Old man smokes his pipe
gazing into day's last light
tears hidden in eyes

There's no such thing
as sacred ground
it's that inner-sanctum
only within the heart found

Dream---it's an over-idolised word-

to be obsessed does deception create

I stepped back
into the corridor of the past
'You aren't welcome!'
(It sternly reprimanded!)

  You've your own life
  mine too I've crafted
at different directions we now look
  we should best stay parted

   for nothing do I owe you
   though me you once commanded
   from your chain I've broken
   all your obstacles I've circumvented-

   don't you come this way again
   I'll have you relentlessly stranded
   you might hold me in my thought
   but I don't want to be remembered!"

You don't need
to search for light
if you have created
it inside

...but time-lines
  are not for me
  they'd only inhibit
my creativity-

nature knows
when to appear:
with end of autumn
winter will be near-

if I write at all
it must surely be
from my heart's bidding
in complete spontaneity-

let the addictive scientist
focus on his lonely laboratory-
calibrations and measurements
(in time-prescribed) to the minutest accuracy-

mine shall only be
what I ascribe in my heart-line
unfettered and without boundary
whether I write in prose or poetry.

Life--  more the decoupling
  than the matching