Night and day
they aren't just separated by time
but are worlds far apart
each has a soul of its own.

Day is unreal-- artifice
of men and women in action
doing their daily round
(so called 'earning a living')
almost like cogs in the wheel
in a place labelled 'society'
human beings are mere numbers
and in the collective they lose themselves
and assume a common identity

but night dispels
the collective
it speaks a different language
and deals with each individual
in specificity
it appears either a friend
or as an enemy.

It's  crunching time
there's no escape
(safety in numbers as in the day
has disappeared)
the inter-face is real and even foreboding
will the individual be able to celebrate
or will these hours
be sheer torture and punishment?

No, not discontent
but the consuming fire
that rushes through the veins
to allow words
to find their voice
in the poetry-land
of the heart and mind

here is the culmination
the distillation
the illumination
of the poet's finest thoughts
and feelings
where experiences
gained
through every life's passage
come to blend together
to find utterances
so mysterious and profound
as to be beyond
his human comprehension.

Is the poet
a chosen breed?

He asks himself
but knows not.

You knocked at my door
in the harshest night-hour of that winter
frozen, hungry, pale and in despair
you were gladly invited and we had a hearty dinner.

We chatted about life
and all things  beautiful and sublime
we sang and recited poetry together
our laughter filled the night-air and we lost count of time.

I was then so young and my heart was eager
to capture the essence of each moment of wonder
old, weary, derelict and only a spectre of a man
I am at your door this summer day--' 'I knew you never' comes your answer.

The same echo of an old song
drifts every midnight through my window
it will not leave me alone--I know not why-
every note seems to sigh in sorrow

but I have no tears
for the long-lost past
as youth is but a forgotten blissful dream
the poet speaks lies when he says that love does forever last.

A boy
thinks he knows more than a girl and is so much stronger and smarter--he builds his muscles by going to the gym and wears the best brands to impress her.  He likes the neighbours' daughter but is afraid to speak to her when she appears over the fence.  He opens his window at night and sings Are You Lonesome Tonight? --loudly so that she can hear.  Sometimes, he reads aloud the love sonnets of Shakespeare hoping she is there...
Nothing happens.  One day, in desperation, he writes a note and throws over the fence with the words-- Lucy, my dog is lonely and needs a companion--can you bring yours to the field and I shall bring mine so that they can become friends--I mean, get to know and like each other?
They do meet one day, they go to the same university, they fall in love and they marry---and now they walk their dog together in the same field
with their little son and daughter.  I was once a boy like other boys so I know what it is to grow up.

Girl
means what boy is not--she has what he doesn't have--she is more patient and intuitive--she can deliver babies when she's old enough to marry--
she will then be the centre of the home and bring the kids every joy through her love and dedication (the boy is then the father who just watches on and says: Yes, very nice, very good,  we are a happy family'--
where would you and I be if we had no mothers who were once the sweetest and prettiest girls?

The world #has grown# old
before its appointed time
it has about lost its soul
once so noble and sublime.

Upon its brow, pale, wrinkled and cold
is written:  '  I am no longer in my prime
once I was the boldest of the bold
now my every song and verse no longer holds a single rhyme'