In Your Eyes

In the unfathomable depth
of your eyes,
Is written my death;
As surely the setting sun
Dips its toes in the ocean,
So shall I.

Oh, how I gaze,
Gingerly I step,
Cold hand of death,
Comes up and embrace,
Who knew death
Would be so sweet,
Such pleasure in
Losing oneself.

Slowly everything darkens,
A soft light glows,
Music rises to a crescendo,
And rupture.

Tranquility,
As I lie,
My eyes shut,
So I died.

Who is singing?
Rejoice,
Surely as the sun will rise,
So shall you.

What blasphemy!
From peace
To seeking again?
Rebirth a myth.

I lie at peace,
Eyes closed,
And from those
unending depths,
You opened
The universe to me.

What mysteries
Those eyes held?

Pain of silence

Your silence
Deadlier than a sword
Penetrating deep
Skewers the heart
And the festering wound
Like a dead weight
Sinks all pleasure
With blossoming negativity
Throbbing brain crescendo
Praying for a moment of peace
Maybe embrace of cool hands of death
Preferable to the deadly silence

Journey of Life

seek and ye shall find

I seek no more
Nor do I need
Answers to all
Questions left
Unanswered
Truth is same
For one and all
When the ultimate
Destination is known
Does it matter
The path one takes
Embrace the unknown
Take what comes
In its stride
There lies the pleasure
The thrill, the adventure
Of the journey of life

As Time Flies By

I close and open my fist in disgust
As I see time fly by
In time I can’t catch wasted time
Knowing fully well that I will rue
The time that flew by
There will be a time
When I will ruminate
The time that flew by
Time would only tell
What could have been
What I lost
As summer slowly passes
And I sit languidly
Listening to the gossips of the day
Silent gazes of strangers
Clouded by rising steam
From continuously refilled coffee cups
Locks for a moment on something
And furtively look away
Are they also ashamed of
The guilt of killing time
As another summer day
Rolls away to dusky evening
Co-conspirators we all
Guilty as accused
Vicarious pleasure
Of wasting time
As time flies by

Write

Write for whom I ask
Readers, do they really care
Immensely immersed in imbued imagination
Thoughts transcending timeless travel towards
Eternity, endlessly do I create

Write for my own pleasure
Regaling hopefully all my readers
In you I find my redemption
To all of you there
Ever gratefully send my love

Write with purpose I don’t
Ready to admit my fault
Inside me always a turmoil
Thinking if readers will like
Even little of I write

Writing is not for glory
Rather inconspicuous that I am
Inflated ego I don’t have
Tremble even thinking of that
Enlightenment is all I seek

Writing is not for money
Really the pleasure is mine
In writing I find freedom
Totally selfish, yes I am
End of story, or poem


Write anything Wednesday Aug-17-2016

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