the stories of women you write sonnets upon , or the ones on caricatures
i consume.
they're all fiction to me.

for the women i know are all looking out the window, wandering into endless abyss.
or waiting on tiptoes - to be tied down
in the bonds of 'holy' matrimony.
when they were young,
living on dictums of
father and brothers was an
unspoken, but frequently
enforced trend.
now no longer lean saplings, (who could be stomped upon with ease)
but sprawling, majestic trees
with branches chartering territories
that remain  forbidden  for the tree.
their offshoots
are sheared (for they can't be crushed with ease)
in the name of honour.
to ebb out all the figments of
rebellion, the tree
might hold in it's gamut.
still tamed in the garden,
a new gardener comes in place.
a slightly younger one, who
comes with his own tenets.
restraining her with a
strap, in the name of modesty.
he satiates himself by strangling
last shreds of revolt
her father couldn't slay.
the woman is caged in bars of shame,
all in the name of  honour.
yet again.
why is it that the women i know only lessen with age?
but the men smirk upon,only inflating their slyness. as the years grow on them.

There we are
Bundles of thoughts and nerves
We plan and script
Burn the midnight oil
Chartering paths and mapping
Defining destinations
But then, life happens

And it will

I suppose I could brood
And close tired eyes
Or I could lasso a cloud
And hitch a ride to paradise

There was a rich man trapped in a dangerous pit along a less traveled path in the desert... another traveler heard the screams but did not move to help because it could possibly cause him harm… as he walked away he suddenly recognized the mans voice and remembered his bountiful wealth…in an instance he ran to the pit and extended his hand at much risk to his health—
He raised the rich man on his shoulders rejoicing as he carried him back to his land. Only a minute into their journey they stepped over a half eaten carcass contorted in the sand. What a disgraceful way to die they both agreed….. Changing the subject the rich man vowed to make a statue of his courageous rescuers face and in reply the traveler exploded “No need I’m just happy your safe!” But deep in the invisible dark silence of his soul he brooded violently about how much reward and recognition he could possibly receive…

The day before the rich man was rescued there was an elderly man that was blind and mute and for hours he frantically tried to track the location of desperate screams to their roots. He clapped his hands and stomped his feet risking his very life by chartering blind in unmapped terrain....Even in his greatest effort he missed the pit by 50 yards. The rich man in the pit heard his noisy attempts and all along cursed his name for not helping but still that didn't stop the blind and mute man from trying. Within his persistent attempts he critically gashed open his leg against a jagged stone and began bleeding out. Alone the old man cried himself to death as his blood soaked in the grains of the dessert. He could still hear the rebukes of the man in the pit cursing his soul as the coyotes fought over his wounded flesh....with his last bit of life the old man wished in his heart that the man in the pit would be safe..............................

midst the sparkling stars
sailed a luminous moon
chartering night seas

My quest will continue,
Till the end of time,
Across all realms,
And, the spacetime continuum,
Beyond all known dimensions,
While chartering new destinations,
For that one blessing,
To lay my eyes on you again,
Even amidst a hurricane,
And, feel what I felt before,
For the first time even more!

When you hold me in your arms
It's like living in suspended animation
The feeling of my heaviness
Floating away
Like an unanchored boat
Chartering towards tomorrow.
Not a care in the world

As I feel the interlocking of your hand and mine
I embrace the sensation
The connection between us
Your body heat warming my skin
Like hot chocolate on a winter's day.

My anxiety of a day's work
Collapsing in your kindness
I embrace you
Your arms...
Your eyes...
Your lips...
As if in this moment
They existed just for us
A feeling, a connection
Only experiential
Between one you
And one me

An energy transfer
Designed in the universe
Just for our two souls

The sky turns hard
Like cauliflower,
And bleeds me out.
It turns hard,
Because I do.
I am the blood of the Earth
And bile, its running waste.
I am its health chorus.
I have known many faucets,
Creaky most, unknowing of any grander plot,
Chartering my way through lime and rust,
I have known many faucets.
I have also known mountaintops.
Places where the air is clean,
And in its own pace blows freshly over my back.
I am, on the mountain, a slumbering snowcap.
I blanket the mountaintop, I am locked with it
In a never ending kiss.
I have known places in the countryside
Where the air breathes nearly as fresh,
Sweeping down from the mountains
Thinking of me mostly, in an open talk.
I have known cities,
Where I am not so well received,
Where I must pound myself between the brick buildings,
Places drowning in nooks and crannies,
I am not so well received, though I try so hard
To reach every surface.
I slide down the sides of walls, I tremble from the slide of awnings,
I mix with gravel.
I am your dirt, your cleanliness.  I feed the doves.  I drown insects.
I wash the air between your city lives, leave your cars and livelihoods
Shining.  I am washed away by the sun, but never leave.
You see me in your gutters.  You see me in your grates.
You cannot live without me.