Zum ruhigen Regen

Durch die Stille Nacht, während die Straße schläft,
Regnest du, schön und rein,
Gucke ich, schlaflos und allein,
Ahnungslos dass jemand dich sieht,

Ich wende mich, um jemandem zu zeigen,
Aber es gibt keinen,
Also sehe ich nach, Still und in Ruhe,
Wie Zeit steht diesem Moment,

Ah, ich will deine Schöne zu jemand sagen,
Aber auch will ich in diesem Moment bleiben,
Deshalb stehe ich in lauter Ruhe,
Uns spreche leichte Wörte binnen meine Seele,

Mein Gerät kann diese Moment nicht speichern,
Es sagt dass es ist zu dunkel, zu grau,
Aber ich sehe dass zu perfekt bist,
Also fange ich dich im meiner Herz ein,

Oh warum tanzt zu wenn niemand sieht?
Auf einer leeren Straße und in meinem Kopf,
Wenn nur meinen Herzschlag spielt,
Als Musik für dich,

Oh Leute tanzen mehr wenn Musik spielt,
Hier schlägt mein Herz schneller wegen deines Tanz(es),
Und du füllst meine Seele bis zum Rand,
Und regnest noch mehr,

Wie leicht sind deine Tropfen?
Weil ich höre nicht wenn sie unten fallen,
Habe ich etwas gehört?
Nein, jetzt mein Herz dir gehört,

Ich merke jetzt warum du nur mit mir triffst,
Und lässt deine Tropfen fallen so leicht,
Wenn ich mit Kuli meine Gefühl schreibe,
Weil ich halte sie wie sonst kein Gerät kann,

Meine Augen schließen langsam jetzt,
Und ich kann deine Schönheit nicht mehr sehen,
Und Zeit steht aus von ihrer Schlaf,
Und schlafe ich langsam ein,

Bevor wir uns Abschied nehmen,
Ich will zu dir etwas sagen,
Danke, danke und vielen Dank,
Weil ich vergessen habe mein Leid und krank.

Eine vergebliche Suche

Ich kann nach keinem Lehrer gehen,
Und kann nur zu Hause bleiben,
Wo ich warte und warte und viel mehr warte,
Wie ich meinem ganzen Leben gewartet habe,

Sie sagen dass ich muss Gott in meiner Seele suchen,

Dass ich muss ihn in meiner Seele schauen,

Ich las viel Buecher aber höre ihn nicht,

Ich suchte auch viel aber sehe ihn nicht,

In dem hinten von der Dunkelheit sagt uns einer,

In unserem Gefuehl von 'ich' sagt noch einer,

Wenn du armen hilfst sagen andere,

Und wenn du ihn rufst sagen noch andere,

Er wird nicht gesehen, sagen viele,

Dass man kann ihn nur fühlen, sagen diese,

Aber jeden Tag wenn ich schließe meinem Augen mit viel Hoffnung,

Sehe ich nur Dunkelheit in mir und sehe noch nichts,

Wenn ich suche ihn in meinen Gefuehlen,

Fuehle ich nur die Tropfen die fallen von meinen Augen.

The Voice Within

Woken, from oblivion, with a racing heart,

By a voice, subtle, that speaks from within,

He rises, squinting his heavy eyes,

And strains his ears to hear,

He struggles to hear what it means to say,

For he has no choice but to hear it,

Inescapable is that which the soul speaks,

For it speaks from behind the ears that one can shut,

And so he defers to this call, this incessant speech,

Shutting himself from all else,

And the voice of the others grow dim and soft,

As he slips further within, in his hunt for this,

He finds it's the voice of his heart's desires,

Such desires that feel so pure, so real,

Desires, inescapable, that only grow stronger,

Desires that promise to become firm purpose,

The kind of purpose that life must hold on, to live,

Purpose that moulds, that shapes that life itself,

Thus drawn, he listens with all his heart,

To the intimate sounds of its own beats,

Kept awake by this loud whisper,

His eyes stay wide open behind closed sheets,

Dreaming bright colours, blind to the dark,

While this voice, now clear, begins to sing,

It's a moment of pride, of triumph, a win,

When he finally hears all that it says,

For his pursuit, his dive, his long conquest,

Has finally ended, yielding its fruits,

Knowing he's listening, the voice speaks more,

Decorating, flowery his once vague, wordless wish,

Ah, it's a sight to see him thus,

Rapt, like the man, looking, dazed, into his lover's eyes,

It's a pride to see a man win thus,

Losing himself in the search for his soul,

Nay he's not lost, for he's found himself,

The one who hears, clear, this voice,

Or so they say, who haven't known truth,

And who haven't heard a sound within,

It's strange how a win blinds one,

Like when a thought is spoken, another, within, dies,

For it's hard to believe that a search for one's soul,

Has ended forever, with the sound of a voice,

For, no matter what it means to say,

It's still a mere expression of a mouth not seen,

Despite being intelligent, deep and aligned,

And aware of what he truly wants,

It's a pity he sees now,

Merely a voice, albeit within,

He stops when he's heard the words in its voice,

And doesn't seek to find the source of its sound,

Perhaps he's tired, for he's searched for so long,

And chooses to stop, when he's found a little gold,

Ah, they say it's truth, the voice of the soul,

But is that all that comes from the chambers of the heart,

And if one must judge and measure even words from within,

How deep could truth, really be hidden?

Why does Nature seek to have its way,

By hiding a man's soul, deep,

Behind desire that takes so long to find,

And forsaking him on an eternal search for it,

And as per its ruthless ploy, he searches,

In the desperate hope to quench his dissatisfaction,

And, digging, deep enough to find desire, mistaking it for himself,

He feels it's his own, like the rest of his herd,

Vowing to obey, to fulfil its whim,

Oh, how can a voice, be it without or within,

Be yours, my friend, unless you choose its words?

Tricked thus, by the Father who hides,

Within the soul whence speaks this tongue,

He walks, naive, to do its bidding,

Claiming to act out of free will, independent,

And so he nods his head in rhythm with this song,

Humming along, now and then,

And as it grows louder within,

He dances, in a trance, to its compelling tunes,

He waltzes in circles, but spirals in,

Drawn to the centre of a field unknown,

Bereft of reason that he once prized,

Defending, somehow, this new trend,

He nods, in a trance, to the whims of this voice,

Cheered by a crowd that once reasoned with him,

They all rejoice, imploring that he speak his mind,

Twisting lines from the wise, the fools, even his own,

Aah, it's strange, this world of ours,

That fights for bread on hungry nights,

Speaks words of reason to earn nods,

And feigns logic when their bellies are full,

And now, when a thirst rises, of a different kind,

Logic dissolves in hungry preference,

And he moves, swift and quiet, fuelled by intent,

Lest reason or society attempt to foil his ploy,

Propelled by this desire placed by an unknown hand,

In the innermost chambers of his soul,

He's stirred into action to fulfill the quest,

Like all the others, to find peace,

It's strange to see how the momentum within,

Defies, easily, the science without,

With inspiration building from within one,

Sans the need for another's hand,

Know, my friend, that behind this voice,

Could lie, your soul, untouched and pure,

Who knows, there's more perhaps, hidden beneath,

The depth that's soaked in darkness sans light,

Like life, I'm sure, there's both brightness and dark,

Treasures, hidden, alongside horrors,

Doors that, when opened, could change who you seem,

And somewhere there, your soul too,

Know my friend, like you know of the world,

The good and the bad that the depth within, holds,

Know to dig deep to know true joy,

But know ye more, to stop,

At the level of depth that grants you peace.

Hopeless

Flushed outwards from a realm holier,
I lie 'pon the surface of a depth I once rejoiced,
My heart filled with untold agony,
That fills my eyes with tears,

I wake, heavier, day after day,
Clinging onto the thinning rope of hope,
As the pain of being forsaken weighs me down,
And the nimble heart grows brittle and dry,

They see me dance and deem it joy,
But know not, in truth, that I writhe in pain,
Unable to share the pain I feel,
I drag my corpse through the tunnel of the day,

My nights are dark, long and damp,
Getting colder each day, on my poor skin,
And yet, I pull my sheets and sing,
To distract my soul, so I live another day,

Help will come but there's time still,
Time that's valuable, yet time to kill,
So come my friend, sit by this fire with me,
Let's share this warmth and sing a song.

The Song

As the grim bells of doom grow louder,
The heart gets ready at last, to turn inwards,
Each second readier than it was the last,
To accept the arrival of impending death,

And as the soul accepts its dark fate,
Sets in, within, a tranquil state,
The eerie silence of terror unclouds,
Giving way to peace that's loud,

And within that silence, I hear a whisper,
A feeble sound, a squeak, a faint murmur,
Listening further, I found it was a hum,
The sound of a tune I'd heard since I was young,

'Twas familiar, yet new, this tune, this song,
A tune I hadn't heard, but my soul knew,
Like that cafe you'd walked past, but never noticed,
Like the letters of a word you'd never observed,

This song, I found, felt cool and warm,
Cushioning my angst in this dark, lonely realm,
It soothed my soul and eased my pain,
Whispering words of solace and calm,

I saw, now, this was the song of my angels,
Locked within the deepest chambers of my soul,
It'd sung ceaseless, throughout my life,
But hidden by the noises of the without's strife,

I see it's played, this tune sacred,
Beside the beats of my now slowing heart,
And while death draws closer than ever,
This song, my song, plays louder,

I wished I'd stopped, when alive, for a while,
Paused, for a moment during my busy life,
I wished I'd heard this song divine,
So it'd have made me feel less alone,

And now, I sent my thanks to the Divine,
For bringing my focus to this gentle sound,
For now, as darkness closes in, ruthless and fast,
My wounds hurt less and I'm at peace at last

The Object of Desire

I stagger, dazed at the beauty I behold,
Rapt, in that beauty of which I've only heard,
My heart throbs in leashless desire,
As my feet move, unhighed, towards her,

She holds something that draws me close,
An object that pulls me into a pit bottomless,
It's something unique, that which she holds,
And it makes her what she is, to my eyes,

And I wonder, as I'm pulled closer,
If I've fallen for it or for her,
Do I see her for all she is,
Or am I blind to all but this?

Am I limiting all that she is, to a small possession,
Be it her beauty, her body, or that great profession?
Should I see her as that dark form she sees when she pictures herself?
Or as even more, the parts even she doesn't recognise, of her self?

And then, as I come close, I see,clear,
That none can see another, no matter how near,
I chose to stick to what she says of her,
And wait, by her lips, conscious of what she utters,

I swear to learn from words and not,
And learn of her, the way to be known she sought,
After all, a person sees only a part of even their self,
And in love, I ought to love what I liked and not,

And as I wonder, holding my gaze,
My thoughts shining through the darkness of my daze,
I see, clear, I'd put myself in her hands,
Be they arms of care or evil clutches,

But alas, she sees not me, nor my soul,
For she's lost, in the pursuit of another,
I watch, hurt, as she staggers like me,
Struggling to look and be the best she can be,

And then, when she courts, she offers him her soul,
And the object I sought stands beside others baring its all,
She bears him her soul, awaiting his call,
Her arms outstretched, seeking to love his all,

And then I see, now vivid and clear,
That she's no angel, but not evil either,
That we're both toys of a soulless desire,
Dancing to the tunes of the music of nature.

Fear Not

Fear not, my friend, when your legs give in at last,
Unable to bear your weight,
Fear not, when the world darkens,
And fades away each sense,
Fear not, when you see,
That you're more alone than you've ever been,
Fear not, for this path you tread,
Has been walked upon by countless,
Fear not, for shall follow countless more,
And so shall I, my friend, my day's not far,
So let your head slide, as you lean back,
And smile, graceful, while you breathe your last.

A Mirror’s Reflections

Oh deem my name independent and complete,
Sans the need for a man's with it,
Care for the health of my supple critter,
For though fragile, she's borne more than you hear,

Spare a true word of praise, that drops from thy heart,
For not just the extras, but each day's effort,
For we take it all and fail to see,
All we've done and all we could be,

Oh share thy burdens, at work or at home,
And lay thy head on my arms, as I have, for years,
And hand me the pleasure of partaking your pain,
For in that, lies the highest honour I can gain,

You've come to see, how we were oppressed,
And you've laid a crown on our heads,
But pay no more for your fathers' sins,
For the torment they gave to our kin,

Pray, just see us, just us, for who we are,
More humans, just like you are,
Pray, place your hand along with mine,
And let's walk together, for all time

Living Life

I stand, lost, upon the brink,

Staring through holes on this critter's face,

Woken, decades ago from the slumber of naught,

Dressed in a body with a name and face,

And pushed, unwilling, into this strange existence,

And before I can discover what's what,

To learn the way to live and reflect,

I'm pushed again, now by the speed of the crowd,

Into the realm of the so-called real,

Forced to run by the fuel of fear,

A dread of starvation, of pain and death,

I run, unwilling, in the race of men,

A race not to win, but to avoid being trampled,

And while I run, I turn and stare,

At those around, who dash, oblivious,

And while we sprint thus, tired and breathless,

Time gallops ahead, forever in the lead,

To catch my breath I stop and bend,

And see a pattern, a distinct trend,

‘Tseems familiar until watched with care,

Like the strangeness of the letters that make our words,

Life’s a thing sans name or form,

A blank sheet with some dots, to draw upon,

To fill with shades of colours we choose,

And space to use the way we please,

It’s a simple design when you observe, aware,

A pattern that repeats, strangely symmetric,

A construct that defines beauty, irony and honour,

And shows what you’ll find and where,

It’s a case of a feature buried in its opposite,

Of honour hidden deep within shame,

Of greatness in the subdued,

And unseen beauty in the ordinary,

Of philosophy and logic on full stomachs,

And of irrationality when driven by hatred or desire,

Of surprise behind the curtain of seeming knowledge,

Of love behind utter hatred,

Of noblest intentions behind unfriendly face,

And of great ones’ fall from grace,

Of happy ones bestowed with short lives,

And of those in pain, cursed to live long,

And while death is certainly the inevitable end,

We’re also forced to live and fend,

Life’s blank and untouched, yes,

But it crumbles when unattached to purpose,

And so, to avoid the hell that kills will to live,

Our hands are forced to forge life into meaning,

We’re not rational beings as we claim to be,

And while reason’s a language society approves,

We function, truly, on emotion besides hormones’ rage,

And forge reasons for our simplest acts,

And so we must live our lives,

Terrible lies, though they may be,

Feigning understanding of all that’s around,

And feigning pleasure at acquired tastes,

Falling in love with a maiden pretty,

Deeming sacred, a feeling petty,

We add more to our assumed purpose,

And live, aligned to that of hers,

I learn, as my beards turned grey,

That the least I can lie is to myself,

Accepting all that cannot be,

And choosing to live, forced, ‘til I drop dead,

And as the hooves of truth pursue my tread,

Threatening to sever hope’s thread,

Clinging dearly onto the armour of hope,

Choosing to resist my fall to purposeless abyss,

For I see, now, that the inevitable shall come,

But to live these days I’m forced,

I learn to give in, to life, not death,

Not to fight, but to cease to resist life.

An Ode to Unwritten Thoughts

Born from a quiver of my unaware heart,
Too abstract yet, to become art,
You danced there, in that hall where only I've been,
But fled before I could grasp what I'd seen,

I squinted to see you, and found no trace,
For you'd slipped, so quick, sans grace,
Gone art thee, from the clasp of my pen,
Never to return to my mental den,

Oh hasty fledglings of words unformed,
Why fly before your wings've formed?
You've run perhaps not to your death,
But to a realm where none shall know your worth,

You're mourned, my friends, oh have you ears?
And shall be, so, for several years,
Not just by me, your writer,
But by all who couldn't read your letters,

You've denied them that nameless pleasure,
That fills their souls when they read you, new and pure,
A moment they'd cherish, over and over,
As their fingers pass over your written inky critters,

Aah you could've had a home forever,
Immortal, you'd reign hearts sincere,
Living not one life but a thousand and more,
Born each time you're read, with renewed fervour,

You'd grow to endless depths like the sea,
All this you'd be, and still sit free,
On page of paper filled with my scrawl,
Ugly in writing but words so beautiful,

Oh words that bring treats to eyes,
That carry feelings through time and space,
Pray answer this pained query,
Do you feel no ounce of the pain you carry?

Eyes that read you, with tears well,
How then, could you leave me so cold?
I scream and run in vain effort,
Only to know you've turned to naught,

I build you a temple in my fickle soul,
And murmur a quiet farewell,
To words that I failed to tell,
And to it, I add my books that fell,

Words that'd give such glee my written lines never could,
Sealing within me and indelible blot,
An unrest that shall forever live on
In the inmost chambers of my within,

To thee, I leave these last few words,
So they may rhyme with the wordless silence,
That succeedes your slip from my flimsy fingers,
And your eternal visit to the dark alleys of forever.

To the Girl I Love

As you walk past, so does my heart,
Struck mute by the person you are,
As it moves on to walk by your side,
Leaving my forgotten self behind,

The smile you gave when you looked at me,
Has frozen my time and my thoughts and knees,
I stand, rapt, in the moment that's passed,
Letting it not move, ever into the past,

To you 'twas another man,
An admirer from that crowded clan,
Whose faces of awe you know too well,
But the pain in their hearts, can you ever tell?

You pride yourself on your humble gait,
Patting yourself for wearing this trait,
For respecting the man who loves you so,
As you move ahead, shining your glow,

Ah, you see the tip of the love I hold,
My want to shower you with comforts and gold,
You see me as a child looking up at you,
But of the saint behind, you have no clue,

You see a man gripped by anticipation vain,
To be hurt by his own love's repercussion,
You hear of his love, and you read his words,
But you shall never know what he truly feels,

He sees a maiden of beauty, yes,
But he stops not, for he sees beyond this,
Yes, I see you, a child, younger than me,
Lost in a world, shimmering in your gleam,

You tell yourself that you've done well,
But you shall never know, in truth, his heart in full,
He's in pain, yes, the one who's smitten,
But he's climbed atop you to a height unknown,

You're lost, my girl, in that world of yours,
Thinking yourself the better among us,
I smile, alone, to myself, now,
For you shall never know that I'm the better one.

Night

As the crimson sun slips beneath the horizon,
And the day fades into a dusky frown,
He rides in, the moon by his side,
Countless stars following his horse's stride,

Nightfall, they say, for the day has fallen,
But hasn't something else, instead, risen?
Lighting a strange lamp that dims the surround,
Clothing in black gowns, all around?

The world sleeps, they say, but is that true?
Are there not, creatures of the night too?
Eyes and ears wide open,
They stare into it, unflinching and firm,

There's a strangeness to these beasts nocturnal,
That stay awake through the dark hours,
They kneel, in a way, to the grandeur of the night,
Paying homage, silent, to silence's might,

Nay even men are awake in these dark hours,
Driven by a promise, or sickness or fear,
They have, then the company of a silent friend,
At whose side, there's a clear mind,

Perhaps the lack of colour in the day's wake,
Leaves nothing to reflect in the mental lake,
Carving a path through the surrounding naught,
Giving rise to great, creative thought,

It's a holy time, unlike the old say,
Hosting the silence one needs, to pray,
Giving away hours, for those who care,
Sans distraction of even the slightest kind,

And yet, to most, it's a blanket unique,
Knitted, close, by the Mother Compassionate,
To pull a little closer as we turn, cosy, within,
Lost in the comfort of sleep's realm,

But whether you're awake or sleeping,
Know this, that you're watched by the grand King,
As even the sun's clock stops its ticky wail,
All to preserve the silent prevail,
Shutting its eyes well and tight,
Letting blow the eerie night.

Beauty

Fell my sight upon her form,
On her strange and graceful charm,
It bound me with its compelling claws,
As I watched, struck with awe,

'Twas a strange feel, new to my sight,
A mix of pain and delight,
For all I wanted was to watch her smile so,
But somehow I wanted more too,

Why did I so sorely to want her,
Perhaps the thought that someone could own her?
Or was it the push of an urge so great,
A compelling urge to procreate?

Unaware and desperate, I dashed for her,
Fighting men and hurdles sans fear,
Setting an eye upon the wars I won,
And another upon her form,

At long last she beckoned my soul,
Standing at her threshold,
Letting me into that heart of hers,
That heart that men all desire,

I lay there, tired and worn,
But beaming in all glee that I'd won,
For nothing more could a man want now,
Than the love of a woman he loves,

She'd fling herself onto my arms so light,
And turn heavy for me to lift,
And I'd hold her tight, yet so soft,
Sunk in the pleasure of the burden,

As I held her thus, I stopped to know,
If I truly owned it now,
The beauty I'd seen so long ago,
That charm I'd wanted to own,

I saw her now as a person I knew,
Like a friend I knew some more now,
But where in her lay that pulchritude,
That beauty that we'd all sought?

I drew her closer within our sheets,
And searched her naked depths,
I searcher her body and her mind,
And yet I could not find,
That I held that beauty, that beauty I'd sought,
For what all those wars were fought,

Not the most intimate touch,
Could reach out thus,  as I'd hoped to reach,
I dived and pounced and sought some more,
And even surrendered to what was true,

I didn't see it when I held her tight,
Nor when she gave in to my might,
I still couldn't, when she lay by my side,
And, smiling wide, lay open her naked breast,

And then I saw for then and ever,
That I could have it never,
For the beauty that'd flashed when I'd seen from afar,
Wasn't any brighter when she was near,

It lay a slave, faithful and true,
To her nimble skin and brow,

It lay, seen from beneath her skin and hair,
Across her every stroke of her,
Painted so like with a brush,
Shining with her every blush,

I saw then, beauty lay to be marvelled at,
To be enjoyed and written, and sung about,
A blessing to be joyously felt,
But never to be owned,

Beauty lies not in the eyes of the beholder,
Nor in that thing that's a joy forever,
It lies, hazy on a plane in between,
Both without me and within

Such is Life

Hiding within sheaths invisible,
They live a mystic life,
Crying out when needing help,
And fending for themselves when alone,

Knowing not, their name and form,
They seek to know what's around,

They smile and cry,
They fight and try,
Dancing with the waves of life,

They need another, they help others,
And claim to know and be known,
And yet they hide, from their own eyes,
In a darkness still unexplored,

Oh such is life, that fills their critters,
Spilling out as the truth,
From screams of pain,
And eyes when wet with love,

Such pain they bear, and yet they live,
Dragging their bodies along,
Fools at times, wise at times,
They wear their greying hairs,

So large and wise, yet small and meek,
They live to their own surprise,
Giving sermons of thought, of science and what not,
They bloom 'til they wither,

Ask them how and they know not how,
They say that such is life,

Oh what could it be, this wonderful gloom,
I know not what to say,
I sit, surprised, and don't utter a word,
I try but can't walk away,

'Prisoned in me, I struggle to breathe,
'Til I catch the shore of the sane,
I see in vain, I can't escape pain,
Nor the hungry jaws of death,

I see my doom, clear and bright,
But can't sleep 'til night,
For there's hunger and friends to feed,
And a conscience's strong drive,

So I gulp the fear and the need to know,
The need to sit and reflect,
Pushed, I move my exhausted feet,
And start another day's struggle,

Sit by me, and you'll hear my breath,
And me uttering these words,
These words I've heard them say,
For I know not, how they came,
Nor my eyes that see,

And yet I know, for I must go,
Else hell shall break loose now,
Ask me now, and you'll hear me say,
I don't know, such is life.

A Psalm of Pain

Prison'd in this corpse of suffering and pain,
I writhed in agony, screaming in vain,
Shaking my limbs and closing my eyes,
Hoping if I didn't see, the hurt'd vanish,

Losing all sense of logic and thought,
I saw not the rational that I'd shed,
Nor the vanity that I so proudly held,
And praying to a nameless deity I'd ridiculed,

The hurt that came it consumed me whole,
Wiping away all sense, filling each hole,
It killed all sense of space and time,
Posing to hurt, forever, slaying my calm,

I loathed myself for wasting youth and health,
And vowed to cherish the rest of this wealth,
I made myself a thousand promises,
As I struggled to exist alongside my existence,

Unable to bear my existence I lay, awaiting death,
Struggling like a corpse alongside my breath,
Each inhale a struggle worse than the previous exhale,
As the urge to live turned stale,

The Transformation

Unable to run from my own self, I sat,
And in that moment I saw the truth flat,
It glared at me, this revealing sight,
That peace'd grow in accepting my plight,

And then, as I tried, my struggle slowed,
And, behind this pain, a quiet calm glowed,
It shone so bright, that the pain's wrath faded,
Drawing my to breath, now that it'd slowed,

The pain that came it hadn't yet subsided,
But it let me stay, to live by its side,
And I saw the world I knew, through eyes red,
A world that was lacking but yet still gilded.

The Doctor

Out came a man who knew what I had,
He spelt out the struggle with the perfect words,
Describing my pain in such stark detail,
He held my shoulder and spread a relieving tranquil,

He spoke such words of reassurance, clearing my dread,
Brandishing a dark drug that he'd named.
He saved me from that nameless struggle,
Restoring in me a state I could handle,

My eyes welled in grateful tears,
And I swore to stay at his feet for years,
He smiled a passive nod,
And turned and went on ahead,

Over time, my memory of the agony dimmed,
And the gratitude I'd had faded,
I forgot the promises I'd made,
And went on to live life like it hadn't happened.

As I Lie to Die

Sans the strength to move I lie,
As my name and identity choose to fly,
Leaving behind a curled critter,
With no hope of getting better,

The first to leave is the sense of smell,
That could taste the fragrance that dwells,
And with it, evaporates all interest,
Leaving behind, nothing but disgust,

It's followed by touch's sense,
That unique feel of skin on skin,
That sees and craves the touch of another,
Sans the need for eyes to decipher,

Then goes the power to taste of tongue,
Half dead when smell vanished,
A touch more intimate than that of hand,
That learns and knows beyond what's seen,

Now flees the sight of the eyes,
And with it, the world with all its lives,
Reducing my cries, loud and soft,
To pointless knocks on formless doors,

The last to leave is the ear's child,
Subtler than the subtlest sound,
That forms the soul of all my alert,
That formed from words, the stuff of thought,

I lie now, weak and still,
Knowing again I shan't stand or sit,
Thinking I'll see nothing but naught,
Listening to the moans of my quivering heart,

Its beats, they ring like the bells of the clock,
Ticking away ruthless with mercy not,
Hiding behind its thick, loud veil,
The face of silence the eternal wail,

I lie still, closing my eyes tight,
Seeking to see some form of light,
I knew all along, this journey was to come,
Why didn't I ever try to look within?

I walk ahead, not looking back,
For now, there is no more going back,
I walk ahead, timid and slow,
For there's all the time and nowhere else to go,

The heartbeat slows, my heart giving in,
And I strain the eyes that look within,
Shouldn't my self now be bitten and low,
Fading away, perhaps, quiet and sans glow?

But no, it shines with a light so bright,
Dancing within, in its own delight,
Who said I needed eyes to see,
Or ears for music and a nose to breathe?

As the critter I'd been now chokes and bleeds,
I walk away now, disentangled and free,
Oh mother, oh father, oh brother and son,
See me now, shining so bright like the sun,

I was never what we saw, yet being it still,
I was more the feeling, that sheer will,
I now walk free from bonds that never were,
Dancing in the joy that lasts forever.

Do Not Read Me

Oh reader of my works, published and not,
Think not, that you've seen me inside and out,
For you know not even a fraction of my soul,
Nor the weight of the content that fills it whole,

The thoughts I hold, they stretch beyond words,
Growing like hair when plucked from your head,
Stranger still is the soul that I am,
So dark, it's alien to my closest kin,

Delve no deeper than the things I project,
For I strive so hard to save you from deject,
Seek not to know the being I am,
Stop now, and save yourself precious time,

Strive not to know me, to know who I am,
For though strange and dark, I'm no great man,
Seek, rather, to dive into your self,
And find there, priceless, great bright pearls,

Try to go the way that I've taught,
To follow, quiet, the trail of thought,
Cease, a while to read another's mind,
And hear your own voice and the song it sings,

Discover your abyss that holds great thoughts,
The place where you go when you read my words,
Know now and forever this piece of truth,
The joy of reading me comes from your own depth,

It's the joy of connect, of finding your thoughts,
Of hearing the echo of your innermost depths,
It's the joy of singing the song of your soul,
So take a dip within and stay there a while.

When in Pain

So close to my very being it stands,
Wrapping its tentacles 'round my arms,
Threatening to kill but killing not,
Squeezing my soul to nearly naught,

I writhe and struggle, all in vain,
Like my very esse shall split in twain,
And yet, I stay the same, struggling still,
Such is pain, that destroys my will,

It stops thought and reason, even time,
Swearing, forever, to steal my prime,
Blocking the passage of every breath,
As I curl within, praying for death,

And slow and steady I see no way,
But to accept that the ache is here to stay,
I learn to live life anew, beside the pain,
Carving a new path for my breath within,

And then it loosens its bloodstained clasp,
Feeding on the cede I threw as bait, a trap,
And though I fail to see who's won,
I smile a little for there's a little calm,

And then I see for now and ever,
That peace lies not in quiet but in true surrender,
That the twists and turns shall hurt not,
If I'm to flex to pain's will and haught,

And when I've learnt to turn and bend,
To manage to sit at my seat's very end,
The pain that came it slips into null,
Leaving with such an exit so dull,

It seemed in contrast to all the drama,
The agony, it gave, the suffering and trauma,
But perhaps 'twas right to leave so quiet,
For I've learnt now, the power to accept.

Prologue

I see now, it's not just left quiet,
It's left behind in me, a lasting quiet,
A silence that speaks of the knowledge I''ve got,
A kind that can be spoken by words not,

Now I worship each moment of health,
Cherishing it as my greatest wealth,
And with each inhale I take,
I breathe out, whispering a silent thanks.

Holding Hands

They talk of a tight embrace,
Of lips meeting in a kiss,
Of a slow, revolving waltz,
Of candelight dinners,

Of a long walk at night,
Of sharing a beautiful sight,
Of talking 'til morning,
And of sex when it's raining,

And yet, why so passionate do I find,
An intimacy that's one of a kind,
When your fingers curl within mine,
Claiming me as yours, by my hand?

Lost in a Book

Lost in the cluttered pages of his book,
He squints, giving the words a deeper look,
Tossing in a tasteless snack or a sip of tea,
He staggers pitiably, on the edge of reality,

Touch'd not by the shaking ground,
Nor by the loud noises around,
He lies, motionless on a colourless seat,
With each chapter, accomplishing a nameless feat,

Drunk with the heavy content in his arms,
He's aloof to the spurs upon his numb frame,
Moved not by the strongest nudge,
But moved so much by teary lines,

He dwells in the world portrayed,
Glamour speaking to him in the language of words,
He rejoices in a realm that's complete and full,
Tranquil, dancing in a joy inexplicable.