Strands of Belief
We pluck fluffy balls of cotton from so many different plants, Having no idea, which would end up in towels, mops, and pants, But every tuft itself, shorn of identity, has no consequence to dread, Caring even less, that many
Stormrider
You wonder why nobody talks anymore about possession, Why this deathly silence on an unacknowledged obsession, About this edifice painstakingly built, built by brick, Ever confident that just another would do the trick. When you spend every day laying the
Call Me Butcher
When outstretched hands reach out for your support, And you routinely ignore them like another status report, If your arms cannot reach to those hanging by strands, Maybe you should consider chop chop chopping your hands. When tired legs try
Monosyllabi
We talk about our work, the mundane occurrences of the day, And before long we get silent, running out of things to say, You have your share of problems, and I have my share, Exhausted, we just give each other
Someone Like You
I heard from many lives for whom you were the sunshine, And hoped that you could dispel the darkness from mine, Until someone asked me how all your light was spun, And I wondered who was your secret sun. I