All knowledge, all meaning.

And finally, after the
Evil, cidal, unending eternity,
Out comes a deep, long, fulfilling
Exhalation of Poetry.

Now, alive, I truly am.