I will float
somewhere between my dreams
and the darkness of reality
this space holds a truth
that only my blind eyes can see
if I cease to believe
I will no longer exist
lost in space
falling upwards
into the abyss

The words love, sorrow,

and kiss are so beautiful --


that I dream of them.

I woke up in the middle of the night,
A ghost was sitting by my side.
He asked, “How was your sleep?”
I replied, “Why are you looking at me like a creep?”
“I wanted to know if you had a good sleep.”
“Well, not with someone watching me.”
“Shall I sing you a lullaby ?”
“I wish you’d just go away.”
“Well, I only came to say Hi.”
“Do you really need a reply?”
“No, my work here is done.”
As he left, my breath returned, and my eyes opened wide.

Have you ever made a cup of tea on a lazy afternoon,
sipping it and getting lighter almost like an air balloon?
Have your cold hand ever searched for another hand like for a glove?
Have you ever needed a shelter? Have you ever been in love?

Have you ever cried when Spring came and touched a death man's face,
and he opened his dead eyes, and the flowers grew from them?
Have you ever seen a seagull circling skies the sea above?
Have you ever watched a sunset? Have you ever been in love?

Have you ever crossed a river, knowing there is no return
to the places you have graced with your doubtful confidence?
Have you ever found the answer, when the steel push came to shove?
Have you ever thought you were nothing? Have you ever been in love?

Is there something you remember that keeps you awake at night?
Who is to blame for these tears? Maybe you just care  too much?
Is there someone you are missing, even if they are with you?
Oh, I know this awful feeling. I am missing someone too.

You are as
The silver moonlight
Which with its grace
Dances on the surface of this lake.
You, who penetrates my depths
And ripples into my being
Causing waves to quake.
I will be your shelter,
In my open arms
I will be your rest.
I will be as the caves of old,
Within me you may find peace
From the raging tempest of the world.
You may shutter your eyes and dream,
For the fire will remain
Even if to fuel it, I must burn.

I never usually dream,
But I dream of you
And the fact that I do is torturous.
Perhaps, it is punishment
For what my mind perceives as guilt.
And like every poor sod
I wonder,
Do you think of me too?