Early morning of an Indian summer,
to hear the pitter-patter of a newbie rock ‘n’ roll drummer,
still music to ears right out of slumber,
just close your eyes and pick your magic number.

For the droplets maybe bringing,
new messages for a worrying mind,
to hold them in a bottle to remind
the force behind the tiny droplets when combined.

Gone are the days of longing to be drenched,
the thirst for beauty has been quenched
moods of creation has in it totally entrenched
tiny sparkles that have those tiny droplets clenched.

Count those wishes,
earth is giving out riches,
just observing those tiny droplets,
will pull imagination like conjuring new puzzle pieces.

You wear my blemishes
you own my flourishes
you bear my pains
you clear my stains
Why do you let me reflect?

Smiling at a whim
speaking to yourself,
shining light within,
sowing happiness around.
Why do you show me what’s real?

Reflection is realization,
realization is beyond imagination,
imagination is always in the presentation, yet
being present now is the true gratification.
Why do you make me think about what’s true?

Oh, mirror - you are not only a reflection
you are a true revelation.
I want to be the person on the mirror.
So, show me how!

If he was with the Queen,
he would be her majestic Cleveland Bay.
But he was with me and
just as regal.

Knowing where to go,
speeding through the meadows in a flow,
judging when to stop with a whoa,
appearing to satisfy my ego,
jumping around the ponds and puddles to forego,
there was no turning or needing to go slow.

I didn’t have to tell him,
he didn’t have to ask me,
I wasn’t heavy for him,
He had a lightness around him.

He wandered,
pondered and
shouldered.
He just did.

Riding for a lifetime,
bonding for a good time,
just know it’s not summertime,
Cos my whitehorse
will be here in no time.

Come, run with me!

For a fairy tale ending,
Scarlettsville would be a good beginning.
a quant little town,
With no more than few hundred living,
I can sit there by the lake all day writing.

She passed me by the book store,
I knew I had to take my pen to tour,
if I were to describe her haute couture,
going to places with her of which I was unsure.

Writing needs no inspiration,
Be it igniting or inviting, just
lighting it thru my own creation,
surely, expecting to return to Scarlettsville, forever my new fairy tale fixation.

I had an addiction,
every word had a new connection,
reading left me with a daily fascination,
even helped me look beyond my own reflection.

I had an addiction,
every sip showed me what was perfection,
Earl Grey or English it was my much needed predilection,
even helped me imagine by recollection.

I had an addiction - maybe I have already said,
sleep it seems came only when I read,
dancing words in my half spinning head,
who knew tea could bring new thoughts when old ideas fled.

They say storms even brewed in a tea cup,
my mind was always brewing when staying up,
tea it seems calmed me and yet charged it up,
go write more books for I will have my secret potion to hold my head up.

I haven’t been to the stars,
I count my blessings with you.

I haven’t been to the moon,
I see my light of love in you.

I haven’t been to the Opera.
I can hear a perfect pitch thru you.

I haven’t reached Mt Everest.
I am on top of the world with you.

I haven’t done many things.
Except my single minded devotion for you.

Driving by the beautiful woods,
I see them every night.
Standing tall and peaceful words at last,
its truly a poignant sight.

I think to myself,
all through the night.
what would mine say?
perhaps a few words of righteous might?

When the time comes,
need I let the world know?
or as the time flies,
do I let the world know me?

Flying like a butterfly,
Spreading your wings willfully,
Shining through your smile truthfully,
Speaking a few niceties naturally, and
Building paragraphs of legacy.
Surely, Epitaph will be no new fancy,
and written for you in permanency.
Not in a stone but in the hearts,
you touched in regular frequency.

I think to myself,
all through the night.
Why then,
should it say anything?
I suppose, its neither wrong nor right.

When your mind is racing like a horse,
You bet on it to go faster,
To places where no man has ever gone before,
Maybe to the prairies and more, and
When there is nothing much left to explore,
You stop to think about it some more, and
You realize just talking to her on the seashore,
You don't need nothing more than her loving encore,
As her charm alone is enough to re-explore

I had a broken bicycle that was in red,
found a new way to contain my sorrow instead,
salvaging the tire got me ahead,
rolling it with a wooden stick I had painted in red.

Famous I became known as the tireless one,
I saved it in my shed to play every day save none,
friends told me wish they had my cheeky grin,
although I wished I was older to buy a shiny new one.

Every spoke of the wheel spoke to me,
I knew exactly the missing ones and there were three,
I haven’t loved anything to this degree,
a new one was in the shed not knowing I was an ardent devotee.

My red wooden stick would stay with me,
telling my dad he can ride the bike like it was a plea,
becoming that creature of comfort as far as I can see,
for I wasn’t ready to hang my tire yet on the summertree.

For three he plays,
For three he strays,
For three he stays.
I stayed and I was one among the nines.

Arias for my Giovanni,
thirty minutes for the thirsty,
it was over too quickly, at the gramercy.
leaving my moods in the open for a mild controversy.

Cozily encased like in a womb,
attached to you by an umbilical cord,
no matter the type of chord,
It was clear you were singing,
through Mozart’s vocal cord.

I was ready to swim in place with you,
to be drenched in musical shower,
with open skies as my shower curtain,
come cleanse my soul,
as my heart tugs,
at your tone in nature.

It’s a beautiful game of back and forth,
showing me life is merely a game too,
winning or losing may have me trying,
so long as you have fun on the court, playing!

On occasions, I couldn’t get through you,
could you lower yourself for me,
Or are you asking
to raise the game within me?

Serving me a volley of ups and downs,
making me come to the net,
playing it on the rise,
taking risk down the line,
but, alas, life doesn’t give you an HawkEye.

Opponents may be many,
courts may be different,
conditions may be new,
keep that passion within you,
for you never know when the match point is on you.

It was an unusual fight,
soldiers and surroundings were primed right,
war cry and emotions were taking flight,
I wasn’t sure how I was going to spend the night.
Who's better in the war of love?

Tears can’t replace war cries,
War horns can’t drown out deafening silence,
Armed armory can’t beat out lonely foot soldiers,
Seeing eye to eye can’t wish away looking past each other.
What’s right in a cry of despair?

I wasn’t Napoleon,
she wasn’t Helen of Troy,
we were made for each other,
yet we seem to be from different eras.

Even as we were battle ready,
it didn’t matter who won,
peace doesn’t come at an expense,
indeed it came at no cost,
'cos you can’t buy love.

Now, who wants to argue about that?

Creek turning into a mighty waterfall,
pebbles taking on rocks in a brawl,
shaping up into a story,
of the mighty underdog.

I had a dialogue with myself,
waiting for my alter ego to find thyself,
no words were said or heard,
search was never-ending and blurred.

Just then it occurred to me,
do words drown out our thoughts,
do thoughts drown out our vision,
does vision gets blurred in the sound?

Be as the pebble,
flow out of the rubble,
make peace with stillness,
for in silence we learn to be one with our own greatness.

Time forgives no mortal soul,
yet immortality is unattainable goal.

Yesterday, I thought I had it under control,
today, I sulk at the thought of tomorrow,
tomorrow, I will be ruing about yesterday.

If time forgave,
I will never be in the present.

Keep going,
keep me honest,
Time!

If I wrote a book,
you will be my central character.
Million copies later,
I may write through your impeccable knowledge.

If I wrote a poem,
you will be in every word.
A couple of views later,
I may speak through your poetic silence.

If I acted in a play,
you will be my audience.
A few applauses later,
I may act out a monologue of glorious affection.

Say hi,
Say hello,
Say no more,
When words stop,
I will understand,
That we are where we need to be.

If I met you in real life,
you will be my soul mate.
A few decades later,
I may seek a second life with you.

So, meet me now! :)

I am here to be known as an elf
forever to be myself
riding my reindeer my only wealth.

Maybe I am the start of the next evolution,
first humans arrived when I wasn’t here,
‘tis only fair that I stay when they left as last remaining sightseer,
know I make my own delusions of grandeur.

Happy to build sculptures and arts as a record of honor,
for the next evolution is right around the corner.
I will be the optimistic Elf,
to become famous when the next new mankind discover,
but knowing that now makes me live forever.

When I search for you,
Will I find you?
When I find you,
Will I meet you?
When I meet you,
Will I tell you?
When I tell you,
Where will you be?

I may not know the words,
but silence is all I speak through.
I may not know the plays,
but character is what”s true.
I may not know the ending,
but beginnings are about due.

I may not be the richest,
but I am richer by you.
I may not be the wisest,
but wisdom in loving you.
I may not be lovable,
but love is all I got for you.

So when I tell you,
Where will you be?

Walking down our memory lane,
reflecting on a damp and shiny frame,
knew you even before you came,
hand in hand we went around mighty Thames.

Walked for eternity through a dark night,
when memories have taken flight,
look, finally, illuminated trees are showing us shadows of Christmas lights,
thinking about you and with you has our future bright.

There we meet again – I like this you know,
emphatically said the sun to the snow,
flash those diamond crystals on me even as you flow,
can’t wait to melt you and bask in your afterglow.

There we go again – it’s a one-way deal when done,
knowingly retorted the snow to the sun,
making shapes out of diamond is what’s fun,
take your warmth elsewhere for the life of one.

Then they spoke again – opposites do attract I suppose,
snow crystals shined the sun like he was dancing on her toes,
unseen colors and fancy hues unlike any other shows,
snow she said just let me keep shining and keep my fancy pose.

Joining hands, sang they did, in chilly warmth - “Let it snow, let it snow”!

Walking down the empty road,
there was absolutely no traffic that flowed,
intrigued by this new journey as we strode,
wait, look around both sides of the road that’s what my mother always told.

It crosses my mind then and there,
we never can change what we wear,
I have asked for a new coat to buy from a fair,
I will stand here until I get an answer fair and square.

My mother told me the reason,
stripes are there on us all season,
for one-day when you runaway from here,
you will find us back with our peculiar fashion, do you hear?

Now, move on, stay in line guy,
she said with her head held high,
and count the other stripes,
I put my head down not showing my gripes.