Neither sleet nor snow nor filigree
The desert is ever brusque
Cloudless and cold, an empty gray sea
Hollowed and hid, December's decree
I wake and see the dusk

mid-afternoon sunrays beam
against the blanketed city snow,
your miles away this December
wishing on the same falling stars.

Saturday trains murmur dusk-cascaded gleam
you're across the Atlantic shore
seasonal depression combating
last-second windswept bliss

unfinished song-writes seem
inkless on half-folded paper airplanes
for hidden chances and empty truths
lone twilight in streetlights mold

I survived a life-threatening,
Coma-inducing & memory-debilating
High-speed road accident in May ‘10.
I survived COVID12,
The SARS-COV12.
Now I even survived COVID19.
I, howsoever, know what I am.
I am a mortal. Perishable.

DEAR PENPAL PEOPLE, I hate deja vus-or not:


lines read and eyes grew

to an unspoken realization of deja vu

flames burnt and strokes ignite

to the regretting moment upon your hideous sight

wheels spun and tables turn

to the delve of my stomach it eventually churned

looks struck and gazes locked

to a cover of cornered arms it blocked

breaths stolen and visions blur

to invite the blaze to an open door

nerves bulge and cut the knives

to hit the heart of that levitating soul in those cursed midnights

for the years to flood and the memories to be remembered

to flourish dark days of delight to December

kicked the laws and loaded the guns of cries

to get that brain of wonders into a real peaceful state of mind


                                                                                    ------ravenfeels