A singular urge is a first,
reach out and stretch to grasp what's ahead.
Craving the crest of a wave,
we're high on the day as it's made.

Each is a slave where emotions are led,
fixed with impatient aches when we age.
Hard to remember which intentions were sent,
resetting said objectives of late.

Targets in sight from the white of your eye, these short lived events curl up in death.
Less than a wisp as it fades into air,
rolling along to reclaim what we shared.

20k to go
20k of dirt and grit
Pounding out the tread
Rushing through the thoughts in my head

10k to go
10k of twists and turns
Take on another hill
Take on another thrill

1k to the finish
Looks like I'll make it alive
More than a journey of strife
Moreover another page in this wonderful life

in my quiver
are arrows of song
words to pierce
all hearts who hear

sit down; Mexican standoff
side saddle head cocked
readily shot-stare asunder
to paper/pen & the
grinning wince.

employment; where are you
now? You, in current state
gaseous coagulation, you
neither “in the mix” or
ahead.

bullet point; list thoughts
& aspirations, where you
thought you ought to
wish you were here!ing
and not.

T&C; going forward agree
to meet the anticipated
expectations as if you
wore that crown to say
"you own you".

handshake; the formality
contracts its bindings,
and the paper witness
writ as statement that
we will

                 do this again sometime.

You told me
Dreaming only gets you so far
Putting your words to actions will take you the rest of the way.

You told me
I had to close my eyes
Imagine what I want
Put a bulls-eye on it and aim.

He told me
He's willing to fight for what he wants
And that bulls-eye is on me

I told him,
*Sometimes bulls-eye's move, darling

Today I shot a gun.

I aimed at the middle of the heart
stared down the lane
took a breath and
fired directly
at the
target.

The target didn't have a face
or a name

It was a blank canvas
And I painted your features onto it

And God,
Oh god...
did it feel good to fire at you.

Six-year-old me would've been proud
for doing what you should've done years ago.

Now my target looks like your heart.
Full of (bullet) holes.

f.m.s.

Waking among the concrete structures
Starting the day running around in earnest
For chores are plenty and time is handful
To begin a new one-hundred-meter-dash
Trying to outdo each other, in an imaginary race
Every stride we take, the concrete takes away our zeal
There is no cushion for the hectic lifestyle
Taking a toll on our mind and body
We seem to have reached somewhere
But end up at the same station, to catch the train
Inadvertently, packing every coach
Few faces we know from our daily commute
Lots of new faces add up to the crowd
We are an individual, but interspersed in the crowd
Waiting to get-off at the daily destination
The concrete pavements and the concrete buildings
Greets us gloomily, although modern architecture
Facades of glass reflecting off the chaos of life outside
Immediately, we are in a grind of the job
Lost in numerous presentations and graphical projections
The pie charts take the sweetness out of our life
Savoring only percentages, with sprinkling of peppery talks
Targets are set and client’s meet are arranged
To strike out a deal and sign-off the nuptials
It’s a marriage of client and service providers
Where brands are hogging the limelight
For us it’s the race to maintain our saneness
As it’s a daily commute through the concrete jungle