I wrote a poem long ago
As an assignment for class
It was the first I was proud of
That feeling didn't last
It captured something
That rarely I'd place
An ever-present
Mask on my face
It was written there
Now lost forever
A truth I knew
Would bring me no pleasure
Titled "Masquerade"
I thought that was clever
Even used three words
To put rhyme to those letters
It was whole and it was tragic
Though I wrote it stone-faced
Turned it in, to the teacher
With no smile or grace
That page was Rumplestiltskin
Its lines gave form
To thoughts never shared
Within my brain's storm
The poem was an answer
From the hand that wrote it
To a baffled 12-year-old
Who couldn't control it
She gave it back to me
Along with an A
That I stuffed in my pack
And lost the same day

Just lay beneath the stars with me

Pretending that we're kids again

Still dreaming big dreams

Still stealing kisses

Living back in the before time

When we hadn't yet learned

That some people are like matches

And if you hold on too long

You get burned.

Being the eldest son is tough.
You always bear the toughest blows
From punishments and such.
Parents blame you for everything
But thirteen years of it?
God.. That's just too much.

Sure, my sibling is cute,
Smart, and headstrong too,
But they're just such a pain sometimes.
If there's anything to remember,
It's that they're a selfish, stuck-up brat
To the point it should be a crime.

My sibling has ruined my life.
If only I just lived alone.
That would honestly be great...
I wouldn't have to deal with them
Or hear another one of their whines
While they look at me with hate.

I'd have my parents all to myself.
I'd have time to finally relax
And have peace like no other...
I'd waste my time all day
And wouldn't have to share my stuff,
But I wouldn't get to be a brother-
THAT is reward enough.

I sometimes think of growing up
Waking early and brewing cheap coffee
Pouring it in the same old half washed cup
Exchange a cold shower for a couple bucks
Trade happiness for a crooked smile
I could walk to work, but I think I will drive instead
Traffic is soothing
Job security
Misery becomes my amusement
Local radio 8am
Woman won a thousand medallions
Two burnt down houses
Stop short, *******
Now the coffee is on my trousers
Half past nine
Parking lot is packed
Six block walk and twenty minutes of life I will never get back
Hey look its Tim
Tim is divorced with two kids
Grown up stuff I guess
I’ll just follow him in

resonance and echoes past and future function
in time
changing as the knowing grows and grows and grows,

emote the mote in my eye, it never lies
it is the apple I saw in my grandma's eye, one time

-- what good can I do? The noblest of quest ions,
-- allude to the ludicrous joy of being a grandfather

smothered in the laughter of children
laughing at pig farts… just the thought.

When I was a kid,
I thought I could be superman.
But now that I'm older,
I don't think anyone can.  
So, if no one can be a superman,
the next best thing I can be
is a good man.

I have always been reluctant for stepping towards the path of expertise because the kid inside my heart laughs out innocuously on my foibles which I prefer over demeaning.

©  SPRIHA KANT

it used to be that royalty
treated everyone like peasants
not much has changed
though it has been re-arranged
he who holds the money holds the power
now listen kid, cause I know you've read the books and gone to school,
but you must learn a new set of tools
you have to be street smart
if you want to survive
the fact is
if you practice
we might just make it out of here alive