Hand

I write not, from the finish line.

I write not, from anywhere near it.

I write while I run.

The fastest I’ve known.

I run.

I run with all my might.

No time to waste.

No wrong step to take.

I’m short of breath.

I’m to douse my thirst.

But no time for transient thirst.

There’s just no time to waste.

 

I write with no pen

Or hope but with trust.
A massive trust, on a hand.
That points me inward.
While I float and swim
Skin of the sky keeps me intact
With the only thread, that of
That hand in camouflage.
The hand points,
Nudging and greasing
All I spill irrepressibly,
Is nothing but poetry.
 

Goldmine

An explorer’s predicament

To uncover a land of gold
 

A long winding road

And years later,

I arrive

 

Yet, beginning of

Just another highway

Or so I thought

 

His face, nonetheless soaks and radiates

A river of grace, which he untiringly

Talks about

 

Long winding roads

And I am very sweaty

So to take a dip, I make up my mind

 

I fell into

An unbridled ecstasy

There, I hit upon my goldmine

 

Castle and wall

You and I build castles

Extravagant buildings

You and I

Elaborate and royal

In solitude though

Selfish embrace of its marvel

 

You and I build walls

Tall and grand

Seemingly meant to shield

Shield rather insecurities

Tall and grand

Yours and mine

 

But a gentle wind

Blows from a city afar

A wakening city, they said

With an ironic gift

To topple everything

You and I

Thought was ours

 

 

Moon

Oh the gracious one!

In your shining armor

You had me spellbound.

 

Your eyes gaze the blackness

Ahead.

My eyes gaze the radiance.

 

I break out into a rhapsody

By your feminine charm

 

So charming

That the little evil clouds

Keep us away from seeing you stark

 

Yet, you rise up

Setting the clouds on white flames

You rise up

Looking like an eye,

An unspeaking witness