I feel the wind crash against my skin,
enter my nose and into my lungs. I am
alive today. My eyes are fixated at the thought of

those Narra Trees, standing proudly
in the backyard; how the wind rustles
with their branches; how the noise becomes
music, whispering through my ears. I feel
safety. Safety, like the way I lay

at my hammock—the way I trust
the ropes with an arm-strength
of a man; how they held me so high

that I could touch the sky, like freedom
soars across horizons in form of contrails.

Today, I feel love
and I soar to the

Universe.

honestly,  i don’t see myself as
a poet -
i am a historian who
writes
in poetic form

as are you
readers
and writers

our eyes
record
history as
it happens

storing it
in our hearts;
ushering it safely
on passage through
time

trading it with blank paper
in hopes of not
repeating the bad;
and reliving the good

i hate the word poet,
i am a historian
and so are you

1.
Do you know, I'm coming undone
And did you notice, I'm coming round less?
Did you ever see, me hardly at your door
Then, I'm already waiting to leave?


Chorus:
We used to fit so well together
But now, we're drifting far away
We were too busy to see...us
Come undone.


2.
You didn't see my threads come undone
Too busy tallying your brownie points!
You used to be a shining star
Then again, that was so long ago.


3.
Trying to learn what the ox cannot do
And that is to unshackle its heavy load.
Drummed in the guilt, weary and sad
Could never manage it all, had come undone.


4.
Have you any idea of the many times
I've tried to call you, with my courage undone
So, how can one tell when the time is right
To take a chance in life and make that change?


Sometimes, we learn only too well!


S T, 19 April 2013