The carrot and the thread are still
my calves and hooves, motionless
chewing on a bitter pill
eyes take in the stillness

A slight neigh to sigh a sigh
the usual sounds and usual grunts
the clicking tongue, a pitch too high
pavement castanet-ing
under screaming sun

The carrot and the thread begin to sway
my calves and hooves, they shake
chewing on spit and year-old hay
eyes that want to take

A step and a clack, forward I move
A step and a clack, the carrot too

A wander, canter, gallop or trot,
Your body becomes one with the horse.
As new movements pulse, pain is forgot;
Nature’s beauty relieves pain from the source.

Silence replaces the busyness of life,
The trees sound out their own tune.
Animals show us how to live,
And their movement illuminates how we can thrive.

Storm in the city,

dashing on the brick pavement:


police on horseback.

Wow! I just had a flashback,
To the ‘good old days’
When there were no cars
And everyone says,
‘Hello, how are you?'
We’ve streamed ahead so fast:
Hundred miles an hour,
But going nowhere that will last.
And yet, there was a bright spot 
This morning, when a lady
Rode her horse right by me,
I stopped at the same cafe, 
where I was drinking my coffee.
I was so surprised, I gasped,
And even took a snap.
I needed that, to get me out
Of my nap, and indulgent life choices.

i will continue sleeping
and the wild horses will keep on running
with each gallop of their hooves
they'll match the clap of my heart
until they trip over themselves
with exhaustion
breaking their ankles
and never rising again

Where could it be?
Where is this taking me?
My hopes are anything but high.
My ink for poetry is running dry.
Where is my one horse running off to?
Where exactly is the end of the rainbow?
I keep searching and screaming for it.
I keep yearning and yelling for this.
Still, it could be me and you.
Still, despite the shades of blue.
The last nugget of gold that I will rush to.
The last star that's burning in the metro.
This city ain't big enough for both of us,
but your room might just be.
There ain't room for both of us in this town,
but in my bed there might just be.

But do you know that all of these takes time?
That you simply can't just wake up good?
That this is one thing you can't do online?
That this is more than wearing boots?
But do you know how much time is mine?
That you might wanna share perhaps?
But do you know how long must I ride?
Before you enter the arena and do laps?
But do you know that all of these takes time?
That even the greatest cowboy can fall?
That if you think it could be anywhere,
could it possibly be on my bed or hall?
Do you know that it takes hell of a practice?
But then if it's the art of cantering,
my body is but one masterpiece,
you are a renaissance artist.
But if a horse is poetry in motion,
your legs writes classic novels
I don't wish to ever end.
And if this little tryst is all but a play,
then we better make it worthwhile
do it best more than a playwright.

The more I ride, the more he fades away
and the more he blurs when it's a rainy day.
The more I trot, the less he catches on
and the lesser he gets my prized attention.
Because the more we run on the field,
the more I breathe, live and feel.
Because the more we canter out and about,
the less I feel the worries, fears and doubts.
But you are the vast lands that I will uphold,
you are the range of mountains with golds.
You are the trail that the champions follow,
you are where families will bloom and grow.
You are my Olympus and achilles' heel,
he's just the dirt on my boots.
You are my final will and death hill,
he's just another old saloon.