At the tiffin break they surrounded him all wanted to have a look
He held it tight in the dim class light in his hand the hidden book
The boy was proud for the gathered crowd each wanted to win his trust
Went on to plead made frantic bid reading the book was a must.

With no option he started auction the boy saw in the deal a chance
For the mystery book seemed worth more than a mere cursory glance
I stole a look at the tempting book leapt my heart of a curious child
On the cover glowed bright in dripping blood the title ‘Mysteries of the Wild’.

In childish imbalance I lost all sense was gripped with one mad desire
Come what may at whatever cost from the boy the book I must hire
The boy having got a whiff of my plan and gauged the urge on my face
Said ‘ten full rupees is what you must part I would settle for nothing less’.

Ten full rupees was real big money no way could be arranged by a child
Knowing it was absurd still I pondered at stake was ‘Mysteries of the Wild’
That day I ran home with just one thought haunting the mind of a child
Ten full rupees is no big deal for an access to the mysteries of the wild.

On that evening of ceaseless haunting I gave all my lessons a miss
For there was with me a note of ten rupee given by dad as school fees
It needed a tough will to strike devil’s deal put the money to misuse
But possessed as I was to know the mystery I needed no reason’s excuse.

Next day in the class without a fuss I paid him the sum of school fees,
‘Give me the book as you promised for I’ve brought your ten rupees’.
‘I’m so sorry’ said the cunning lad ‘the book is taken by someone,
so stand by for the time be in the queue like the other boys in the run’.

Hell on me broke loose tightened the noose I could hardly stand on my feet
Heard my dad shout when the truth was found out the result couldn’t be sweet
The thrashings I got scolding and what not the bitter memories of a child
Sank all passions drowned the obsession to unravel the ‘Mysteries of the Wild’.

Years rolling by buried the child’s sigh lay hidden in the lost mind’s nook
The momentary thrill that remained unfulfilled forgotten was that prized book
Then one afternoon as I was passing by an almost antique bookstore
It peeped through a timeworn glass that book of mystery from the yore.

I felt an inexplicable yearning to own for once that book
To retrieve from its breast my childhood dream it took
‘What price’ I asked the man ‘I want to have it please’
‘Never mind it’s unsold long not worth ten rupees’.

I got the book with a heavy heart came sat in a corner of the park
Caressed soft held its bound cover that at last got my finger mark
In that twilight hour under evening star I wept like an inconsolable child
Knowing no more I had need of it I would never open the ‘Mysteries of the wild’.

Speak your mind and burn ephemeral,
peace in time, a gem, an emerald,
Speak no more, your words desert you,
deep you bore, perched, they hurt you.

Words are birds, they're always fleeting.
Away they fly, at ev'ry meeting.
They cost no pay, they're often freeing.
Away they fray, from you they're fleeing.

The branches broke, they gave to nothing,
beaked by blokes, you must be bluffing,
With broken wings, you hobbled home;
withholding brings forgotten woes.

You dared to fly, you reaped the ceilings,
at dusk, "Goodbye!" - a tale of telling,
You sold none short, you bought your longing,
no silver tongue - you earned their thrashings.

In shadows, taunted, your aura lingered,
its presence blossomed, incessant it spurred,
Forever haunting, a black crow in turn,
in droves of white doves, "At last!" - you were heard.

I took your
Favorite food
Favorite artist
Favorite ev'rything

And buried it deep.

I took your
Haunting holdings
Haunting thrashings
Haunting ev'rything

And buried it deep.

I took your
Lasting laughter
Lasting impact
Lasting ev'rything

And buried it deep.

With such depth I dug
With hopes to never repeat
I'm reminded nightly
In dreams and restless sleep.

Like telling words I choke on
A secret, seething, breathes
I gathered all your mem'ries
And
I
buried
you
deep.

It was in my mother’s father’s final days when Beckham curled it in against Greece
It should have been wrapped up months or at least minutes prior
But for the English
Football is a beautiful form of torture
Some relief in the dark and painful last of his days
It may sound dramatic from the outside
But from the inside
When you’re in on the secret
Football has always been the beautiful game for a reason
And fate was sealed that day

The infamous Zidane headbutt
It came at a time when I was realising people aren’t perfect and heroes are human
For me, not a disgrace, but a lesson
The world’s greatest are also flawed

Lampard 2010 World Cup
It was over the line
I know it
You know it
But the greatest journeys all have their ups and downs
Their misfortunes and their injustices
Our time is nigh
It’s coming home

The psychopathic work ethic of Ronaldo
The glue on the boots of Messi
The precision of the Pirlo pass
The ‘Why always me?’
The ‘You’ll never walk alone’
The wins, the losses
The joy, the heartbreak
The frustration of supporting a yo-yo that never goes all the way up
An ode to my forever unmentioned Plymouth Argyle
The screamers, the blunders
From Thierry to Titus Bramble
Alonso to Okocha
The once-club-record-signing whose name now evades you
The heroes, the villains
The naive dream that maybe one day you’ll make it
And the hope that maybe this will be our year
The diving, the referees, the relegations, the failure
The 4-0 thrashings by the rivals, the penalties and quarter finals

I don’t know why I do it to myself
But I know that I wouldn’t have it any other way
This is the beautiful game
This is football

Aching bones arch in movement soaking in
Salty thrashings. too old to travel as once did.

Like a child in a paddling pool only dipping
Her bow in enough to splash around.

Content that she is still in the ocean,She ebbs with
The tide. Her bones ache, rope frayed tied to shore.

What do I take with me as I walk out that perverbal door?
         The butterflies I have kept hidden in my hope.
         My disintegrating resilience, slowly chipped away by your verbal thrashings and controlled blaming.  

The hijacking of  emotions.

I pack away what remains of my self esteem.
Delicately wrap the shattered pieces of my truth.
          To be replenished and reconstructed with sober eyes
                                                                ­                     and a revived mind.

I ask for the lessons yet to be learned.
And the love yet to be unconditional.

Left behind is my forgiveness without expectation.
My resentments without guilt.
My shame without implication.
I no longer need them to define me.

My apology is next to the many things left unsaid.
A silent acknowlegment of my regrets and carelessness.

We can each take the memories that remind us of a happier time.
When ignorance was euphoric and accepted.
Floating above reality in a kismet of our own creation.

Finally, we can each lovingly share the life-force that has made it all worth something.

The sea wrenched up in agony
The sky a beating storm
Lightning blazed with vanity
The clouds a flailing swarm

Nightmares plagued a fitful sleep
The ocean's rolling waves
The spinning curtain of the deep
Brought many to their graves

Iron ships cut through water
Like a knife through sand
Still, even brave men falter
When forced against the seas to stand

The skies release as thrashings cease
The sea begins to dream
The storm withdraws as anger thaws
Its tears no longer stream

There is a certain apprehension
upon learning
that one must sink before
being able to float. And swim.
It calls to mind previous drownings,
in and out of the water.
Of being pulled under
of thrashings
of water coming in and threatening
to overpower one's self.

But one plunges in
and acclimates
to the cold water,
remembering that even the
greatest among us must face
the unknown.

Once I met a six-faced man who spoke
Of an ancient curse which lullabies  
And as we drank Suntory whiskey
He spoke of the hidden law of numbers
Which spiral and regress in a dance

Looking away from his lotus eyes
He continues to talk to me of the filth
Which overgrows in our greenhouse  
And how interminable poetry refuses
To yield to death’s, his, ambition

We drank to the thrashings of beauty
And to diminishing lilac which sleeps,
As he smoked his last cigarette he
quickly made valleys of early morning
making the sky a burnt orange-blue  

Realizing then I was wrong
To be holding on to distraught words
And trying to find answers within
The complexity of decision trees

Learning then that I didn’t live again
To be cursed by money or wishes made
That I didn’t live to be cursed by fame
Nor to be cursed by the respect of poets
That I didn’t live to be cursed by her love
Nor the curse of your inevitable arrival


As my memory of him fades

I hold my velvet tongue
and watch it flare
in a merry go round
it dies on hardening lips
I watch my decaying echo
flutter in rapture
and cascade molting air
and as I regress
into silence

What do you see?

Behind these bright crystal blue eyes

Do you even see my bright and warm soul?

My silent messages beaming into your psychic?

Can you hear the cries of my damaged inner child?

“WHY? WHY am I so easy to be Harmed?”

A magic trick of words

The illusion of what you consider what I need as care

From someone who I had held held so far above me

On their pedestals…..

Why must you spit upon me as I remain weak?

Anger creates a musical heart beat fast and rhythmic

The war drums of Treason

Against the Monster that you have become

Don’t run away in cowardliness

You earned this boxing match

Feel my battle scars?

Let me carve them into your soul…

So you can feel the acid of arguments and doubt

The fear and anger that you tried to push me

around and down through…

As I rise up and start to beat you, silly.

******* thrashings at your own game.

No.

I won’t complete this tempting revision of abuse and it’s corrupt

Circle of lost souls.

Just because you solicited fear, anxiety, and a wealth of what feelings and money that you have needed..

For you from me…

Does not mean I have to fund the payments.

Feel yourself  as your greedy soul starts to go bankrupt.

As I walk on still.

Far from you and your insanity.

I refuse to be less than what I am supposed to be.

Because of and the acts in which you are scared I might catch onto..

I Become stronger.

You shall be left in the cold

on your own

Lost in the deserts of your own neglected relations

with this beautiful soul

That you failed to treat in sane moments

However, you, like Stalin, created another identity

within yourself

that became the opposite of who had drawn me closer

You failed to snap out of your role

as an actor

Life is no play

Your curtain has been lowered.

I am the one applauding my true self

Wearing the shoes of strength as I never stopped walking

to my rightful promise lands