They won't write songs about me,
they don't know enough.
There won't be monuments or effigies,
no plaque with my name,
they won't remember.

Immortality some crave,
and eternity they long for,
to make the earth always has a trace
of their lineage, bloodlines and all that.

I don't want to be humbled,
I am quite proud you see,
of what I've left behind,
my legacy.

I'll be the last memory before they stop,
the last break of smile on a weathered face,
after years and years have gone by,
they'll think of me, fondly,
when they look back at their success and glory,
like a quiet shadow in the corner,
will I stand, in sublime wait,
to be known as the one who made them
stand taller till their dying day.

All those stories about love
forget to write about the poignancy
of silence;
of the waking dawn,
muted sunlight,
balmy evenings,
brushes of skin in the kitchen,
over the whir of the motor in the car,
because it is the silence
that carries
the true magic
of ever after.

If it is going to be
only a few chosen minutes,
I'll take it.
If it is going to be
only a few times in day,
I'll treasure it.

If I won't have your nights,
your voice deep in slumber,
your waking blinks or
the brush of your smiling lips,
but only,
your naughty grin,
your quick passing touch while you walk past
your easy stops by my desk
your eyes staring into mine for a second longer,
I'll take.

In that second, I'll find my forever.
And if that's the only thing I'll get,
I'll never let it go.

His sigh stirred the leaves
and they played near my feet.
Every tremble of the wind
sent my way hints of lemon.

We sat there, next to each other,
in wait for something to happen.

My hair stirred, restless,
and his feet pumped and swayed
In silence, we danced,
came close and drew away.

The space between was quivered
every atom charged with need,
like two ends of a magnet draw near
we feared - the possibilities.

His fists remained on his knee,
my hands held each other,
when the bus came he got up,
and I watched him go quietly.

He turned then, after a beat
and our eyes said the same,
this would have been an inevitable story
and no, there was no need for a name.

in shades and hues
they come,
from the horizon,
before the sun rises
they run,
in a frenzied fashion,
after the sun set
they settle,
with no remorse
as if the day wasn't
as nettled,
as the night before.

You taught me to feel again
in all the ways that I'd forgotten,
I was sheltered in a cocoon
I considered could never be broken,
you proved me wrong
when you breached my shields
so easily,
made me set my guards down
so well,
that I never even knew
the person
who stepped outside

And now that you're gone
things are back the way they used to be,
I am up at night again
for different reasons
there is no song
that touches my soul
it is again a struggle,
to write poetry.

I don't know
if I'll ever be alright again,
I don't think I ever was
honestly.

life feels like
reading through
a dictionary,
without looking
for a specific
word.

relationships
are like shopping
in a mall,
where nothing seems
to suit,
and the ones you try
don't fit.

coming home seems like
wading through
a pond
in a heavy cotton skirt,
pulling me deeper,
than  I
want to go.