How do you explain to someone
That you don't need religion or a god
to love or live this life

Embrace sorrow
Embrace uncertainty
Embrace hope

Nobody really knows why we're here
And there's the mad glorious fun of it

Even when the depression comes- an engulfing wave
and suddenly the lights go out- a blackout for weeks!
And it seems impossible to go a day without tears-
This too shall pass.

Life waits to spring out at you;
you will turn the corner
It will take your hand and show you things
to make you fall in love with it again.

The other day
quite unexpectedly
while rummaging through an old chest of drawers
I stumbled upon a picture of you
And stopped short -

It was about as old as me
dog-eared and quite yellowed
peeking out of a diary long forgotten.

You looked positively
overcome with delight
crinkle-eyed and gap-toothed
frozen in time
grinning gleefully at our dad
on the other side of the camera lens

Abruptly-
the relentless storm within ceases
and there is not a feeling left.
Not of anxiety, nor of happiness
not of sadness, nor of hope.

Only a stark weightlessness;
a veritable lightness of being.
What a privilege these days,
to feel nothing.

A cruel injustice, a terrible tease!
Oh, how it annoys and displeases!
When I'm about to expel a feel-good sneeze--
but then the wretched sneeze ceases.

(A feeling of desperate unease
accompanies
an almost-sneeze.)

on a day like this
it's easy to be at peace.
breathe in:
breathe out.

a walk downhill
in the crisp winter air:
fills the lungs
and clears the head.

It's 6.30 a.m. - the tea has arrived!
I shuffle downstairs
still bleary-eyed,
pour myself a steaming cup
and sit down to watch as the world wakes up.

It's the same old story
for the millionth time.
The same stale thoughts
return to my mind.

Why is what I want to be
always beyond my reach.
Why do I  never seem
to practice what I preach.

I don't mean to make excuses
or helplessly whine.
But I somehow **** it up
and the fault is all mine.

These lofty ideas
From the books on my shelves
Seem to just fall through
Because I don't change myself.

Promises to myself I've made/
And promises I've broken/
'I'll change THIS time!', I'm persuade/d:
Lofty words are spoken./
But post a few productive days/
The motivation slowly fades/
And to eternal rest I lay/ those
self-reforming notions.

Writing a poem
Is no picnic.
Especially on short notice
You have to be quick!
You must possess
A knack for rhymes.
But there’s always free verse
When you’re too pressed for time.
(Or if you can’t rhyme)

I haven't prayed for three years now-
a fact my ma laments.
But I refuse to genuflect
without the evidence.

Even in my darkest hour,
I've had no need for fiction.
Solace I have always found
outside of heaven's jurisdiction.

So I live and so I'll die and
have naught to do with gospel lies.

He gets a text "Your such a bore"
The grammar **** replies with "*You're".

habits are hard to break/
and the effort and the time it takes/
to break the loop your brain has subconsciously traced/
are far more than the time it took for the habit to form in the first place

Little mosquito
Whizzing close to **** my blood
One clap and it's dead

an overcast sky
we hurry to the clothesline
the rain gets there first

the clock's three hands move
trace the same circular path
time is relentless

behold a field of brilliant colour
symphony of green and gold
the bride-to-be is all aglow
beneath a canopy of marigolds.
amidst the splendour, song and dance
today she smiles and laughs and jests
tomorrow there will be tears goodbye but

not yet

not yet

not yet

Some things haven’t changed.
Your mother’s voice on the telephone asking if you’re eating well.
Your father telling you not to worry about the money and that he'll 'take care of it'.

But you’ve changed.

And where you'd once reply, carelessly arrogant,
“Why do you care?” and “I don’t need your help!”,
you now understand:
a gift of wisdom from the other people who never cared, never helped,
after you left to be with them.

And now, gently reassuring them,
you only smile into the phone
and ask about the weather.

I hear the seconds ticking by;
I should be furiously working.
Instead, I'm on the internet
Furiously shirking.

When attempting to write with paper and ink,
try as I might, I can't seem to think
of the things I've been meaning to write about
the way that I can when I'm typing them out.

A pen in my hand, I huff and I puff
as I try to come up with some read-worthy stuff.
But nothing inspires; the page is pristine:
I don't have this trouble when I'm facing a screen.

I've tried and I've tried but the words do not flow
till my hands feel the grid of the keyboard below.

No zippers
Just elastic
This bottomwear
Is fantastic.

'Tis the season to make merry
And feast on copious food and wine,
But remember to be wary
Or by the tenth of January
You may begin to look bovine.

IT’s not raining yet
but it’s about to.
people hurry home
shooting quick glances at the sky.

but not she!

she has been dreaming
of the kisses of water droplets all summer.
she is determined to stand here
no umbrella, no raincoat,
with arms outstretched -
to welcome the monsoons.

The sky is a stretch of endless blue
as far as the eye can see

A careful scattering of light
Is what causes this to be

The atmospheric molecules
Those scientific wonders

In their frenzied madness have not yet
split the sky asunder

Social media companies
Swear it's you they want to please
They badly want for you to see
That they value privacy
And that there are several strictures
On who can see your posts and pictures.

You think your profile is secure
You're satisfied until you hear
That they sell your information
To advertising corporations.

Every post that you've spent time on
pictures, videos you had your eye on
They save it all for using later
And say "It's ONLY metadata!"

They as good as have a list
Of content that you can't resist
And knowing full well what you like
With custom ads they duly strike!
They desperately want you to keep scrolling
So they can see the money roll in.
And their ethics will be forfeited
So advertisers can be profited.

There's a new baby in the world today!
And even though broods of 'em are born every minute,
Isn't it curious that just a day ago there was a world where we already were;
But THIS baby wasn't in it.

I'd rather
not bother

starting in the chest
sadness rises slowly, then
wells up from the eyes

Saturday night:
excitement abounds.
The girls get dressed up
for a night on the town.

Saturday night-
I bid them goodbye.
Then I get back in bed

And I cry

and I cry.

It's got a grip
on both my lungs
The air is getting scarce
It also feels as though I'm falling
down a flight of stairs
My stomach does
a somersault
Or maybe twenty-two
My hands are cold
I'm overwhelmed by all these brilliant hues

At times like these, I've often felt
a longing to be someone else.

Nobody can comprehend;
It baffles one and all
Just how much I love Edam
And pine for Emmental.

Gouda smoked is very toothsome
The same is with Gruyère
And Mozarella and I have
An eternal love affair.

Cheddar when it's sharp and sweet
Is an absolute delight!
Parmesan, simply divine
When it is aged just right.

Some may call it an obsession
But I don't seek a cure,
For though all the world may melt away,
My love for cheese endures!

Oh wisdom tooth, now homeless,
you battled for your space,
and in the aftermath you left
my mouth a ****** place.

Near half my face was numb
and sullen I may have seemed,
but it's impossible to stay upset
on a diet of ice-cream.

A million rules
For obedient fools
And medals for the best of them.

The medals rest
Atop their desks
Coveted by the rest of them.

anxiety took a hold of me
and i froze on the stairs
the crowd had closed in all around
almost bringing me to tears

then-

out of nowhere you appeared
and offered me your hand
and steered me through the frenzied crowd
why? i could never understand

i will never quite forget
this kind act of salvation
and the grace of a good Samaritan
at the crowded railway station.

Ogden Nash wrote witty rhymes,
Some with long sentences like this that can catch you unawares so you have to read them in a single breath till you finally get to the rhyming word at the end of the line.

When trying to chew your daily fodder
a mouth sore can be quite a bother.
You must make sure your teeth evade it
Lest you inflame and irritate it.

Often when you try to speak
It chafes against your pointed teeth
And causes such a searing pain
That seems to paralyse the brain.

And brushing your teeth is a dreaded chore;
The bristles could exacerbate the sore.
Unless you want to start and end your day wincing
You'd better stick to plain old rinsing.

You try to laugh at someone's jest
But manage a queasy grin at best.
Your face can handle limited expressions,
Mostly wearing a look of mild oppression.

Now, if you ask me, tea only has leverage
When it's sipped as a piping hot beverage.
Lukewarm, it tastes unappealing
But you can't have hot things when the ulcer is healing.

And what makes me even more miserable
Is that the time the darned thing takes to heal is considerable.
Meanwhile, I will just have to wait
And apply the choline salicylate.