On a white conch shell
like flowing teardrops
her name was written,
in his heart's blood;
this is the only record
hitherto, of his sacrifice.

On a coral reef
with every imaginable color,
his name was sculpted;
a real marvel that belies
the labor of love of long days,
her final dedication to the love of her life.

A deep sea diver, exploring
a long time after, strayed
in to this chamber of love secrets
by chance and finds
the relics of a mysterious love affair
that got lost to the human world for ever,
but  found an abode deep down
in the ocean depths
amidst crowding scallops, calamari and mussels

The explorer's eyes brim
a stream of tears,
though do not know
for whom, it was shed
adds salt to the ocean floor.

Love makes heroes out of
even timid and docile persons
let me tell this. it is difficult
to predict the ways love treads.

A giant egg of possibilities,
we see from inside, its embrio
yolk and white, like galaxies
this rainbow colored  cosmos,
lay submerged within
the timelss -spaceless state,
unimagianably limitless,
indescribable, incomparable
unfathomable and  know not
what or what not,
inspite all continueing probes.

A matrix of 'multiverse' exist
ignorant of one another
within the cosmic egg.
Inside the egg's one puny little cell
you and I fill an infinitesimal space
why try to break the tender shell
and **** the millions of organisms?

Love can heal, make the shell endure
and expand the possibilities, more and more
till the dice from a mighty invisible hand
falls over the egg , one fateful day
and the play comes to a grinding halt.
may be with a whimper not with a bang.

Flower, passion filled lover,
remember ever, the very first moment
we forgot our separate existences
became one, melting in a fragrance.

I'm looking for a home.
I always think I've found it,
But I'm beginning to realize that maybe life
Is all about finding home,
And if you find it
You've finished.
Maybe life is just about chasing
Whatever makes you feel like you're home.

You know those people who burn love letters
After the breakup?
I'm not one of those people.
It hurts me to think that anyone could.
What sense is there in denying that something good happened
When such little good comes into such a long life?

When you said we should get a tattoo together
I knew you'd leave someday.
Is that weird?
I knew, that moment.
And I was sad about it for a month
But I never said anything-
When I know things, I just know,
And there is no reason to rush the end
If it's coming anyhow.

I wish I could say I didn't expect you
Not to miss me.
I wish I could say I didn't expect
Not to miss you.
But I see it all coming.
It's my special gift.
I know what home is
And I know when it leaves.
See, I don't leave home.
Home leaves me.
And that's okay.

But I think I need to say
Because I think it is important
That for a minute you were home
To me.

For a minute, your arms were enough.
Your husky smoker's voice,
Your fairy wing shoulders.
For the barest moment
I could see home in your eyes,
And oh,
I lived in that moment.

I am
Such a wanderer.
I'm not sure
I'll ever have roots.
No.
No
I'm not sure
Roots
Will ever have me.

Growing up I used to cry because I missed home.
With my head in my mother's lap
In my living room
I was just too young to explain
That I didn't know what I was homesick for
If I'd only ever lived in one house.

I thought I found home once,
The real kind
And I'm still homesick for that feeling,
That addictive, safe feeling
Of thinking you know what the next day
Will bring you
But
Just like home
That knowledge is never what or when or where
You expect it to be
And it never stays for long.

This isn't a love letter.
This isn't a goodbye, either.
Or maybe it is.
I suppose that
Is up to you.

I guess all I wanted to say is
Knowing you was like driving by a house in the suburbs
Late at night
And all the lights are on
And someone forgot to draw the curtains
So before you round the next curve you can see by accident
A slice of happiness
And maybe you see yourself there
With someone's arms around you
And a cat on the back of the couch
And in that moment
You're home
And then whoosh
It's gone behind the trees and you
Have to keep going forward
Because
Well

You've somewhere to be.

Knowing you
Was kind of like that.

She will lose herself in a book
and find herself in poetry

She thinks that religion is a sacrilege
and that long showers are sacred

She makes love when she's tired
and never tires of making love

She is irreverent in her humor
and pious in her gravity

She is diligent in completing her work
and ambitious of her quest for leisure

She is the personification of romanticism
and the embodiment of compassion

She exists harmoniously in my mind

scent of a woman
sent from god
sends me forever
ascending awed

The flower was so perfect
and dew drops on it
gleaming in sun let out that secret
looking for the rarest of rare,
the humming bird on his quest was spellbound,
their communion was in a world they created
with all they kept precious,
some things were left unsaid or hinted,
yet they felt nothing amiss,
some more just alluded
and it was so clear
the ambiguity surrounding the short lives
of a humming bird and a  flower
was made in to an exquisite work of art
that flower to him, remains a metaphor
and till the day he let go the mind
he created (and that created him as well)
she'd live in him, he in her
the symbol of  the ultimate, life could offer,
in this mysterious planet.