Part I

No words need be spoken
Inhaling loudly,
She is mindful and content.
The only artifice here
A camera in her gear;
This instant in a frame
As wonders engulf her,
She claims.

I stand at the centre,
Swamped by
The tick of high heels and chatter.
Mindful and composed,
Left aghast
By the mass who walk past.
The right words come up
Binding my feelings to my art.

Part II**

Smell the air
Both dig inspiration
Elsewhere;

Differences
Of worldly proportions
Our nature
Do not fit by definition.

Entering each other's realm,
We love to understand.

May this gap
Be bridged with time
For I am afraid

We do not rhyme.

We meet for afternoon coffee
For this I reckon
I would fancy a waffle with it.

How are you?,
The first sentence of the last conversation about me and you.

While dipping a piece of my waffle
In the whipped cream
I did not order,
I have a thought.

We have never been
More than a side dish;
Like a waffle I would
Every so often ask for.

To sweeten this life
I require more.

I still prefer to take
My coffee black, as plain as my heart.

Even my coffee needs a pep talk,

For I feel no relief when the
caffeine kicks in.

I know the tools
Time heals;
Not all wounds
Are bad memories to ****.

Yet I go to war defeated
Escape in the world of dreams,
Only to wake up even more
drained.

Time heals, they say, but how
much time — when it seems
infinite.

Switched off the router today,
Waited a few seconds
Maybe my energy will start
blinking
again.

Not yet,
Dear friend.

Be patient,
The sun has not set.

My coffee just kicked in, and I can
still write a poem.

What happens
When you are silenced
Ideas fight
Thoughts escape
Words stranded --
A broken one
On the tip of the tongue.
Only an opinion counts --
Not your own
Others, others talk
And you listen
Others, others argue
And you stiffen
What happens
When you are silenced
You hear everything
Your voice, stolen
All the questions
You cannot answer
Directed to you
But they will do it for you.

Whatever I choose to say
It would not have come out right anyway
I will make it worse
I will make it better
The words stuck --
A broken one
On the tip of the tongue.

What happens
When a writer is silenced
It is the best thing that can happen
I will not say a word
Because you listen to your own.
Words are my forte
My weapon of love
Of mass destruction
I will let the truth
That words cannot translate
Speak for me instead.

All I have to do is show up,
Gain momentum;
Give you one last rep,

Another verse
To finish this poem.

I have always dreaded
Doing the plank,
Now I can hold it
For a full minute,
Without tearing up.

Lift me up

Talent is not enough

Writing is a muscle,
I had become rusty —
Now planning my sessions in

The more I work out
The more I want to write.

Create,
Train hard

The benefits of a sweat
Back to the pleasure
of my pen,

I am looking forward
To my best poem yet.

I am sitting
On a wobbly chair
Off balance, is there still a chance

It is not all bad
But since when
Is that enough

At least two have to be strong
One leg solid, the other consistent
Last two well built
Uneasy til I fix it

Lean back, I may fall
Find the centre of gravity though
I could rock.

I want to write again
I want to feel
Like I did back then
When my day depended
On the words I had chosen
-- The life I put
In my poems

I want to write again
I want to feel
The thrill of the pen
The delight that rushes through my veins
When the right words blend
The pain I endure
Once my thoughts
No longer make sense

I am exhilarated
When I start
Scribbling on paper
My heart at peace
As soon as I polish it
On my typewriter

I write again
I write
Like nothing ever happened
Like not a thing prevented me
Months at an end

I write again

I write
Because it is who I am
Because in time,
I always return
To my essence
-- That in the end,
Nothing feels quite right
Unless I am writing.

Write it down
That thing
You fantasize about.

Write it down
Those words you dare not
Say aloud.

Write it down

Now is the right time to write
When words will not sit tight
When they cannot match
Whatever you hold inside.

Leave it all to feeling
Will give these words meaning

Write it down
What silences your mind
Exactly that
Which makes your dear heart bounce.

It is a wall to climb
And one to knock down

Write it all --
The words do not need to blend
It is then
When feelings make the most sense.

Write it on paper
My love,
The one who will answer

One who can read
Lines that are not poetic.

Passion is filling a void
That can never overload
Words flowing incessantly
But the glass always seems
Like it is running empty
Though a nod of satisfaction
When a piece is done
As soon as you think enough
You are once again a sponge
It is the people you adore
The new ideas you absorb
The tranquility you then feel and
A piece of paper becomes a thrill
You will not ever turn weary
Passion is fuel in the ordinary
Your own sun rising daily
Even when inspiration is lacking
All you wish to do is feed on
Words that acquire a life of their own
Hoping to be a channel
Of the change they enable
Words are more than what is needed
More than what you love and covet
Only writing can be result and seed
The cure and the cause that sees
Why passion keeps your feet on the ground
And rockets your soul to a higher ground.

(PART I)

My heart aged quickly
Much faster
Than my face lets to see.
Pumped with deceit
By things and many
Stabbed and asked to heal
Perpetually.
If there is such a power
As to completely recover
A lesson I never learned;
Because regardless
Of how well it survived,
The finishing line
A heart in pieces
Already from the start.
Back to square one
The heart has won
Matured a couple of years
A thousand with every tear.
The heart grows older
Each time it starts over
The heart gets wrinkles
That no night cream
Can meddle;
I move with a cane
Taken the ability
To love without restrain.

(PART II)

But every time
I am done
I bethink myself of
The time I was young
When I believed
Without seeing
When I knew
Only by imagining.
With every life experience
The heart has catered
Faith
Always seems
To pull me back in
And this ancient heart
Runs back to that route
On the verge of innocence
When the heart's skin
Was still so thin;
Not hardened
Nor overshadowed
And eyes still sparkling.
I do not mind getting older
As long as I get wiser
And the lesson
Withstanding alone
With every heartache
A heart doubling its age
The heart that still tries
This heart that is willing
To always begin a new life
Is twelve years old again.
And when my body
Will slow down
And my hair
Is no longer brown
I will love as long as I live
Leaving behind what outlives;
For nothing is as hard
Nothing more enriching
Than staying young at heart.