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 Apr 2014 Harkaran
Ottar
Orbit
 Apr 2014 Harkaran
Ottar
objects moving through space and time,

at a distance as silent as pantomime,

people too travel straight lines,

their geometry,

their temerity,

to stay true to that orbit,

some fly in parallel paths,

chance has its own math,

but when

two paths

cross,

there may be gain or loss,

but when

two in orbit

meet at the same place

and the same time,

the same ship,

a relationship, ...

not the mothership,

in orbit.
 Apr 2014 Harkaran
AprilDawn
this day’s furor
is sinking fast
another day
waits in the wings
without
you in it.
The stark truth of  his absence  in our lives. Written  2006.
The only way I want to see you is
staring back at me.
There's just something about
reading in Spanish
that makes me feel alive.

Sólo hay algo sobre
leer en Español
que me hace sentir vivo.
Spanish has always been a passion of mine. I hope that people realize its beauty. Español siempre ha sido una pasión mía. Ojalá que la gente reconozca su belleza.
Didn't believe in me
at first?
He needs not now .
 Apr 2014 Harkaran
betterdays
i am made of...
thought...
ink and pen and paper... and so much more.
scribbled phrases on diner napkins.
post it notes stuck to walls.
scrawled doggerel in bathroom pens.
phrased ideology in lined notebooks.
spinnered words on lazerprinted A4.
scraps of inklings, on ripped butcher's bags and wrappings.
condolences in funeral books.
ideas capital lettered on cards,
pinned to cork boards.
epitaphs stonemasoned
into granite blocks.
fury arranged just so,
on parchment.
newsprinted with loose blurry, black ink on broadsheets
scribed by pointed stick on
firm wet sand.
notes on heavy cards, of love
and light bright shiny stuff.
discarded sentence startings, left crumpled, lost in a bin.
loss, written with red wine on white table cloth.
art, etched on vellum anciently old, suprisingly relevent.
tapped into tablets both stone
and techview.
blue and red markers squeaked onto white boards.
daubed on canvas with a fine sable brush.
tatttoo-ed upon ones flesh.
carved into wooden school desks.
pressed into moist clay by delicate fingernails.
marked so deeply upon a soul.
chalked to cement,
to stay for...
but a short season.
written for some very, (un)important reason.
courage to speak, sing, whisper, shout, cry, laugh, observe and ponder.
this is me....
i am a word written down.. any word, any word.
i am undeniable, desirable often incomplete
always open  always waiting
for some one...
......just like you ...
to open your heart let me in
to recognize a new start
to have a play, a scribble,
doodle, pen jive. to become
alive.... to thrive,
just begin with a single letter.....then another,
go on be brave...
..........grant me liberty....
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