You put my head up
Among the stars
And help me hear
The cosmos sing.

To me it was epiphany
But it didn’t mean a thing
To you, at least not enough
To realize I was enchanted
Like a school kid of twelve
With that first strong crush
That turns the heart to mush
And the knees to jelly.

It puts a fire in the belly
That time can’t quench.
I felt my gut wrench
And clench and flatten out
So much I felt a shout
Coming on like a scream
But felt that would seem
To make me look insane.

I am doing it all again,
That childhood love attack
Was dragging me back
And away from today
When my heart wanted to say
Words that meant something,
But to you nothing.

My head is still in the stars
Which must be where you are
Because you are not here.
Nowhere near any more
I was just a love chore
And, your work done
You are gone.

A girl of like eleven,
Seemed so fragile for the nature's cycle.
She wasn't yet as tall as she wanted to be,
Things like getting bigger ***** and better *****,
Took her to heaven.
And made her happy...

A girl of like eleven,
Seemed so young for the nature's cycle,
She wasn't yet told about any ****** cycle related thing,
Good touch and bad touch, for her had been everything..
And about anything more she knew nothing...


She kept weeping and repeating,
" I didn't get a wound, but its bleeding "
When truth infront of her did lay,
She wondered about the number of days it would stay!
And repeated the thing again,
" You serious, every month the same pain? "


Entire family cherished, and took care of the little princess with ' eggs'
And the girl still did lay confused, with if kids are born from the tummy,
What has it got to do with the hole in  legs?

Like a sun with its light
Like a cloud with its rain
Like a moon with its coolness
Like a rain with its drops

Like a eye with its tears
Like a lips with its smile
Like a butterfly with its flower
Like a bee with its honey

I can never be with you
Coz I am alive within you
And  can never be apart from you

The snow falls
   Silent as ghosts
Remnants of distant memories
And I can see you in the flakes
   Pale and soft

You whisper to the sky
   The memories are shouting
And cry for forgiveness
Beg for destruction
   Remembering hurts the most

The snow doesn't stop
   Persistent, unforgiving
You wish for oblivion
And hope that heaven is real
   The clouds are descending

And now the snow has turned to fog
   Silent as ghosts
It hovers and reaches down throats
Grabs hearts and fills lungs
   You can't breath anymore

You cry for forgiveness.

I'm always a little bit blue
But I'm always smiling
I'm always laughing
Always joking around

Always serious
Always a fool

I'm always thinking

I'm always thinking
Except for when I need to be
And ineveitibly
I'm always doing something stupid

Something that can't be undone
Something to cause me pain
Something I can't forget
I'm always sorry

The old man groans as he gets up,
Rising from the chair is a job.
He notices now he is getting older
His head is developing a bob.
Not quite Katharine Hepburn,
Not a nod as much as a bounce.
It’s not a palsy, more of a tic.
It’s not really that pronounced.

And stairs seem to be an enemy
They don’t match the cadence.
Between the risers and his feet
There just too much distance.
Or other times, they are too short
And rise up as an ugly surprise
Not coinciding with what he sees
With his own aging naked eyes.

The man complains about TV
How they are mumbling too much.
They seem to be whispering
Or using foreign words and such.
And when he turns the sound up
The action scenes hurt his ears.
A ***** trick to play on people
Who are a bit advanced in years.

The old man gets disgruntled
When people outside make noise
Like they are some kind of teenagers;
But they’re adults, not girls and boys.
Here it is ten o’clock at night
When decent people are asleep.
What kind of schedule is this
For decent people to have to keep?

What is he to make of the music
These young people like to play?
It has to be some kind of abuse
To use a guitar in that way.
In his day there was melody
And words you could understand.
The noise they make is like a collision
Between a dump truck and a sedan.

The old man grumbles in frustration
That things have not stayed the same.
He would write a letter to the President
If he could figure out who to blame.
But one thing sure, he always insists,
It didn’t use to be this way before.
Now a kind of anarchy seems to exist.