Etched soul trapped in the melancholic croon of a capricious muse
Basking in the delusional opulence of plush velvet blues~

Once thither was an ordinary town, ordinary life & an ordinary man
Peter his name and his wifey Rosanne
I wonder those days how love survived?
His dram brick house & a few chinks in a can.

A day of labour with skin burnt to tan
Reality surfac'd when struggles of life began
No longer the lovely skin, time couldst not be bribed?
Once thither was an ordinary town, ordinary life & an ordinary man.

Cheap food, handmade robe, nay meiny to fan
No ego, nay jealousy, working together in the plan
No paint'd faces 'r artifice and yet their love thrived?
Love - a soulful existence today cozen'd and lied.
No riches nay leisure but an amicable life-span
Once thither was an ordinary town, ordinary life & an ordinary man.

© Dr. PRERNA SINGLA, 26 JULY, 2015

Never knew how the moon felt
when it left the sky
for the sun to shine
until I became the moon,
and you the sun.
I'd always whisper,
"love you more than those ******* before"
and you'd reply,
"love you more than those other *******"
but I was left behind,
and you were on a ride to wonderland,
where the girls who fall in love with angels aren't invited.
You were my angel.
And I was your past.

My heart makes a beat, skips like a song, wine, love comes to mind, heart beats faster when words are spoken to you, oh love... Shivers down my spine, heartbeat gets faster like a drum beat...  Sweet nothings in your ears, I can make love to you with my words, make my heart flutter once again, lets live again, heart skips a beat ... ❤

and they asked me about you.

I taught them the color of your eyes
and how to spell your name,

I taught them the importance
of August 8th and October 1st,

and reminded them about the time
that even the All-Knowing

miscalculated your worth.

The nightly news suggested that my clan and friends
and poetry and me gather all of our things
and evacuate the city but because my folk
are people in the margin, people in financial

strain shaped by oppression, I have - instead - loaded things
and bodies into a single caravan and am
en route to you because you are smoother and longer
and stronger, taller than the tallest road in the world.

In my mind, you have become the road; a road whose peak
is 18,000 feet, a road whose place is between
the East and West, a road whose beginning has no end
and a road whose end has no beginning - none at all.

Heavy rain. Flood water. High wind, the weatherman said.
For years, I have been compelled to take this road, to ride
its curves with finesse, to drift in a single gear for
miles, to go and go and go on the smoothest road 'round.

For years, I have been compelled to take this road, to be
elevated at 18,000 feet - yes, to be
transported closer to heaven, to be and be and
be on the longest, strongest, tallest road in the world.

En route, an elderly man asked me, Why her, young man, why
her? I shifted gears. Accelerated up a hill
of you and said, Because she has exceeded all things.
Exceeded what, young man, exceeded what? Do tell. Do.

All other roads and passageways, the labyrinth of
life, everything, sir, everything.

And how do you know we will survive along this road?
he asked.

Because no matter the point of origin, so long
as we are on the road of her, there will be fields whose
crops are plenty - always in season, brooks whose water
never recoils, and rivers of milk that do not spoils.

and that's it.

Today, more than
yesterday.

Today, less than
tomorrow

and that's it.

The soil recognizes
the vibration of your
soft soul and soft soles
when you walk around
the garden's edge.

Grounds from every corner
of the world hasten
to be underneath your feet.

Twenty dignified, upright,
and humble footsteps
from the lilies
to carnations

and much of the earth
is covered.

By my life's end and lost poem
the world will be covered with you.

Your name and scent and actions
will be written and then scattered

upon pages and hearts and stones,
upon date-trees, grape-leaves, and palms

for centuries to come.