poems
poems
I deceive people with words all day. I lie. Who am I? - A writer.
poems
#16 in an year of mornings
poems
#5 in an year of mornings
poems
#4 in an year of mornings
poems
#3 in an year of mornings
poems
#2 in an year of mornings
poems
#1 in an year of mornings
poems
Birth, death and everything in between
Birth, and death, Death, and birth, Are either two ends of a line, Or, two points in a never-ending circle. Now way to know, to be sure. After all none have come back, From the great end. What lies in between, Is the great green expanse. Life. The one thing,
poems
They killed some more men today
They killed some more men today, At a place where men kneel, To gods, looking down at men. They killed some more men today, With a gun, a bomb, and a knife, There was a man, a woman, and a child. They killed some more men today, They said it
poems
Where we love
The past, is like ink on paper. Present. Permanent. Persistent. The thoughts I’d had then, Feel like a different universe now. A universe in which you would have been, In love with your work, and I would have been, Close to you, in your city. But that’s what
poems
Dragon-slayer
You ask me not to imagine, You ask me not to build, Castles of glass, and sand. You are afraid of what they do to me. What they make me do. You’re right. In parts. I walk in the castle, With my eyes open. I know what they are.
poems
Sometimes, I wish
Sometimes, I wish I were a painter, And not a poet, So that I had a better reason, To sit, and stare, To have you, sitting across from me. You’d be my muse, As you are now, But not just in my head, You’d be out there, Physically,