From over the bridge
the sky curved into the river
and the winds from the distant hills
carved a smile on his face.

So here he was, at last, all by himself
played upon by a feeling
of being not shadowed anymore
but by the one his very own.

light as the bird, came to his mind,
and making sure no one was around,
he spoke aloud
I'm light as the bird.

Yet a shadow was preying upon him,
an unease, a discomfort, a disequilibrium,
as he heard within, his son saying,

Baba, you need to take a break,
to be with yourself, to be away from us,
to soothe the frayed nerves..

So I have been set free, he thought,
but are the birds really as free
as they appear to be?

So here he was, but his mind was drifting,
and he was calculating like a child.

how many feet below is the river,
would the fall hurt, or would one have to wait,
for the impact with the rushing surface
before the final touch by the boulders?

I shouldn't be perilously close, he stepped back,
muttering three incoherent words..
components of love.

Back to the Rest House,
he was packing his bag.

He was not sure, if his reappearance,
at so short a notice,
would at all be, a pleasant surprise.
Packed cars,
With the dust trailed by rain,
Serenades only heard by the souless,
Spirits speaks of feelings unknown,
There's love and uncertainty in the air,
Excitement with exit wounds bleeding
Airs of nostalgic performances,
Reflections of sunsets on buildings
I'll never know the name of,
Even if I pass by it a thousand more times,
Windy destruction keeps its arms open to beauty,
While this train car creeps through the solitude,
Indescribable feelings,
So poets take to the streets,
With musicians creating soundtrack muses
And my stop is down the line.
Pretty quick
Small talks,
Written in between railroad tracks,
A track going to nowhere,
At least it's beautiful,
The houses look cozy,
Behind their walls we wonder aloud,
If its football or just a get together,
Little lives playing,
Seemingly unimportant roles,
Living lives, on stairway steps,
No longer living lies,
Just breathe
Return to places you've never been,
And feel the love around,
At least it's hear now,
Long timers with only today,
Saying words that feel weighted,
Because they actually know,
Caravans catering to the perpetual,
One night stands,
Take the advice,
And keep the serenity,
You won't feel it till tomorrow,
As you smile at your
Forever frustrating manager,
Leave the destruction back where,
It belongs,
Take your seat,
remember to stay awake,
And hold onto the kisses in the car,
Tomorrow reality is waiting,
And you've only,
Just begun kiddo.
One for me (understandably unintelligible)
  4d Sjr1000
Beneath the tears
That bleed fools dry
The eye of Ares dwells
Peering into eternal night
The darkest blackest hell
There be found
The wretched bound
Trapped within their dream
Whispers of madness
Within their ears
All shall be redeemed
Traveler Tim

This pretty little witch taught me this, try it!
Repeat aloud to cleanse
Evil spirits from houses and homes....

Seriously I wrote it!
Sjr1000 6d
There's a line drive
Down the right field line
One run scores
Two runs score
Tied up in the bottom of the ninth
On a hot summer night
And childhood
Never  dies.
  Sep 10 Sjr1000
I still dream of my father
crossing the pastures
on his one-eyed tractor
mowing acres of sorrow
heading east of a moon
that'll be gone tomorrow
turning one last time as
if to say: so long my son
there’s going to be days
of sunshine and plenty
more of rain as he went
along his way, and my
sadness waved back like
grain in fields of long past
summers and summers
before that, so long a time
ago I can remember only
on lonely nights of heat
lightning and the low
rumble of distant thunder.
A nice surprise on this Monday evening.  Thank you all very much for your reading and very nice comments. Please know that I appreciate all of you and your kind words. Thank you.

* To Ravinder Kumar Soni: Opinion entitled to and noted. Thanks for taking the time to read.
Sjr1000 Sep 1
You talked about the hours
I know what you mean
Two cocoons spinning around each other
Waiting to be born

Nothing personal was the agreement
After awhile

It gets lonely
With nothing else to do but be inside

Not wanting to hide
Or collide
Do we really have that much time?

Two cocoons spinning
You became a butterfly
I became a moth
You flew west
I flew north.
The title is one of my favorite Bob Dylan lines from Your Going to Make Me Lonesome When You Go...
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