Pitter patter pelt
Darkened clouds consume the light
Sun isn't here now

I tinker
I overthink
I mull over
I sink

I entertain
I disassemble
I ascertain
I gamble

I play
I rewind
I play again
And again
I find

I reassemble
Still I sink
I'm in battle
When I overthink

The crescent moon be my perch.
        A bough from which I extend my arm.
Careful fingers grasp my brush...
And with it I shall fill the void
with the universe.                

               The crescent moon be my hammock.
Upon which I lean fully into,
to seek restful recluse.                
Should my body start to buckle...
        From the heavy hopes of wistful eyes.

   The crescent moon be my anchor.
From which I draw                
my inspiration and strength.
                   She would cradle and sway me gentle...
      When wilting hearts spill unto me
the callous wiles of the world.    

The crescent moon be my well.        
A fount through which my palette        
remains full with an                                 
abundant array of silvery white.        

Just so...                                 
I could conjure for others,
       what their hearts so desire.

Just so...                      
I could grant them       
             needed solace and tranquillity.

Just so...                 
                          I could infinitely paint for them
the stars...

I want to be there...

When the sun would shine
upon the ready sand -
and presents us gold.

When it spears
into the excitable ripples
of the water -
and gives us emeralds.

When it caresses
sun-hungry skins -
and gives them back
their lives.

.

.

"Looking down from ethereal skies
Silent crystalline tears I cry
For all must say their last goodbye -
to Paradise..."
- Paradise Lost by Symphony X

Head buried                          
in pillows in the sky,      
voraciously consuming
the fluffy whites.            
Windy fingers                    
sieve the air.                      
                 Watchful eyes                                    
tracing tails of kites.    

He only hears      
  the faint hymns
                            from the outstretched wings
         of feathered birds.
            Leans back weightily
          on his throne of clouds.
        Notions form haphazard
in so many words.    

Casting his gaze,
               willing it earth-bound.
            Careless trees sway
                       in synchronised tandem.
              Diverse songs merge
              seamless in harmony.
        Singing in unison,
                             revelling the gift of freedom.

             Silent tears fall
                         and trickle as rain...
                  As he reminisces
                                       the images of his forsaken past.
       Scored paintings
of a paradise lost.  
All must say                          
their final goodbyes...                  
He will bid his,                              
last.                                               

.

I’m parchment...
soaked with illegible ink.

Almost indelible even...
I’m soaked right to the core.

However incoherent,
I need to be written.

However impossible,
I need to be forgiven.

We must look at
the paths we traverse.

For they meander...

Some would loop.
Some would cross.
Some puncture boundaries.
Some stay safe.

So,
look at the paths
we choose to travel.
Because some may take some.
Others may take it all.

Proud little peacock
Plumage up for display
No need for repeated mocks
No need for you to say

I can clearly see
For we may be quiet but we have eyes
Strutting conspicuously
Showing off your prize

We already know you have it
We all do
On the sidelines we sit
Seeing you through

Tell me little bird
What do you get
When you say your words
Were your objectives met?

Everytime I hear them
Just makes me gag
I'd roll my eyes
Just hearing you brag

People'll give you
When accolades are deserving
But I suppose they're never enough
'Cause I still see you parading

Well I know I may be unpredictable
A tad bit capricious
To be honest, you...
You're simply being ostentatious


*...and it's annoying the hell out of me...

Pedestrian haplessly waiting
For a sign, symbol, anything...
Signs that usher him forth.
Only lead him from north.

Modern hieroglyphs that say,
Halt here... Go that way.
Passing views that beckon
Can't stop but keep direction

Caution...peril impending.
Beware...danger looming .
Watch a storm is brewing.
Stem from aeons' brooding.

Pedestrian...not yet now...
Crawling time you must allow.
Pedestrian...maintain pace.
Don't falter...maintain grace.

Give not to desires' taunts.
Crumble not to guilt that haunts.
Keep moving, stay the course.
Keep at bay, tearful remorse.

Herd along...await instructions.
Restrain all quiet tensions.
Cage within, your sorrowful gait.
Tempted not by beauty's bait.

Pedestrian helplessly waiting.
Between signs, you are searching.
Free will here won't be met.
Your final destination has been set.

Has been set...

in the soundtrack of my story,
there exists a lone percussionist...
and he plays to fit
the demands of passing moments.

•••

to the calm he plays steady.
in uncertainty he hastens.
he matches the ticks of seconds
when all is quiet,
and he thunders
to crescendoes and climaxes.

•••

in the symphony of my life
there exists a lone percussionist...
and he resides unseen in my chest.

I stand here alone
With a head full of voices
Perfect imbalance

Days with deficits
Let me give you what you need
Take all you can get

Mythical Bird, show me your secret
Hatch forth from your shell
Plumage of orange and scarlet
Emerge glorious from whence you dwell

Fiery Bird, you must reveal
Your astounding, magical ways
Where from these lives you steal
Forever reincarnating well into your days

Aflamed Bird, you must teach
How you reinvent yourself anew
With no help within reach
Without aid, effortlessly you flew

Majestic Bird, take me in
Blanket me with your wing
Listen and acknowledge my sins
With all your wisdom and heart could bring

Magical Bird, will you impart?
What knowledge you keep
Only then, I may start
To make my way out from the deep

Enchanted Bird, you have to help
I'm desperate to rise like you
**** your head and hear my yelps
Of all the things I'm trying to undo

Celestial Bird, if only you could know
Intricate workings of this unfounded fixation
Why I seem to always wallow
An eternal target of sorrow's attention

Imaginary Bird, will you demonstrate
Your amazing fantastical flight
Dipping, gliding, in the air you gyrate
Aggressive dance with gravity you fight

Mystical Bird, won't you display
For unworthy eyes, would you give?
Seemingly easy, aloft you stay
Even when you know you'd die before you'd live

Wondrous Bird, oh how perfect you are
I am in awe, I am swooning
How you become one with the stars
Making the best of the short time you're living

Secretive Bird, is it time?
Reducing yourself down to ashes
Ready to absolve your stint of crimes
Reborn perfect, free from previous gashes

Ensorcelled Bird, please don't retreat
Back into your familiar cocoon
I'm uncertain if again we'd meet
Just afraid I might be gone too soon

solitude in the dark
is so comforting
that
i am fearing...

what may lurk in the light
blantantly hiding

in
plain sight.

.

.
            •vile plumes reaching to the
                   sky•killing the earth as days go
                      by•cutting corners, we dump our
                          waste•the easiest of solutions exe-
                          cuted in poor taste•there are many
                          signs, how could we miss•when
                               we are the ones who did this•
                               scores of geniuses and inte-
                              llects•can't come to consensus
                                   and drive a pact•to save the
                                           world for our children•
                                                  to save what's
                                                       left for
                                                            f­uture
                                                           ­   gene-
                                                        ­         ra-
                                                             ­         ti-
                                                    ­              o
                                                 ­                    n
                                                               ­     s
                                                          ­              •
                                                ­                         **IIIIII
                        o                    o                   o           I    I       
                   OO               OO               OO           I    I      
           OOOO         OOOO        OOOO           I    I      
     OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
oOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO 
     IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII
     IIIIIIIII     IIIII     IIIII      IIIII     IIIII     IIIIIIIII
     IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII

Let us speak only in tongues
For all that wasn't made obvious
May present its true meaning in the unintelligible

Let us converse in stanzas
For what wasn't clearly heard
May perhaps show itself between these lines

Let us exaggerate and romanticise
For all that was spouted bland
May be heightened to receive some light

Let us exchange and trade through poetry
For all that's lacking in common words
May secure a foothold in the readers' hearts

Right now, my mind...
Is the proverbial popcorn machine.

Every little thing that bothers me is
likened to a kernel.
And to make popcorn, you need lots...
Bucketloads of kernels.

Dump them all in the machine.
Let them whirl.
They sit layered on top of each other
undisturbed,
on the hot bed until...
The spindly metal arms begin to rotate...
Whose sole purpose is to agitate.

Buttered with debilitating insecurities.
Sprinkled with irrational fears.
Heated with erratic temperament.

And here come the arms again.
Rotating,
churning,
inciting.

No one knows when the kernels
are going to cave and rupture.

Then...
"Pop!" would go one.
Then another...
And another...
Soon they would all start to explode.
When that happens,
I do too.

••••••••••••••••••••••
Addendum
•••••••••••••••••••••­•

I love popcorn.
And I don't like to share.

Of mud and clay,
drawing strength from the sun.

In the heat,
insides harden even if layers begin to peel.

But in the rain,
the shell concedes and starts to run.

All is left,
is a puddle - stagnant and bereft of zeal.

We hang
precariously
by the lies
we present as truth.

Dispensing tainted words
we thought inconsequential.
Ill-conceived notions
we sowed and nurtured.

But now we dangle
by the skin
of our fingers over this cliff...
Desperately clawing
to find purchase...
And gravity is a
mean *****.

A parched well
with little use.
A prison.
He’d fallen.

Clamber he must,
up a ladder
that had seen better days.

Each rung whispered
promises of salvation
and absolution.
If only they didn’t concede
to the weight that betrayed
his every step.

•••

He laid broken
and splintered.
Much like the ladder,
whose top rungs mocked
with the same song

but it’s too far,
too faint to hear.

.

.
pry the night sky open

let bathe the earth in subtle light

pry open the doors to my heart

let love spread with surety and might

.

I don’t expect
people to ask.
And I don’t hope
for others to
understand.


I’m a puzzle
only I can solve.




Actually no,
I can’t.

.

If you've found love,
would you know?

If you also feel love,
would you let it grow?

If you're in love,
would you let it show?

If you've secured that love,
would you promise not to let it go?

.

•      
be     
-hold    
    my  sole    
     prized instru-
       ment of choice•
         let it bear the wei-
           ght of my unspoken
           voice•in the dead of
             the silent night•i'll let
               loose my heart so it co-
                uld take flight•consoli-
                  dating all that i think•
                   and...converting them
                     into the blackest ink•
                       only then freely......it
                          would spill•down
                                   the stem and
                                         to the nib
                                            of my
                                               fea
                                                the
         ­                                        red
                                                  qui
       ­                                               ll
               ­                                         •