Find them if you may

Dust and smoke on some rusty roads.

The ghosts of writing spring out alone,

Near the dawn of the day

Or into the midnight fog

Mocking the shadows of my words;

Blow out the candles, Dark out the night. 


Find them if you may or better still,

Say rest in peace

To that what haunts you;

The silhouette of words,

The ghosts of writing,

The muses so shy.


If you then still persist;

Walk along the train tracks,

Run after the missed bus,

Hail loudly for a worn out taxi,

Board a plane or 

Adventure on a ship.

You will not find them.

Words lost aren’t meant to be found.


Lying on a charpoy

Hang onto the starry sky,

A moon will glow back at you.

Drink away the summer night

With thoughts of a rosy past,

With plans for a morrow not seen.

You will not find them.

Words lost aren’t meant to be found. 



Memories Undone

I’m afraid of what I’ll find
In the pages held close
Between spines old and worn
But relax I tell myself
It’s just a bunch of memories
Just a bunch I say out loud
And I count till I know

Memories from times past
Of love and loss
Of wide smiles and knitted brows.
Memories tucked away
From times aimlessly imagined
Of places and people
That never existed
Except feebly coming alive
Into the folds of my mind
Playfully hiding
Between the heart beats

Today they sit inside
The pale rimmed pages
Like hair fallen out
Scattered on the floors
Unwanted and lifeless
Yet sacred to the heart



When I returned from my sojourn
They asked the expected
To which I replied
I was chilling on a star
A star they inquired?
Yes, the rooftop of a star I exclaimed.
A star so brilliant,
It bathed me in its grace.
The rooftop of a star?
Their voices rose in unison.
The arches of their eyebrows jumped.
Their eyes sparkled with a dash of bewilderment.
And the sound of curiosity,
That escaped their vocal codes,
Cracked the mirrors which hid them
Cracks so deep,
That would forever remain etched
Into the vanity of all affairs.

The Poem Therapy

A poem a day
Thought I would read
To grow in words
Wisdom and philosophy
To the match the giants of poetry
Oh but wait!
An apple a day
Keeps a doctor away
What if in my absurdity
A poem a day
Would keep poetic muses away
I need to think a better thought
Perhaps something like Mary Poppins’
Worry I won’t if that wouldn’t work
I will humbly switch to
And dance my way
To the tunes of Coldplay
Though I better get happy feet
To the lyrics of Billie Jeans
Lying among Wordworth’s daffodils
Wonder why I feel so musical
For I have fears like that of Keats
The breaths are numbered
And my thoughts jumbled
A poem a day I think again
Perhaps would not suffice