A lovers diary

Yes I am a lover.

I have hearts pasted on my wall,
along with posters of cars and all.
I wake up in the morning to see a balloon heart hanging overhead.
And as the days progresses, hearts pop out of my mouth and my breath.
My perfume smells of soft delicious rose
and people say with my feelings I’m very verbose.

I like to talk about my heart and feelings,
and stuff every word I say with meaning.

On one meaningful occasion I was in the lawn,
when a lazing cat gave out a yawn.
I turn around right then to see,
The queen of love – Penelope.
She was the one all lovers wanted to be,
Me included. Ones I told her “I worship thee!”
She stared at me like I was mad,
And said slowly, “Beauty is a fad.
Come know me, and you will see,
that I’m just another glowing bee.”

Saying this she walked on away,
With me staring broadly,
and my eyes in a sway.

Ahhh! How she looked at me!
with big brown eyes I could only see.
How she moved and she swayed in her grace as a cat,
And sat in her car like lounging on a mat.

What she said, was it true?
or was it just her words turning blue?
coz my mind was blank when she was talking to me.
didn’t seem to hear or tamper a beat.

That day and today.
it’s been a long time since then.
now she is walking towards me again.
But this time I don’t quiver or lose my breath,
as she walks up close after our eyes met.
She smiles at me “you’re a grown-up now”
I smirk back remembering how.
All those years have changed me.
I used to be the love struck teenager,
and felt like I was three.

Now I was big. black. n bold,
With biker gloves and chains made of gold.
My eyes saying I know secrets unsaid,
And if you say stuff I don’t like,
then take care of your head.

I no longer talk about my feelings,
or fill my words with meaning.
people don’t care about what I say,
Now all they do is cover their heads and pray.

No one asks me what’s that secret behind my eyes,
No one knows that I too pray when I hide.
But the one secret no one knows,
Is that I still have a red heart,
that flutters when the winds of love blow,
And how it turns warm and gives out a glow.

If someone would care to ask,
I would talk about my feelings.
Say everything out, of how I changed without meaning.

He looks at me with question in his eyes,
His mouth moving but not saying anything,
His ears cocked towards me like a dog,
Listening attentively.

By holding my hand he encourages me,
His smile making a request.
“I’m here for you, to help you out,
so say what comes to your head.”

I begin with my monologue,
and tell him the tales of my heart.
What has me down and worried,
I share with him un-flinchingly.

He holds my hand when it gets difficult,
as if compassion flows through his veins.
His mind is void of any judgement.
Throughout the narration,
all his senses motivate me.
“Come out with it!” they say together.
To my heart it’s a life boat you see!?

Because in this age of all the blabber.
It’s hard to find a good listener.
A listener who wants to know you better,
And help you out genuinely.

As I finish my tale he hugs me tight,
Letting me know he understands.
And in the future if there comes a bumper,
then I can always hold his hand.

Mind is a super computer they say.
It can think of millions of stuff in a matter of day.
From the bombings in Iraq,
to the hurt in my best friends heart.

From the moment its up,
It never stops,
To stop. Blink or breathe.
It keeps running at night.
The subconscious consumes power.
Often leaving the mind tired at the break of dawn.

When it meets people,
it reads the signs at many levels.
Subject of talk,
Body language.
Positivity of the vibes,
The way the person jives.
A handshake.
A wink.
A hug.
A swiftly made jug
It notices everything.

In all this processing.
It accumulates a lot of clutter!
And the mind with all the confusing thoughts,
becomes like hot butter!
Sparks fly like an electronic of fire!
And it needs something to distract it.

What works best is a bit of exercise.
A bit of chattering,
Or writing it all out.

Some find solace in Games or Movies.
Why do they work?
Because they engage all senses,
And make the mind groovy.

Smoking and doping do great too.
But reducing the processors of our mind to grade two!
Hallucinating and dreaming 80% of it.
The mind thinks its being more productive that most of it.

But illusions destroy us further.
Making the mind believe it’s just another wonder.
Wonder though it is.
Using only 10% of it we create,
Science, History, Mystery,
But this wonder has a lot on bate.
If it goes in the wrong direction.
Even thinking too much is an addiction!

Original thoughts are like endorphins to the mind.
Making it jump and do cartwheels inside.
Stimulating discussions are named that way,
Because engaging in one makes us jumpy all day.
It satisfies the mind that,
I have done something constrictive besides,
Whiling my days in sorrow,
and waiting for the morrow.

Mind is like a baby that need attention,
if not given that it runs in all directions.
Mind is a super computer that needs,
the dedication of a programmer.

Be that programmer and feed your mind the right numbers,
And see it become the eighth wonder!

Jug- short for juggle.

I have a crush on your words.
How easily they form into a verse.
Falling eloquently on my head,
Making a soft feather bed,
inside the deep chambers of my mind.
Your words jump in there and look divine!

Sometimes dressed in a short pink dress,
Sometimes wrapped in a warm duvet.
Sometimes in a **** sarong,
Making me moan all night long.

Sometimes your words have the power of steel,
dressed in an armour and a shield revealed.
Sometimes on a yellow sun dress,
your words make my heart feel impressed.

Do you know what your your words do?
If there are too many I go in a minute of shock or two.
So use them carefully and lovingly,
Because I have a crush on your words, I do!

Beginning at the very end,
My life takes a sudden bend.
Tells me it has a secret box,hidden somewhere inside my socks.

To find it i need faith,
and all the hope i have on bate.

I gather whats left of hope.
and tie it with a thick round rope.
making sure of all the lose ends,
nothing on doubt depends.

The thick layer of dust lifts up its head.
to show me positivity sleeping on the bed.
I wake it up and ask his help,
To help me secure my futures belt.

Its looks at me with sleepy eyes,
and asks me why i let all the hope die?
"Now hope will need all the food,
And lock negetivity in the atic to brood.
Only then can I help you make whats left,
And shine the future bright, full of zest."

I coax and cajol postivity with words,
which tickles up the drooping thirst.
Thirst to live life to its fullest
and look at the glass at its fullest
And hope and pray and dance with chardonnay,
Cheering life ahead all the way!

Refference to the "Glass half full theory."

Burnt hearts all around,
Not looking, not searching,
Just being around.
Hesitant subconsciously,
Friendly overtly.
But not going beyond.
Burning hearts float.
eventually they will be coal.
Hesitant to be again,
Floating in a union with friends.

Life walks by,
In an un noticeable blur.
stopping only when there is a pur.

The staring cat has something to say,
stop and see everyday, at all the moments and wonders,
Look at the effect they have ,
Which settles in slumber.

Don't let it settle,  let it assimilate.
Keep void moments for this sake.

To stop and reflect,
To stop and step,
One foot at a time.
Observing the footprints left behind.