I used to take cover under my mother’s  umbrella,
when I was small and my heart was big
I used to seek solace in her natural warmth,
when nature unleashed its turbulent jig.

I used to gaze at her tiny, natural, colourful sky,
and peek seldom at the real one;
I used to let her hand caress my tousled hair
and make sure the winds actions were undone.

I used to stomp with my little feet
and watch the droplets go flying by.
I used to let the startling waves crash against me
and feel the warmth in my body die.
But then a hug from her would invigorate me
and the cold would flee into the sky...

....Suddenly I leapt into the storm,
Into the fury of the deafening rain.
Not two minutes had it been and I wanted to
be under her umbrella again.

You folded me with your beautiful hands
into a tiny little paper boat.
You watched me sail on life’s little streams
and taught me how to stay afloat.

You fixed me with a piece of tape or a blob of glue,
manufactured in the mills of your mind.
After the angry river and its harsh rapids
had made me the victim of their hardest grind.

You helped me flow into the sea of dreams,
and made sure the waves harboured me.
When night fell and my path went astray,
you were the pole star, so bright and pretty.
              
                            *.     *.      *
You were the ultimate lighthouse of love.
YOU were the most charming and adorable person
to grace my memory.

He gazed at the sky in its entire wrath
and at the sea churning below.
The stars nestled above life’s fury
were too far away to shine upon his brow.
If he flew through the tempest of dreams,
his wings might tear and end his flight
And if he dived into the fathomless deep,
He might be devoured by the eternal night.
A thousand voices had whispered
that there was naught in the unknown.
But the world that he was familiar with,
didn’t feel like his own.
He was swept away like a mote of dust,
by the mighty brooms of fate.
And on he flew like a dainty dandelion,
shedding his hopelessness, fear and hate.
Both the storm and his starlit soul
wrestled for endurance...for survival,
The storm died, the soul survived
and he rejoiced at the suns arrival.
The wind had hit him incessantly,
Fragmenting all his weaknesses.
All he was after toil and turmoil,
was a beautiful, hard rock without any recesses.
Long after, lying on the last isle,
like a statue sculpted out of stone,
He was glad that it was him, not the others,
that had received a battering from the unknown.

Alas! The trees haven’t moved.
The earth still binds them with the cordial chains of time.
Alas! The trees haven’t moved.
They still stand motionless - majestic and sublime.

The sentinels of their own life and fate,
only their manacled heart-beat neither yours nor mine,
they do not feel the frost and pain -
it’s numbed by the coolness of the worlds colourless wine.

When the silence screams from places unknown,
they silence it with wicked song and rhyme,
filled with lust for natures aid
and Filled with lust for a more peaceful time...

Though their crown succumbs to axe and blade
and their life fades from green to grey,
Their throne, their roots will stay undisturbed
and bear a courageous kingling another day.

Be glad! The trees haven’t moved.
For then our life will be a ocean full of danger.
Their peaceful wrath, waking from slumber,
will drown us and allow no well-known stranger.

But also feel unfortunate!
Because they will walk when we stand still
In the cabinets of memory.
They will walk when our footprints
are washed away by rain and sea.

Fire. The devourer. The dictator.
Earth. The cosmic carpet. The shapeshifter.
Water. The liquid of many guises. The Unyielding.
Air. The neighbor. The stranger. The infiltrator.
Space. The habitat of substance.  The Ultimate void.
And then poetry, the masterpiece of Thought.
The Great Imitator.

There was earth on the Earth
and salt in the sea.
There was a bird
serenading in front of a tree.
(A tiny speck of something...nothing)
There were well-spun clouds
and mountains of stone
and then there was the wind
that flew with a moan.
(It grows...there’s darkness)
There was an army scuttling
into terrestrial mounds;
And the crescent moon
on its daily rounds
(It’s living...there’s darkness)
There were horses galloping
and the ground thundering,
There was the sloth
sitting and wondering.
(It’s moving...There’s light!)
There was the river trickling
and the geysers spewing,
there were the monkeys bickering
and the cows mooing
(And then there was me!
The least important being there could be)