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 Feb 2015 Lost Soul
mja
I often envisage love
as snowflakes-

Each of us have it different
but it’s really just the same
with its imperfectly etched beauty
only few can comprehend

Its beauty can never be
expressed in words
or even a sliver
of what it’s worth

The snowflakes are piling up
and the shivers are ethereal
we don’t even realize
that it drives us delirious

The snowflakes keep piling up
but it doesn’t end here
it’ll drown us in its avalanche
and leave us gasping for air.



-m.j.a
in that lane least trod
by light glaring broad
up the window evergreen
never outgrowing her teen
shaking waves of her curl
waves merrily the girl

a little bit surprised
i look deep in her eyes
and oh what a joy
find there a wonder boy!
as i turned at the bend
the house showed up

at the gate she stood
smiling at me
her hair fell down on her back
black slightly curled
perfumed oil fragrant
which when she raised her hand to comb
revealed her navel
that like every other day
lusted me to grab her
press her onto me
coalesce
till i would not know
the part that was she
the part that was me.

the house stands freshly painted
there's a woman at the gate
but she is not her.

i sniff the wind for her fragrance.

twenty years is a long time
but why my lust still seeks her

why these hands burn
to grab her just once

do the time we leave behind
and the space
immortal?
a friend of my friend said
the ******* the second floor flat
two blocks from your house
is in love with you.

is it the girl i ask
that spreads smiles on my way
everyday

or the one
throwing admiring glance
whenever i happen to pass

or the bubbly pretty who gazes
so long the road
shows me to her

nay you fail
says my friend's friend

she prefers to be shyly far
from her lover
 Feb 2015 Lost Soul
Paige
Of course,
I knew I'd always
like you.
You talked like his poetry,
although you'd never read
Bukowski.
The real shame about our
short lived time together,
is that I never told you your
voice sounded like poetry,
and your hands felt like poetry,
your mouth tasted like poetry,
and your eyes looked like poetry.
Beautiful.
I see the flowers are blooming again
Bees are humming around
Beauty is now no more hidden
Nature plays its role silently

I touch, touch and feel again
I touch, touch the time
That fills my heart again

Butterflies are rounding me
Grasshoppers are playing through the garden
As if my memories play with my springtime

I touch, touch and feel again
I touch, touch the time
That fills my heart again

There is no pain no sorrow
As if I am playing with my pal
When I was a boy and mother
Waiting for me at the end of the tract

I touch, touch and feel again
I touch, touch the time
That fills my heart again
In A Spring Garden
reflects smiles
mirrors pains
its beauty beguiles
entertains

wakes up heart
opens door
transcends art
furthermore

swells in vein
its maddening flow
drops as rain
on parchment glow

once seeded within
grows deep root
makes you come clean
speak only truth

soul's inked beat
pearls dug from deep
in true spirit
have it worshipped.
Poetry is a spirit; they that would worship it must worship in spirit and in truth.
(E.M. Forster: The Celestial Omnibus)
They flowed easy the tears of her
In her core was a kindness’ river
With a heart of gold a love too pure
Her bags were full with pains to endure!

Married at teen and a widow too soon
Her youth dark dimmed an eclipsed moon
Dragged to abyss and feasted upon
Bereft a blood she could call her own!

A wonder her life though ravaged much
Growing not hard she broke to the touch
Would come to grief at others’ pain
Her cheeks overflowing in sobbing rain!

As a child I felt at a time now far
On one short span spent with her
When my innocence could easily tell
Neath her frame was an earthly angel!

Wasn’t a beggar returned from door
A stray unfed to die on the road
She was there with a saving aid
Her own life though was left unpaid!

As I write this rebel locked tears
Break floodgates of long lost years
Reveals from the mist a haloed face
Of an angel of love and godly grace!
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