I am just a name
No money, no claim to fame
Just an ordinary guy
Who holds his head high!
You can count me as any
One among the countless many
Just another face in the crowd
Who has not stopped being proud!
You may ask why the vanity
You can pity the humble's dignity
Not knowing the true measure
Of the possessions in my treasure!
I have a richly simple life
An undemanding girl as a wife
My heart she really does win
She's a woman no boasting queen!
We have a son (a daughter it could be)
A bubbly one that babbles in glee
I don't mind missing the sunrise
We see it every moment in his eyes!
I have a house with little to show
But a patch of blue from window
And a backyard so cutely thin
To barely hold a streak of green!
But it's not the house so much
The wonder is my wife's magic touch
That tides whatever the weather
And keeps our home together!
So you know dear reader my mate
The key of my pride the secret
With all the world's wealth on my side
Shouldn't I bear myself with pride?

I love you
not because
you're good looking

I love you
not because
you're caring

I love you
not because
you dote on me

I love you
not because
your smiles are sweet

I love you
not in lust
of your crevice
or orifice
or skin

I love you
because
without you
I feel

incomplete within.

Today I looked at her face
Her way of looking at me
My attempt to crudely assess
If she only fakes to be happy!

I noticed how parted her lip
When she spoke if twinkled her eyes
If her words fell gently or steep
Is she happy or hiding her cries!

I tried to read her face’s lines
Looked to find on it a trace
If were laid there some signs
Crying loudly of hidden distress!

Can’t say it was much of a success
For my eyes were biased lovingly
To read only one thing from her face
That she is quite happy with me!

an empty room
I fill it
With my thoughts.
I get to thinking
About everything.

I stand among many
Receiving awards
Reciting speeches
I must win one every day
And the speeches change,
Like the wind.

There's never
any faces,
Not even
my own
Ain't that strange?

Just the
Splintered visions
Breaking through
With spears
Of emotion.

I guess that
The image
Isn't even important:
It's the feeling,
The sensations,
The prayers,
The mantras,
And endless dreams.

It's an idealistic bubble.
Which I could  
Live in forever,
But I'd never get anything done.

I get to looking
At my watch.
Only thirty minutes
has passed,
How can that
be possible?

I've already travelled
to the serene corners
of my desires.
I've dipped my
toes in lustful wants.
I've soared to
pinnacles of success,
In thirty minutes.

Then the perpetual
Smog of stagnant
English gloom
Returns to me
In my Utopic chamber,
Bursting my bubble.

I hone back
to the moment,
and then I
put my pen
Down to paper.

Take a moment
and look at your hands.
look at the lines
more creases and folds than a dismantled paper airplane
you can look into hands and see the future
those creases read like a map
and in the distance between your fingers lies a novel.
With fingers intertwined you can pray
and you can love.
you can beckon melodies from the belly of pianos
and scrawl poetry on shredded napkins
you can punch and scratch and fight
you can revolt
you can deliver Shakespeare
you can place blame
and you can nurture
you can wave hello
and you can wave goodbye
but remember they are the same motion
wiggle your fingers
count them
10
a perfect round number
take a look at the miraculous work of art at the end of your wrists
put them to use
embrace
high five
fist bump
use them to make art
dance
music
fight injustice
celebrate your victories
and help those around you.
with those two hands and ten fingers
the world is yours.

take a moment and look at your hands
and notice how you don't need a mirror to see yourself.

i cant name that pain
when i see a human foraging food
beneath a large hoarding of a restaurant

i cant express that feeling of helplessness
when i see a human feasting on leftovers
thrown by a mouth too full to gorge more

i cant put in words that paralytic numbness
when i see a human and an animal together
pouring on the roadside bin for something

i cant give all these pains a name

or tell you about them in a rhymed poem.