I have called many places home,
Not ever staying long before I have
Moved on. my roots never left taking
Root, these place just a temporally
Place never really a home.

I met people not really friend but we
Always got on, then my roots would
Up lift and then take root not to deep
For this place may not yet water my
Roots for me to stay very long.

I then found you, then a little longer I
Stayed, then as time moved on my roots
Dug in deeper as this slowly felt like home.

I  have now spread my branches out, my
Roots now deep in this place now where
I rest this is my home. I will stay here
My roots now grow, I have moved so much
But now I am not alone, as this is the place
I rest my weary feet and call it home.

I think I'm gonna hang,
down by the willow tree that stands,
so tall it touches the sky.
Think it'll keep me tied to this earth?
I don't think it will, it doesn't care.
Down by the willow tree I'm going to hang.

A traveler stops by,
asks me why,
tell him I'm hanging to forget
and to be forgiven.

They untie the knot,
pull me down and say,
life ain't fair and it's definitely not easy,
but it's not worth hanging' yourself for.

You see a rose of white, but
is a disguise, for its thorns
like razors.

For when the blood drops
in the petals blood red do
absorb the nourishment now
even whiter the blood gone
no longer on show,

For all that is white is not
always pure, for under this
disguise there is a truth hidden
from the eyes. For the beauty
hides danger, hidden from
your eyes.

Poetry starts and ends with me
it's as far as it should go
between me and me
unshackled free
tilling the mind
shoveling the dirt
all mine
each part of it
bitter sweet
poem's words
even if unlettered unstructured
lacking grace finesse
all mine
I own them
each line
to save me
my self
never writing with the worry
out there is a jury
reading analyzing
liking disliking
but me
and me
knowing that's the length it travels
between me and me
and that's enough of a journey
for my poetry.

The only freedom we have is the
unconditional love we have to give
and the painful confessions
we offer to the blank page,
there is no judge
but our conscience
and the earnestness of our hearts.

Sometimes my dreams blur together,
and I wonder if I ever really had them in the first place.
I wonder if I'm as crazy as they say I am.
If there really is such a thing as striving for to much,
as impossible dreams.
Then I wipe away the self pity and remember
that no one can deem my dreams as impossible but me.
Frankly I don't even believe in the word.
As crazy as my dreams are, I will prove them wrong.

When eyesight dims and hearing fades,
when even memory wanders,
then the griefs and pains of age
might prompt one to fly yonder.
Our sister, Maya, was great of soul
and wears this cage no longer.
Her wondrous words still sing to us
if we but stop and ponder.

I built it
Brick by brick
Slathering mortar
Rebar pierced
Lines off center
Foundation firm
Concrete faults
Cemented sadness
Tall as it is wide

I built it
Contracted of stupidity
Designed in self-absorption
Blue prints of folded sorrow
Erected by a fool
No cranes needed
Drawn in teardrops
Fallen from your eyes
Collected puddles of my deceit

I built it…this wall
That keeps you from me

When minds start warring
Reason loses its way
Chaos prevails*






© Amitav (Radiance)