Autumn Leaf

Just like dried up autumn leaf I float,
not one trajectory to devote.
Twisting winds can carry me where they please,
will savor this movement of the breeze.
 
Have love and been loved a thousand times,
have lost the track of how many times.
Blame it on the Karma, I would say,
wouldn’t choose it any other way.
 
Life is all about search and seeking,
day you end up search, you start dying.
Then its too late to start lamenting,
so live life like there is no ending.
 
More you give, more you have, Love I mean,
open your eyes, then it can be seen.
Hearts get wounded, that’s part of the game,
so what’s in harm relighting old flame? 
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THE ONE

What needs to be said has been said,
letter has been written in red.
This heart has been stabbed and it bled,
yet the deep feeling hasn’t fled.
 
Lost cause from the beginning,
had to try to make a winning.
One never knows without trying,
you end up loving or crying.
 
Few glimpse here and a smile there,
thought we had a moment to share.
Thought we would make a perfect pair,
but she wasn’t the one to care.
 
So we are here, back to square one,
figuring out the mistakes done.
Replaying the scenes one by one,
with the pain which can’t be undone.

Numbers and Faces

1.

 
Story is about numbers and faces,
started in college in bygone ages.
On bus ride to Dhasa was the first contact,
with a face I barely remember much.
 
Deepti Naval’s face she did resemble,
was pleased to find her so agreeable.
For few hours we made love in an inn,
that is how the number story begin.
 
Although I lost my chastity that day,
memories are too hazy for replay.
Not asking her number I do regret,
but she being first, how can I forget.
 
2.
 
Nothing exciting about number two,
emotions were missing between us two.
My dear friend wanted first contact with her,
he lost the race coz he was amateur.
 
It was certainly an awkward mating,
with roommates pretending to be sleeping.
Was a mutual consent with no contract,
it lasted two days and we lost contact.
To be continued……

I am Sorry

i am sorry

Where does the sorry even start I ask,

when all these time I’ve been wearing this mask.

mask that can’t be unmask without trauma,

unmasking leading to melodrama.

 

I’m very Sorry for the things I’ve done,

for all the things done, which I can’t outrun.

Will settle with the Big One when I meet,

until then forgive and make me complete.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Journey of a Spring

Colorado Wildflowers - Yankee Boy Basin Evening 2

 

High in the mountains so close to the sky,
where eagles soar effortlessly and fly.
With few trickles you begin your travel,
so clean and clear one can see the gravel.
 
Only a foot wide yet filled with vigor,
rushing to meet your destiny quicker.
Helping people quench their thirst on the way,
at same time soothe their eyes with your display.
 
Over the cliff, under the bridge you flow,
what ordeals lies ahead you don’t know.
Innocent like a child you forge onward,
hurdles on your path you are least bothered.
 
After long journey you enter the plains,
where pollution starts getting in your veins.
With your strength weakened your speed starts to slow,
winding idly without much of a show.
 
It is here that you cause most destruction,
where your dark side makes an introduction.
With your overflowing banks causing flood,
you take residence and lives in cold blood.
 
Was any remorse felt or penance seeked?
for moral decay that started to reek.
Will you carry your burden to next phase?
who will pay for all the hope that was razed?
 
In your final phase you are broad and wide,
you ultimately meet your friend High Tide.
Battered and bruised from all of life’s lesson,
you hug the ocean and count your blessing.

All I Got

lone-traveller

 

Gave love all I got,

would be enough I thought.

Turned out to be nought,

left me out to rot.

 

Felt no pain or anger,

filled my heart with hunger,

to make it last longer,

would that be a blunder?

 

Husky voice still do linger,

in my mind little stronger,

Like a warm coats in the winter,

making me into a thinker.

 

I’ve been here many times before,

without me even asking for.

Time to swim for the shore?

before my heart is sore?

 

Day the Music Died

trench

 

Clenching my M16 so hard my knuckles starts to hurt,

with incessant rain, my uniform covered with sweat and dirt.

Tension hangs heavy as the thick fog, waiting for the go ahead,

brother-in-arms conveys with his eyes the tension without being said.

 

Deafening noise of shells that keeps falling nearby keeps reminding us of danger,

chunks of mud and rocks raining down with it feels larger and larger.

Some wise men said “There is no atheist in foxholes”

everyone praying they were somewhere else instead of this hellhole.

 

Brief break in pace of shooting allows me to peek over the trench,

my sense of smell is overwhelmed by the smell of rotten body stench.

Just as I was recovering from the urge to regurgitate my K-ration,

a bullet ricochet off my helmet leaving me with a dazed sensation.