Tangled twisted heart,
Tumbled down the road,
Like a scrappy skein of yarn

Knew to ride the gutter's trails,
To weave past boots that stomped and sneered,
Huddle in the cold, hide during hail

Stolen away its many days with the trash and weeds,
By rough desert winds, past red dust clouds,
Snagged and snipped on spindly trees

And with a thud, it hit at once, the ground,
When, with its last exhale, the wind withdrew
That I, left between terracotta clay rocks and budding anthill mounds,
At last looked up and saw, a sky so exceptionally blue

(With regards to International Workers’ Day)



Who said workers are only workers?

They are a gift of heaven

They come for social good;

But return with lots of deterrence

You may treat them like engines

But always remember

There is also a worker

Somewhere within you

Who is keen to protect the dignity

Of these outdoor workers.

Workers are not only workers…

Above all, they are humans

Just like you and me.

flowers
many times they go through
stormy weather
long, cold days and nights
before they can truly take root,
before they begin to grow and bloom.
they start off merely a seed
in the soil inches from the surface,
with water and light
they begin to become
everything they were meant to be.

if flowers can bloom even after the harshest winters
maybe you can too.

- growth is a process

Spring opens up
something more
than the sunlight
through my heavy curtains
It creates new life
where there used to be ash

And that's what we do
getting rid of the old
to welcome the new

And we make do,
with every intake of breath
just for our lungs to have felt
more than rusty and dusty
old anxieties and panic and hurt
and to feel the new air
we grant ourselves

Because life doesn't end in winter
'cause humans persist
against the cold sharp glass of pain
just to see with their eyes
all the goodness and the warmth
and the happiness and the people
that we love and embrace with our souls
reconnecting and recognizing
ourselves in them

The birds speak of a kindred soul
One that basks in the afterglow
of a solemn moon lingering in the daylight

and you watch as nights go on
the way it changes phases
falling in love with the idea
of embracing the volatility of life

real as it is

she incurs the rigours

on her own in a void

far removed from rationality;

out of her element


esoteric whims float in and out

of her headspace;overruled

inexplicable visions,holographs;

phantoms from a past

seemingly remote

overshadow her mindscapes