1764

The saddest noise, the sweetest noise,
  The maddest noise that grows,—
The birds, they make it in the spring,
  At night’s delicious close.

Between the March and April line—
  That magical frontier
Beyond which summer hesitates,
  Almost too heavenly near.

It makes us think of all the dead
  That sauntered with us here,
By separation’s sorcery
  Made cruelly more dear.

It makes us think of what we had,
  And what we now deplore.
We almost wish those siren throats
  Would go and sing no more.

An ear can break a human heart
  As quickly as a spear,
We wish the ear had not a heart
  So dangerously near.

I've learned to become attached to stories,
not people.
if you fall in love with stories,
they'll lay in bed with you every night.
people are the ones with a tendency to take flight.

Your tears are like champagne;
They cost more than you like to admit in polite company
And they're saved for the most special of occasions.
Every drop is to commemorate a monumentous event
(even if the event isn't immediately obvious to the rest of us).

When we were together I never got closer than hearing the bubbles fizz below the surface.

When we broke up you popped the cork and showered everything in sight with alcoholic nothingness.

My tears are like, well, water;
Not in that you need them to survive
But in that they are inescapable.
My fragility (or childishness) is evident in leaking taps
And dripping branches
And 80% of my biological make up.

When we were together you drank nothing but saltwater sadness.
shame, joy, surprise, every emotion warranted another glass of water.

When we broke up my tear ducts popped like two water balloons and nobody was surprised, they had already opened their umbrellas and taken a precautionary step back.

If they had stood a little closer, opened their mouths a little wider, they might have caught the fleeting taste of bitter wine and the closest I have ever come to crying champagne tears.

hush little brother mine
huff and puff no more
mother is at the open fire
little brother of mine
she's cooking your dish
the one that makes you drool
and the dogs keep watch outside
so eat dear little brother of mine
eat your fill and fill in those hollows
eat little brother of mine, eat
till your tiny plate is shining clean
and mother thinks it is all right
getting smoke in her eyes for you

In the twilight hour
We reached the watch tower

The swinging trunks had got our smell
And one could tell
They weren't pleased

We had just intruded into their dust bath
Post the shower at the pool
Between us the distance
Was one of studied silence
Till one's trumpet froze me to the ground

From among the trees
Big little mud hills surrounded the space

Our clicking lens
Wore out their patience
And we were just nuts
Before that large herd

Some more were coming up the river
We heard someone whisper
And I thought of rebellious elephants
Fighting for territory once their own
Against an invader that spares none

What if this dwindling day hour
They crush the watch tower!

I'm coming from afar
I tell the woman
the last time I came
I could walk straight to the river
now monsoon mud has made a mess
can only glimpse the river's face
is there still a way on dry feet?

She raises her eyes
no way she says
it's all shrub and slush
but you can have a look at my garden
pomelo and papaya,
gourd and green banana,

I haggle over price
wouldn't settle for less than a bargain

she smiles all the way
succumbs with ease
for the take a bag too she gives.

As I leave her on the falling day
I feel no loss
not finding the river's way.

Sometimes I'm not sure if I'm asleep or awake,

My dreams are real and reality is fake.

What I think is real might be wrong,

Perhaps I've been deceived all along.

Maybe I'll wake up if this is a dream,

And realize that nothing is how it once seemed.

There are times when I just feel-

Like nothing in my life is real.

Perhaps I'll wake up after I die-

And see that my whole life was a lie.

Maybe not even reality is real,

Sometimes it seems abstract and surreal.

My life is terrible, too awful to be true,

So can it be real? I wish I knew.

This surreal life I can't escape,

What if I'm not even awake?

My whole life could be a dream,

Trapped in my mind, reality unseen.

If my life is a dream, don't wake me yet.

I want to live a life I'll never forget.