Do you think of me,
like I think of you?
Not in passing,
but with deliberation,
like coffee,
and groceries
and to-do lists.

But in pursuit
like happiness,
and ambition,
and balloons.

But with longing,
like music,
and books
and food.

But to no end
like time,
and life
and a foul mood.

Do you think of me,
like I think of you?

I look at the mirror
to only find her staring back,
she who's mastered the art of smiling
and to hide those stray tear tracks.

Silence is her weapon of choice,
it's edgy tip enough to raise dread,
in face of her frosty ire, one would
prefer the bursts of temper instead.

Like the duck that paddles in calm,
she too rests surrounded by muck
and underneath, her fury churns,
ready to blast it all to dust,

She's picked up every insult,
stored it in a corner to recollect
and designs her story of vindication
ripping apart every shred of regret.

Her hands are coated in blood
of the desires that she choked to death
she has emerged strong from battles
and slayed monsters who rest under her bed.

The dirt underneath her nails
should tell you the moral of her story,
she is not deterred by pain,
she is not enamored by false glory.

I see her staring back at me,
and raise her chin in pride,
her scars wave the sign of victory,
I only need to follow in stride.

It has been some time
since I started loving myself,
I am now ready for someone
else to do it as well.

Staring into the dark,
many questions I have asked
and I am still awaiting replies.

Tired of holding
my knees by my arms,
while I tell myself not to cry.

I am the modern day woman,
with her head in the sky
and her heart has gone stone cold.

I am living on dreams,
which are little white lies
I tell to give myself hope.

It has been some time
since I started loving myself,
I am now ready for someone
else to do it as well.

My rocky past has left scars
and every time I look in the mirror
they tell me I’ve taken things too far

The armor was to have a *****
a confession to be made in time, I think
but now it has turned inside out.

The dregs of strength, I have left
tt all reside within my head,
in collusion with endless doubts.

It has been some time
since I started loving myself,
I am now ready for someone
else to do it as well.

Don’t be fooled
by my high heels, small skirts
and those bright smiles.

I’m the same one
to smokes up my pride and
name mistakes on speed dial

May be I am cursed
of things like endurance and such,
and happiness will come edgewise.

It has been some time
since I started loving myself,
I am now ready for someone
else to do it as well.

I cannot find that phrase again,
a phrase I had seen on a page,
of one of my favorite books.

That phrase made me feel warm and light,
lifted something within me, something I cannot describe,
words cannot truly represent
what that phrase did to me,
it just evoked many strange emotions.

I have strewn around every book I own,
ruffled through every page,
rummaged through every nook and corner,
hoping to spot a familiar color,
assuming I will find it in a familiar place.

I worry I may never find that book,
and those words, I will never again read,
but I truly worry, fear even, is that I'll not remember
how it made me feel.

The shadows change their length,
the sky changes color,
while my days continue to blend
and I can't tell one from another.

Days pass and nights end,
while I seem stuck between the two,
there is a pattern to my waking hours
and the few minutes of borrowed sleep.

I keep making the same mistakes,
sometimes feel like waking up is one too,
or may be it is in thinking things will be different,
when the sounds are muted, and the feelings few.

Being in limbo makes you feeling light,
like a fluff of down carried in the breeze,
but I don't feel light, I feel heavy,
like an anchor rooted to the bottom of the sea.

I have questions, oh so many,
but it is not answers that I am truly after,
I want to be un-stuck and propelled forward,
right out of this one, into the next chapter.

When I stand on rooftops
I tend to scan my options;
hard concrete, soft bushes,
or the corner site of construction.

On the highway in a cab
I calculate the force of momentum,
passing trucks that could easily crush
any object that rolled out in random.

On the shore of a noisy sea,
while others frolic I look to the line
that always beckons so sweetly,
it's the end what I think to find.

Passing trains and sharp knives,
the blunted razor in my shower,
bags of plastic in my house
the thoughts come at any hour.

It never really does go away,
the desire to shut my eyes and forget,
but like a game of cards, I place my hand
to hear my like pulse beat, " Not yet."

I have learnt so much from books,
I'm always attached to one.
But as I read them I realise,
they've learnt so much from the world.

They've evolved with the world,
in their language and punctuations,
used our ways to narrate,
stretched themselves from drama
to horror, business  and science fiction.
They've changed their shape and form
to keep her in their lure;
short, graphic and sometimes still in volumes
they've left us asking for more.

I have learnt so much from books
I'm always attached to one
but as I read them I realise
our lessons are not done.
We are yet to pick up,
the grace of ending chapters,
the art of reading between the lines
and tolerate them cliffhangers.
We are yet to find our balance
between our chosen characters
delve deeper into the complexity
of simplistic and unsaid words.

Beyond all this I've learnt
to keep bookmarks in those pages,
those moments that made my story
different from all others,

I have learnt so much from books,
I'm always attached to one,
It is the one that I am currently writing,
And I need to get to the final chapter

I need to get to the part where I write
She lived happily ever after.

You were my golden egg secret
the glass slipper is buried deep,
the spell I never said out loud
the kiss that bested even sleep.

You were the might of thunder
the sword that slayed all evil
the book that held old magic
the love that could turn lethal.

You were my Achilles heel,
the resolve that held me strong,
the arrow to my bow, bullet to my gun
you were my silent soul song.

You were an untold fairytale
and I may have ripped the chapter
that would bring you to life, this early demise
has now wrecked my happily ever after.

It takes a different kind of courage
to survive hope;
to resist the call,
of the bottomless pit,
to refrain from the comfort
of an always full glass,
to stay put on the ledge
when the wind nudges,
and all things to come
seem worse than what has passed.

It takes a different kind of stupid
to deny despair;
to embrace the notion
of affording second chances,
to echo the chant
that some things are meant to be,
to take solace in knowing
there are better possibilities,
and keep telling your worst
you haven't yet seen the best of me.

I'm afraid of the light
because I know what will follow,
I look at corners and worry
about what's hidden in hollows.

I fear climbing up too far,
for the fall down seems painful,
the endless spirals, the familiar ground,
just makes all things good more dreadful.

I feel dizzy when I look up too long
and I almost feel the earth give away,
every turn that doesn't bring doom
makes me anxious of the next day.

I know I can't keep staring into the water
waiting for the abyss to swallow it whole,
but every strike of a match is a reminder,
of how easily it can all go up in smoke.

I wake up with trepidation,
and a veiled sense of hope,
telling myself I've avoided disaster
telling my head, this is our new home.

In the past decade,
I have stepped past
the metre of words,
and moved into colorful,
ornate constructions.

Come to use clauses,
taken grueling effort
to reason in taut,
but often found fraught,
elaborate expressions.

So is it any wonder,
I now find it confining,
after failed attempts
to stick to words that need
discipline, rules and timing?

It took a lot of courage
for this form of depiction,
without the cover of metaphors,
leaving little room for
mixed interpretations.

Now my tongue is loose,
and my fingers have found release,
so I shall explore this discourse,
and for a while set aside,
my want to write good poetry.

Like the bird that sweeps away
desperate to get away from the tree,
and the butterfly that rattles in its cocoon,
wanting to spread its colors, be seen,
like the paper boat, in its flimsy skin,
waddles down the bumpy watery lane,
I too only looked to go, leave,
I too only looked to escape.

The confines of the past were tight,
like the arms of a sweaty friend,
I did not like so much anymore -
no, I didn't like what the friend did represent.
And in those arms I wriggled and cursed,
no coffee bean or dandelion green
could surpass my level of bitter,
and curse I did,
foul, rank and obscene,
like the gory scene in a massacre movie,
I only slashed and whipped my arms around
to rent every shred of where I belonged,
not wanting to accept everything that I had been.

Self-loathing; in hindsight,
and with a dose of self-esteem,
seems like the mirror
you punch with your fist,
and when down your arm
the blood drips,
and even when your reflection is contorted,
you keep looking.

It seems like the shrill caress
of nails on a board,
it hurts your blood
and shakes your brain cells,
but you can't stop doing it
even you can't take it anymore.

So that sweaty friend released me,
or released myself when I flew,
up, away, so far past
everyone and everything I knew.

Only I walked into a cold river bed,
into a quicksand was where I had led,
sinking so fast into an abyss so strange,
I couldn't hear anything past my thoughts
that kept roaring in my ears,
"This was a mistake!"

Life has a tricky way of
making you realize,
wisdom comes after the pain,
truth only follows lies.
So I fell hard, and thrashed around,
looking for my friend's sweaty arms,
I wanted to be held, comforted,
I wanted to remember it all,
the ups and downs, the regrets and promises
I wanted to recall the good days,
I wanted to go home and course-correct,
I wanted to forgive, and learn to let-go
I wanted to mend my ways.

A galaxy of infinite stars,
the boundless stretch of green,
arms spread wide,
transcending dimensions,
that's how this wait feels.

Not second, or third,
countless chances,
of corrections, overwrites,
and destiny's edits,
let's term it a new beginning
and let go of the fear that
it is only the continuation
of the chapter you hate.

Like the spectrum of color
on every bubble that flies,
let us also look for magic,
in hollow ***** that hold nothing,
but only the reasons
we look for,
to survive.

Flip the page
and write again
the story has yet
to find its end.

Turn the clocks
and save the bell,
there are many things
we are yet to tell.

Make those lists,
and keep them long,
they'll soon be forgotten,
we are not that strong.

Wish, dream, commit,
don't hold yourself back
may be you'll disappoint,
but yourself some slack.

There is magic in the air,
in every clink and cheer,
there is no room to despair
when it is a happy new year!

Buzzzzz! It rang,
loud and shrill,
startling me from that
comfortable sleep-phase;
where everything is half-done,
and you're not fully numb
to the prods and distant noises.

Chasing this time table
that has been planned for me,
each day has an agenda,
and each decade gives me a story;
unmet deadlines, lost promises,
commitments and buckets-lists
an archived dream.

Slipping on shoes,
as the door hits my back,
walk into a day a dislike,
a place that leaves me forlorn;
no amount of fairy lights
or frames on the wall can
make a house feel like home.

And buzzzz! it rang again,
jerking me awake,
harsh light of a new sun
slicing through the cold day;
no ego to salvage or pride to soothe,
another the chance to start over,
that was all it took.

Like the rising sun,
the silver lining the clouds,
the break of dawn
after a storm,
it's been compared to it all.
I've had three decades
of lessons in hope.

Years one to ten;
as defining as they could be,
these were the years I felt
the most powerful and free.
I left strong impressions
on all walls and windows
where I banged my head
and thumped my hands
I yelled, screamed and bellowed
My anger and frustration
Of having always been left behind
And the constant wait for my
Parents to pay me any mind.
There were countless fascinations
Like pens, books and TV,
When boys could be friends
And nobody would look twice
When I had short hair and ***** hands
And didn't act like a good girl,
Meek and comely.


Years eleven to twenty
was like a roundhouse kick
left my heaving and breathless
and it behaved like a *****.
I'd paint it all in black,
Which I more through most of it,
Angsty, brooding and dark,
lost, empty and afraid,
I discovered parts of me
That never before existed
And I climbed that *****  of esteem
After picking myself up from the pit.

Years twenty one to thirty
shaped the way I think today
made me feel secure in my skin
naked, scarred and less afraid.
I thought my self the master
Having now conquered it all
Work, travel and money,
I was so focused on soaring high
I was not prepared for the fall.
And fall I did, so hard,
I shattered all illusions
Of love, friendship and family
dreams and masked delusions.

Three decades I've lived
and the fourth I have begun
I've felt the entire spectrum of emotion
Transcnded them all but one.
That deep yearning I feel
Is my last nugget of hope,
Fall mindlessly in love
And be loved in return,
The sole wish I now hold.
And till I hit age forty
Hopeful I'll remain,
For I banged my hands,
and got my way,
Tried other colors
Moved away from black,
Grew my hair long
Left home as a little girl,
I grew up and came back.
I did the impossible,
Or what I had so deemed,
So the lessons in hope continue
And the rest is now to be seen..

It doesn't take much
for a smile to turn mocking,
or much time for betrayal
to come knocking,
or much effort for trust to slay
and dig up past mistakes.
It doesn't take much
for friendships to sour,
for the bell to chime and
ring the end to happy hour.
It doesn't take much at all
for memories to be mistaken
and for all those severed ties
to be called all but forsaken.

You don't hear
the shrill screams
inside my head,
or hear the broken music
box I haven't set aside.
You don't see the shadows
flit pass my walls,
or bear the pinch of
broken dreams under your feet.

You only know of the colors
I wear on my sleeve,
and the aches I confess
of the things that keep me
from sleep.

You only tell me
what I must, should and can,
without knowing the doors
I pray will remain closed behind.

You only see the smoked mirrors
I show you, because some
truths are kept from you,
And I'm kept distant,
from you.

I used to fear
things I did not know
feelings, people, places
cravings I buried low.

Kept away from the path
coaxing me to try a change
making me believe that different
may not mean so do away.

Resisted I did, defiantly
kept walking the path I chose
every stumble re-affirming
every loss a lesson, every victory a rose.

Trampled ******* misgivings
which clutched hard like roots
making me watch before I step
sifting fallicirs from truth.

Faced my fears I did anyway,
all the paths lead to one end,
armed by the scars of my journey,
experience, now my only defense.

Settle slowly in this time
with feelings, people and places new
peel away layers deep in my mind
and accept, I never had a clue.

Look to the night sky
and watch the stars tell you
about me,
draw the moon out,
and I promise, I'll believe.

When the wind rustles,
look up and pay attention
to the leaves,
that's me trying to tell you
my story.

In those balmy sunny noons
glance at your shadow
twirling along,
an arm clutching your shirt
is how ,to you, I will belong.

When the winter fire crackles,
turn your head and watch,
the flames sway,
the heat that crawls up my spine
will keep the cold at bay.

In the garden of quiet,
sit down in the sea of flowers
and think of us,
the spray of my perfume
will then be found enough.

When the dark spreads
and the dreams beckon,
make haste,
through every waking moment
to see you again, I'll wait.

One song title at a time
is how we we write our story
of secrets told in silence
and yearnings
sung by melodies.

Glances as we pass by
is how we make time stop
a few hundred hours
of us together
in that pause.

Fleeting brushes of our hand
is how we toe the line
the spark of heat
sending shivers
rekindled every time.

Distant in a crowd
is how we pull each other near
every nod is a connection,
each chin lift makes
the distance disappear.

Leaving things unsaid
is how we confess our feelings
broken talks, abrupt halts,
and heavy silences are
what we find appealing.

Daily morning greetings
is how we surrender to fate
following the course it sets
not yet willing to call
whatever this is
a mistake.

With one song title at a time
we are writing a story
of secrets told in silence
and yearnings
sung by
melodies.

Three words.

Say them and it'll end everything
And begin something whole.
Tell them softly, whisper them to me
And I'll willing let go.
Write them down, if you fear,
And I'll always hold it dear.
Don't explain, don't justify
Give me those 3 words
And I'll be satisfied.

I don't care about your remorse
I don't want to know you regret
I just know that I am hurt
And it was by something you did or said

It is not about your intent,
It is not about my interpretation,
It is only meant to correct
This awful awkward situation

Allow me to move on,
And ******, you move on too.
Tell me "I am sorry."
And I will tell you,
" Me too."

I tore you apart,
Because I wanted to bleed.
I battered you with my stinging tongue,
Because it was my pain I wanted to ease.
I punched and shoved,
Just to make my muscles hurt,
I bit and scratched and screamed
To remember that I could still feel.
Nothing was skin deep,
Not your scars,
Not my rage,
It boiled and sang
Deep within my veins
Like the bloom of the early sun
It only kept gaining way.
Love, so pithy a word
To describe the beast that takes control,
With each ******, jab and rent
It expands and widens its scope.
It makes me bitter and you weak,
It makes me docile and you my rock,
It makes me tremble and you my storm
It makes me destroy and you my toy.
Enslaven we are, to that chemical balance,
Swinging up, down, away and toward.
The pull and push of affection,
The hidden colors, left on simmer.

Let's fall off
the edge of the page,
sail beyond the visible line,
leap from the end of the ledge,
sink into the ocean,
then sink deeper beyond.

Let's slip away
from the rim of the cup,
slide along the edges of ice,
tumble into blades,
roll with the flowers,
soar beyond the reach of the sky.

Let's find parts of ourselves,
nobody sees, hears or thinks,
burrow deeper into a new skin,
move away from what has been,
crawl into a place, so far away,
the past will never come around.

Two cups of coffee I had,
and 4356 steps I took,
just to catch another glimpse
while I passed by you.

Planned what to wear the next morning,
and of topics that you understood,
an anecdote to gain your attention,
pink lipstick to hold that look.

Scrubbed my palm dry roughly
to have nothing between your skin and mine,
because when you shook my hand,
my heart fluttered, and did not calm
for a very long time.

You are not mine, will never be,
but when you gaze into my eyes, I see
what my life would be like with your beauty,
so those 3 minutes a day are more than worthy.

I don't like my poems anymore,
they don't quite have the same punch,
but then neither does my body rock from within
it is all even and humdrum.
Writing is not easy when there is nothing churning,
burning, singing and crawling under my skin
waiting to pounce, leap onto a blank page
uncontainable, unrestrainable,
using words that don't even make sense.
There is no furious typing trying,
no doodles or markers on the edges of my book,
I just sit and stare and think,
and that's the worst of it all,
when I'm at the brink of logic and reason,
I endeavor to write a poem.
Disaster. Failure. Best forgotten.

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.

take a ride on a magic carpet
fly away from the little things
chase those whims and thrills
conquer dreams in the realm of kings

hold tight and find purchase
the ride down is no delight
the only way from up is down
to fall is the only way to wake

fly and make your own time,
bridge the chasm between the two
all of nothing is a principle,
afforded by only a few.

there was no past
to remember,
and forget,
there is no future,
to long for,
and wait,
there is no present,
to consider,
and let go,
there is nothing
to honestly think about
anymore,

yet when you walk past,
my eyes wonder,
did you hear my desire
in the sigh of breath
that left my lips
and make their way
to yours

you make no sense,
but you are fire
and I've been cold
for far too long.

smile;
stretched far,
felt deep,
without effort,
in much speed,
across layers
of emotion, cognition and soul,
in effect after,
and before,
true confession,
quiet storm,
honorary silence,
dishonest calm,
fragmented,
prosaic,
maimed,
the untold story,
that love game.

It was better when I didn't know about you,
it was better, when my heart didn't ache
in the distressed night, you chased away
my fantasies with your face

I now have a name,
to cry out, and reach for,
while I draw a blank,
I have nothing better to dream for

more than my fantasies,
your reality I desire,
my prize, my possession,
my ever burning fire

It was better when I didn't know about you
It was better when my heart didn't ache
for with your smile, and unspoken eyes,
you took my heart away.

there are a thousand things unsaid
in the silence that follows,
when I tell you I'm upset,
and you leave me feeling hollow

after the countless ways I tried
to make you feel better
the comfort that I shared,
wouldn't have been, with another

a hug was all it would have taken
for me to feel like I'm not mistaken
to wear my heart open on my sleeve,
oh please just make me believe.

to be continued...

There are many ways to home,
some I've taken,some not known,
there are things I've left behind,
pieces of what was once mine.

In places, things and people;
carriers of my past,
there are questions I answered,
some answers took me far.

I had voices tell me things,
some nice and some withering,
in the silence they often got lost,
mine eventually losing its plot.

Funnily while the world is round,
life doesn't usually come around,
in its tumble and toil it's all well made
the mechanism for blinkers to fade

I have now the learned my mistake,
which I made, oh so often,
in my quest for the chosen one,
I left many locks unopened.

Sullen shoes and withered hats,
find revelations in dark corners
like a fairy tale, is also,
only the brave get the honors.

I thought I learnt
how to walk on them heels
with the risk of flight
and the shame faced plight
of knowing I could fall,
and the world will know it all,
but I thought I'd mastered the art
of walking on a difficult path,
with those heels on.

Apparently I had not,
so head over heels I went,
right into the circle of judgment,
and with my dark places exposed,
and the air on my face blowing cold
I just walked up,
and kept walking ahead.

With only a slight limp in sight.

Only the pale smoke rests
dense in the air,
no sign of the night
that heard screams of despair

charred wood carries
memories of the struggle
when embers flew,
hot and glowing,
and fire burnt anew.

the silence falls like rain now,
heavy and cold,
erasing stories,
erasing tales
of what happened
the night before.

they're beginning to itch
these new clothes that I've donned
making me seem normal,
as one of them,
the paint on my face
no longer forlorn

I can feel it writhe and move
inside my head,
hiss in displeasure
wanting out,
wanting to spread
it is done with its leisure

the monster I carry
that green eyed devil
its been waiting to long to strike
and ooze will my blood
dark, clotted bile
and with it I'll purge
all these lies.

No, I'm not afraid,
I was just confused,
while waiting,
that I could be one of them
I am never, I will never be
I reside only in the sidelines
with a butcher knife to parry.

Unprecedented

unlike the storm which rages
or the volcano that shudders
before its release,
or the tsunami that warns
like the tornado which
tumults everything about

wild fire is unprecedented
a strike of a match
a careless fuse
an unwarranted gust of wind
spreads a wave so large
it consumes all,
and kills everything.

wild fire, I have inside.

enough
with the paltry sum returned
to all the pleading I did
with a bowl in my hand
I walked;
shiny eyes watching,
seeking, craving,
while they all walked past,
without a glance;
some with pity in their eyes.

enough,
with the clanging church bells
beckoning those who fell
arousing feeling of hope,
silly girls throwing away coins
in wishing wells.

enough,
of waving my hand around,
decorated to appeal,
these cobbled streets
I called home
will never my shadow feel

enough
of this disappointment
making way through my body
that hollowness,
that shallow hurt
of knowing
somethings aren't meant to be.

enough.

Dying embers of a blazing sun
shielding the sky
even in its last moments,
such purpose is what I seek
when I am shred,
scattered from west to east.

Bow in elegance when waves trash,
accept a fate that sand castles don't last
find my hold in a universe so grand,
know that even stars are made
with a plan.

In the pink waters of a complacent sea,
I watch silhouettes
and the lessons they carry,
looking to horizons,
to find faith like the blind
to know after a sunset
one waits for the sunrise.

I asked the lady by the door,
peeping in see the room,
"Do you know where I sit?"
She smiled and said,
"Your  card is placed!"

"That's the problem!" I cried,
I seem to have forgotten my name.

"What am I called inside the room?
Is it the same when I'm out, or at home?
Do I have only one name,
or can I have more,
like, go by four?"

There was noise in the room,
a constant wave of a murmur,
and I stood there, alone and scared
trying so hard to remember

I lost my name outside the room
I lost my table, my people, my place

I stood outside the room for a while,
then silently walked away.

Like the molten embers
of a dying fire,
the last crumbs of a meal,
we give ourselves
in appreciation of  a lie;
the cold and hungry.

For the makers don't always
choose wisely,
and the survivors lose patience
to keep seeing beyond horizons
and find only the salty grace
of the waves,
building sand castles gets tiring
when all that is  written
gets swept away.

The comfort is dwindling
that of a candle in the storm,
wavering,  unsteady,
unlike the ashes which consume,
then linger,
a potent reminder
that even hope dies,
even restraint ends.

Sometimes it is the delusion
of a happy ending
that keeps us alive.

broken lines
in my palm
I conceal

show my path
lay out boundaries

but,

I join the lines.

no cobbled stones
no ****** swords
just a bruised fist
a barrel of ale
and I'll set off home alone
leather boots
a winter sweater
to ward off the chill
that settles
I have no place
for remorse or sorrow
I have a life to build