I don't listen half as much as you do,
You don't understand what I'm referring to.
And this conversation is a mine field,
let's retrace our steps, I fear...
It's not me, it's not you, it's just circumstances misunderstood.
(I just keep on changing but I don't know how to tell you).

You don't really think I should have done that,
but do you really know where I'm at?
And your questions feel like an objection,
sending me in the other direction...
It's not me it's not you, it's just our circumstances misunderstood.
(I just keep on changing but I don't know how to tell you).
But it's okay, it's the way it goes, along the road, beside a river.
Anyway it flows, no one can tell it where to go.

so i locked the door and let you fully entrap me,
and threw out the key,
because it's too easy....

but truly,...
day by day,
please, why should you tell only lie?
to me...
such my lonely cry...

but now i know,...
i have to just wake up and go!
get out there!
close my heart and live free
that's the only way you'd let me flee...

Direction can bamboozle me
An autist mind thinks different
As if in a maze, so divergent
Can his thoughts be
Getting lost so often
Every new place seems alien
Looking to trap you
Till you lose yourself
From asking for directions
To seeing shakes of heads
Losing hope due to inaction
Not getting any leads
Especially when it's south Mumbai
I hop on to a bus
As it goes on and on, I cuss
Wishing I were back in Chennai
Predictably I get down at the wrong stop
Greeted by a run-down lane
I was early, now late
My panic rises to the top
As taxi-wallahs say no
Even as I give various landmarks
I wonder where shall I go
I am clearly in the dark
I see a gentleman in a car
Probably my last hope
I plead for help
Thus apparently lowering my bar
The gentleman offers a drop
Which I gladly accept
A big relief in this heat
As the ride comes to a stop
He says we will meet later
Since he stays in my locality
In him I saw a lot of humanity
As my day suddenly got better
I had got the inspiration
For writing my next poem
In such an interesting fashion

in the east
there is sand, and fire, and oath;
in the west
there is another plague
of the mind and the soul;
in the north
the solitude of every snowflake
can be felt;
in the south
the ancients are rotting
forgotten because
their stories don't sell

Directions

Maybe people who can’t tell directions have no directions in life.
Those same people end up being…
Some of them follow others path’s and a few of them make their own.
Why is it so hard trying to figure out your path, who you are and what you like.
Why is it that when people ask me questions, I hesitate with an answer.
hesitant at first because I want to please them. How about this; I don’t need your validation.
I don’t need your opinions or suggestions. I don’t care.
I really hate when people ask me those type of questions; as if they want to categorize me.
I’m not made to be put in a box. I won’t ever be.  Stop trying to label me or figure me out.
I’m everything I need to be.

(a repost)


<----???----->


When we're          
                    D    
                    O
 ­                   W
                    N...... b e l o w......    
                                                     ­           ­              P!!!
                                  ­                                       U _                      
                                                               ­       |
             there's no other way, but......_|




Sally


Copyright November 2014
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan