Didn’t you ever
Hear the Saints of Night
The way they lingered and whispered
And took away all our fright.
That one brusque evening
You looked into eyes
Stars spelled wisdom
And burned away sins
All the skies.
Akin to my demons
My fears spelled the plight
Of virtue and forgiveness
How did you make it all right?

Drunk in a café
Under the beach house
At night.
You smiled like it could
Last and that is why I sighed
With hope that this moment
Could freeze but you turn
To tell me: it’s over,
The hard part has begun.

We danced on shattered glass
As our feet bled to bone
But happy, oh, I was
I didn’t have to be alone.
The moonlight shone brightly
And razed all my homes
Of free falls and train wrecks
The silence choked me more.

It stung, the common sight
Of being apart and far off
The shore.
I swore I could plunge in
Deep and let go.
It purged me of essentials
To let my memories
Out the door.
But conviction that held me
Urged me to get off
The floor.


The friend that I needed
Was killed in a war
Of preposterous vulnerability
That I couldn’t evade
Even now.
I searched and I failed
Till one night I saw
I didn’t need my friend
Or an image for someone
To draw.
I slipped into a rabbit hole
That I knew held the key
To a place if I entered
I would not flee.
There you stood with shoulders
So broad and so sure
If I was in a crisis
You’d do more than just cure.

Now we’re back to the Café
The beach house
At night.
It’s stormy and ravenous
Of destruction tonight.
You’re talking and slowly
Your breath means more
Than the humour that escapes
Your perpetuating aura-

Let’s elope.

Those pen marks
That keep you up
Through nights are just a cure
For when you thought
They knocked and opened
And barged in through your door.

You feel lofty and lost
And so obscure,
That it fills you up with beauty
You end up carving on your own.

You never ask
You never tell
You're a byline
Underneath, unread.

Maybe that's why
When they were scared
They called for help
Didn't hear you yelp
No, no, no.

Sometimes when I stop
And stare, at the quick and easy.
I question rather repeatedly,
The direction of the wind so breezy.
An entrapment of original ideas,
Which makes no one want to flee.
But then I think that maybe,
The woods are lost, not me.