Life is a maze.
Life is a phase
Life is a craze.
Life decays
Life can amaze
Life can be full of clichés
Life filled with schooldays, holidays, long delays.
Life is a labyrinth, with a Minotaur in the shades
Life is full of constraints
So leave the maze, untangle your hair and meet me in a different cabaret, I'll be there
I'll show you how life is just one big malaise, we need to fill the maze with a blaze of glory.
After all life is a story. The ending the same, we all die, but in between, we runaways from the maze can drop the chains and create our own tales of the maze.
*And those tales can be quite amazing!

In schooldays my aim was terribly perfect
add to that an attitude unfair
a soft teacher was an easy found target
not one bald head was allowed to be spared.

The moment the poor man turned to blackboard
his baldness shined as a gaming site
the sleeping devil woke up and deep roared
dispatched were chalks on windborne flight.

Only a few did land on wrong place
but found mostly their rightful targets
and bore no qualm the thrower's face
when cheered by the fellow classmates.

As the victim turned with ire's full steam
nursing stings that came with good force
we in the gang were such an honest team
never revealed it came from what source.

It went on smooth till luck failed one day
has to end all games one once starts
a traitor midst us the secret gave away
memory of the thrashing badly hurts.

From Qeshlaq-e Chukhli Quyi Bahadruhamat to Abraham's Woods
(Tom Brown's Schooldays)
William Bleakes' Wind on the Water at Guishan Island
or Telladevarapalli struck by 13424 Margalida
heard in the Somam Rural District by The Monk
So now Minister Samuel Shaw watches Nakshatratharattu
and eats Beef shank taking Action Against Medical Accidents

Remember...
When comic books were the real big thing
and kids everywhere waited eagerly
every week excited to start reading
the latest Beano or Dandy
Remember…
Enjoying Dennis the Menace and Gnasher,
Minnie the Minx and the Bash Street Kids,
Roger the Dodger, Scrapper and Basher,
Beryl the Peril and Billy Whizz.
Remember…
Thinking Bully Beef and Chips were so great;
the awful things that Bully would do!
Not forgetting Desperate Dan and Keyhole Kate
who were always fantastic too.
Remember…
When we used to read the Sparky or the Topper
or the Buster or even the Beezer
without of course forgetting the Victor
or Roy of the Rovers either.
Remember…
When they had the Bunty for girls too,
the Mandy and Judy as well,
which many boys would read it is true;
though all promised never to tell!
Remember…
Waiting patiently each year for Santa to bring
the Annual edition of your favourite one,
spending hours on Christmas Day just reading;
and reading was the best thing under the sun!
Remember…
When everyone joined their local libraries
soon after schooldays had begun
When you were sure to find a book to please
and reading was so much fun.
Remember…
When books transported us to another world,
each new book a revelation,
instilling in us a love of the written word;
really fuelling our imagination!
Remember…
How much enjoyment you got from reading
and what little effort it really took,
how the pressures of life soon began receding
when you immersed yourself in a book.
Remember…
To try and make time to read a good book,
to take time out every now and then,
and you never know, with a bit of luck;
You might fall in love with reading again.

I play the same song,
set that beat on repeat
so, I can write and think
or think and write
about my strange life.

A glass complexion,
distorted reflection
filled with old and new
shades and hues
of my personal truths.

Like a mirror I exist in
the dark hallways
from old schooldays
as I crept quietly
to get whatever ology
book I needed
to do my homework.

Like late Friday nights
working with my mom
at the daycare center
cleaning up
to save her a couple bucks
as I listen to the cheers
an see the searing stadium lights
from the high school
less than a block away.

Like red flesh swelling up
though not quite bruising,
from the anger of a parent
who felt some unknown rage
that I cannot decode;
Silent stares in contemplation
facing the man in the mirror
with a queer confused face,

My memory is
like a baby bird
that sat straddling
the thin brown branches
barely balancing
precariously
close to falling.

we only ever meet
in the mornings and
afternoons of schooldays

in the time we are apart
I think of a million
things to say

but the moment we meet
my mind goes blank,
words are lost,
I have no idea what to say

I walk awkwardly with you
not speaking a word until
you talk first

it ***** because
there are so many things
I want to say to you.

In a patch of sundried earth
dark cracks emerge.. forms resembling maps
remembered from schooldays and Google..
Appearance of arbitrary lines depicting
States newborn..
Our everyday maps also born of the Sun..
the Sun's artistry with rainfall..the points
of assembly of water in place and flow..forms of
unique identities each subdivided patch..
Raising the question of new possibility of finding
an Awareness.. becoming the Sun and seeing
the patches and lines and States anew
as images projected.. from that projector..
those many miles away...

Schooldays are all but over
the bells will stop ringing soon.
the children will be yelling all day long as they play.
summer is coming
hot dogs and swimming
baseball and hamburgers
as the days get hotter.
summer is coming
fire up the RV for that camping trip.
to the water park we must go.
bike riding and horseshoes
bake bean and ice cream cones.
summer is coming
when will school start again??