Is there winter in her mirror?
This morning, she woke up to the sense of first snow.
Her roses bloomed. Still she was afraid to look at herself.
On the bridge, not far from her windows, someone held a dozen balloons, letting them float into warm sky, one by one.
One after one snowflakes fell in a parallel world.
She put her white linen dress on and went outside.

Cries for help
Are not cries for attention
I mean
Sometimes
A little attention
Is all that person
Ever really needed
Just to know
You're not alone
You're not the only one
Who lies awake at night
And waits to die
I'd be a lie
If I said
I haven't tried
And these people
With their masks on
They tell me
All you ever write about
Is suicide
But they're wrong
I write
For hope
I write
To cope
I write
To let you know
You're not alone

It's ok not to be ok

I met her picking apricots
from the wayside.
She said her name was Rita,
and she sang sweet songs
to mellow my heart,
where she went afterwards
was only told as a legend.

If I were you
and you were me ,
would you make as much sense
as I made of you?
If aye was nay  
what a convoluted situation
it would be.

As i walk on this path,
I see so many actors.  

Some act out of compulsion.
Some act out of proposition.  

The Performance may be on any Stage.
All seem to be in some sort of a cage.

I wish  I could have act many a times
But failed miserably n number of times.

To be a mere spectator did i decide
Rather than to be many who later cried.

Carleigh is thinking of you,
she wishes happy birthday
and hopes the weather isn't drear.
She's the girl with the right answers
who lives alone with Topsie her cat
and has an orchard of Apple trees.
She likes the personal touch
with fragrant letters she send to you,
and bicycle rides in the early spring.
But never pigeonhole her,
her smile has so much abundance.