I wish you’d rise above it all
And be the person I thought I saw.
The loving parent I dreamed you’d be,
Cherishing your kids unconditionally.
But once again, I see the truth—
That dream was never meant for you.

You taught us right from wrong, it’s true,
But failed to practice what you knew.
Believing yourself better than the rest,
Yet you’re no top-notch, high-class success.
Not even the middle ground you aspired to be,
But the dollar store version of what a parent shouldn’t be.

Your children are shattered, broken, and torn,
But instead of reflection, you point and scorn.
Blaming others, yet blind to this fact:
Every hand shaped the pain we’ve packed.
One told us love wasn’t ours to claim,
That our worth was tied to our weight and shame.
Another sought love and found none to give,
While one taught us grace in how to live.
The rest hid away, their courage sold,
Leaving us with lessons both cruel and cold.

But you, you’re the real masterstroke—
You taught us to carry everyone’s yoke.
To put ourselves last, to give and give,
Till there’s nothing left in us to live.
Now we’re all broken in different ways—
One’s near the grave, another astray,
And the last just fights to make it through the day.

They cry softly at night, their breath so thin,
You wouldn’t notice—it doesn’t fit in.
All they’ve ever wanted was to make you proud,
To feel seen, even once, above the crowd.
But your plans for them twist and betray,
Stealing their hope and their dreams away.

You rob them of money, of land, of peace,
All for a façade that will never cease.
Chasing a life to save face at work,
Pretending you’re more than a person who shirks.
But the truth is plain for all to see—
You’ve failed them, and you’ve failed me.

A thought is just a thought.
A dream is just a dream.

Because at nighttime dreams are thoughts in action.

On the road, moving forward.
Destination random small-town Euphoria.  
Calm and peaceful visuals.
Green grass and trees.
Hilltop views that would make mountain views jealous.  
Down the country roads.
Over some unnamed creeks.
Passing over rivers I never knew.
It's a strange, beautiful peace.
It's what my mind awards me when I sleep and dream.
Town festivals with strangers.
So far away yet so close to home.  
And toward the end of it all.
A calm rain sings.
A soothing song of nature awakens me.

To dream of about suicide is a wage to not wake up dead, a struggle
to rise from the depths of despair. In the heart of a collapsing
mansion, I find myself amidst a vast courtyard, pondering if this
opulence will ever be mine. A magnificent tennis court lies before me,
its fragile barrier barely containing the grotesque monsters lurking
beyond. They cling to the fence, their claws poised to strike, yet I can’t
help but grin, for these fiends are but reflections of my own tortured
psyche.

Where shall I find solace in dreams, when each dream is just a false
awakening loop; each threshold leads me further into a deeper
threshold? On the sixth day of my futile escape, I realize my
confinement is not of brick and mortar, but of the haunting messages
buried within the restless slumber I can never fully embrace.

                                     This life is a false narrative!

It’s hidden in my heart,
Behind lock and key,
Always present,
Yet never free.

Spoken into existence so long ago,
As bridges burned ever so slow.
I didn’t mean to bury these dreams so deep,
But in fragile spaces, they could not sleep.

I couldn’t let them define who I was,
For fear of a mold,
Shaped by others' expectations
Of what they thought was right for me.

They were ever so close—
A whisper of truth, a flicker of light—
But really, they were far,
Out of reach, hidden in the night.

Now, it doesn’t matter;
The dream stays locked in my heart.
It cannot escape; it cannot exist.
The time has passed; it’s too late for this.

It takes two to want this dream to breathe,
But why does its captivity still grieve me?
Why does it staying locked feel so wrong?
A quiet ache that lingers so long.

Maybe, just maybe, he’ll want this too,
And in one shared moment,
He’ll break through,
Unlocking the door, setting us both free,
A shared vision of love and legacy.

But I don’t think he will;
That fear runs deep,
A shadowed truth I hold and keep.

And so I whisper to myself,
“It’s the divine’s will,
A path unseen, a space to fill.”

Yet still, the lock presses heavy on my heart,
Its weight a reminder of dreams kept apart.
I wonder, I hope, but silence remains,
And in the quiet, I feel the pain.

ख्वाबों की दुनिया में खोए, हम चलते हैं,
हर मोड़ पर नए रंगों से भरते हैं।
सपने जो आँखों में पलते हैं,
उनकी हकीकत की तलाश में, हम बढ़ते हैं।

कभी चाँद की रोशनी में, कभी सूरज की किरणों में,
ज़िंदगी के सफर में, हम खुद को खोजते हैं।
हर मुश्किल को हंसते-हंसते, पार करते हैं,
क्योंकि उम्मीद की किरण में, हम जीते हैं।

सच्चाई की राह पर, कदम बढ़ाते हैं,
अपने अंदर की आवाज़ को सुनते हैं।
हर पल में छिपा है एक नया अध्याय,
हम अपने ख्वाबों को सच में बदलने का जज़्बा रखते हैं।

हर सुबह नई उम्मीदों से भरी होती है,
सपनों की बुनाई में, ज़िंदगी की लकीरें होती हैं।
कभी मुस्कान, कभी आँसू, हर रंग का स्वाद चखते हैं,
इस खूबसूरत सफर में, हम खुद को और गहराई से समझते हैं।

फूलों की खुशबू में, हम प्यार को महसूस करते हैं,
हर रिश्ते की मिठास में, हम अपनेपन को खोजते हैं।
कभी बादलों की छांव में, कभी बारिश की बूँदों में,
हम अपनी खुशियों की कहानी, हर लम्हे में लिखते हैं।

इस जीवन की किताब में, हर दिन नया पन्ना है,
हम अपने सपनों को जीने का, हर पल एक नया मौका पाते हैं।
चलते रहें इस राह पर, हाथों में हाथ लिए,
क्योंकि हर कदम पर है, एक नई कहानी लिखने का जज़्बा लिए।

of the molecules of the water they will
swim in, that flow by my citybounded
abode in a tidal estuary
heading fir dispersal and aspersions
into the Great Atlantic Ocean
which I will visit
come the spring,
and are etched yet then
within the relentless
waves of the those very same atoms, upchurning and upspitting
white foam which will
very lively likely contain
new poems, perhaps,
perhaps even,
those writ by fish
in their dreams,
for who actually knows
the original origins
of the dreams
we drink daily,
not I,
who finds them
when the wet smoke of
fog of evaporated
water
kisses my lips!

P. S. perhaps I have written poems
authored by the very same fish
you held in your grasp once upon
a time in a photo)

In the dim night without stars,
I sail on the lonely sea
There are times I wish return,
Tracing the gentle light from the lighthouse of memories
But I realize, I can’t fight the current of your love that has docked.

People say, time is a wise sailor,
Guiding the ship of my heart to calm
But often, I get lost,
Choosing to drift away from the lighthouse’s light
The farther I go, the more I lose your light.

The beginning of this journey was like sailing in a storm,
Waves of doubt crashing mercilessly
But as time goes on, the winds become friendlier,
Carrying my ship towards calm waters
The longer I sail, the easier it is to navigate my heart.

Now in the ocean of dreams,
I continue the voyage we once planned
Though without you, I repair all the damage to my ship
I don’t know, the hardness of the coral reef, as hard as the belief that you still pray for me
Be happy, my lighthouse, I have come this far.

my fingers, desperately tracing – tear through the fabric of my sheets;
in my dreams people recite such beautiful poems... oh, how I wish I
could have written them all down. i fought myself in a dream battling
my own spirit to awaken, but all I was able to write down was...

                                                         ­  silence!

now, I yearn to return to that ephemeral instant, riding the rails of my
mind – a train of thought; aboard a back train seeking the lost echoes
of my backed-up thoughts.

                                        that last train to find a another poem!

Drowsy afternoon
Rainbow rolls across meadow
Ancient vision springs
Gaining altitude
Oneness whispers to all things
Now in me find peace

Drift on fragrant breeze
Roses and lavender bloom
Encouraged by rain
Active wild blossoms
Matter unfolds energy
Space and time unbound