Book

I started with the chapter fresh as new,
seeing and then reading you.
Illustrations gravitated, acknowledgments given, 
I imagined your words and thoughts.

Everything that happens to you,
I write in your book.
Your smiles and eyes,
hardest ever to describe.

And like those seasons,
the changes so subtle, so beautiful.
Few years apart, the hue, the texture,
another verse, a new revelation.

And then you were a story in the making,
honest were certain encounters.
Conversation, contradictions, contemptuous,
my narrations insignificant and erronous.

So here we have an unruly moment where
I do not wish to read anymore.
And perhaps, you, my dear are no book
decidedly just a chapter in mine.

word wondering

For the matters of heart,
somethings spark like a firefly,
and although they bring pure joy,
the sight and feelings are almost always shortlived.

Painted

There was the floating yellow with the smile
under the sky blue, meadow green
soon the rivers of ivory glossed
over the  hugging sunset warm orange

the beauty of the grey
and the moon white
the black shadow of two,
hands held welcomed the golden dawn together.

the smell of the lavender
the skin brown, the lips pink.
Red the emotion, the passion
turned into bruises of purple

A whiplash violet cried of thunder
a lost thread of crimson, silence then followed.
Lost are you in those dark days, silver is those linings.
Ombre the new day follows such are the colors of life.

Paper

To those selling love in paper postcards with bow tie,
those papercuts run deep into the soul. One rides on the thought of the paper plane, crumbled on the hit of a storm. Those paper boats we made, in our thoughts, we sailed the world. Now there are shredded pieces,
much like us, with no coherent words. A paper asking for validation,
a paper demanded separation. A proof of life,
another of death.

Words apparently meant nothing unless on paper.
The papers were always greener on the other side,
the one you left, your goodbyes on a letter,
burn into ashes, all those memories, all your papers.

Three feet apart (Road-trip)

What do we get when you place
two people in closed space
a thousand-mile ahead
the radio on the break?

The tapping of the rain,
the gushing of the wind,
thousands of thoughts,
lets put in a few words.

Although we lived three feet apart,
the time and space had drifted us afar,
to catch up on where we headed
the road trip is what was needed.

The tale of years is told like the passing mile,
what was felt, held and dwelled on ticking dial.
The distance between us diminished,
a faint smile, the destination almost reached.

A thought out of place

Your presence lingers,
like the shadow beneath me,
the perfume in the air,
and the whims of the wind.

A twinkling star, light-years away,
space between us, night and day
a single thought out of place
In silence, an echo of a beating heartache,

Once in my hopes, dreams, and prayers,
now gone with the weather,
even with passing days on the calendar,
apparently, what is gone is not lost forever.

Baggage

I pack myself in two suitcases, not more than 23 kgs each,
wondering from country to country, city to city.
With each passing year, the weight seems heavier,
the roads however are still ceaseless and unclear.

But my eyes glisten to the new wonder of the world,
while I carry my past in those packages that I roll.
There are times when I stop mid-road to glance what lies within the carriers,
the warmth of the lingering hugs can still be felt through the travel blanket.

Like a thought out of place, the white in my hair shine,
like those silver blade, to what may lie ahead.
The intrigue is not dead, to take every day as an adventure
while to see the bigger picture, might need resting of those baggage.

Haven't found any closet that can fill what I bear.
May be one day when the wind brushes though all the silver whites,
I may choose to find a warm corner, a place to rest,
to open what has been withheld,
the wonders of every world seen through these blurred eyes.