poem

Light

And in between moments

only words

when we blink

the air is different

it tastes fresh

and you open

a new door

of the morning

just to find

shadows gone.

forever.

keep the door open

and let the light

stay.

keep the door open.

 

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Inhaling Evenings

The Paper Kites idly playing in the background

fresh, floral air to inhale – and to exhale

but I wish it never ended

it was so still and so quiet

I could hear your pulse

the evening was full of pointlessness:

pointless people pointless chatter pointless ideas

and yet I wanted to stay awake

to stay

no you wanted to stay

scents gripped the air tightly

and the night went on by

The Paper Kites album continued on

in high hopes of making you dance

but it lulled you to sleep instead.

 

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Open Spaces

Ironic how you ask for breathing room,

yet end up wanting open spaces.

Along the lines of a map,

your footsteps trace the broken road.

 

Lost in the eyes of travelers,

you sympathize with them

as they seek and search,

the addiction unending.

 

No one stays long,

no sunset is kept at bay

when you lose the time

drawing close to paradise.

 

I breathe in the air

and exhale the postcards

I want to send back home

into your waiting palms.

 

Polaroids stuck on the wall

remind you of the places

your soul leaves traces behind,

longing to return.

 

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“We carry inside us the wonders we seek outside us.” — Rumi

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Overwhelmed

You exhale, and a thousand poems appear before my very eyes.

The universe will have run out of stars before they figure out what you truly are worth.

With sleepless eyes the world is unmoving, keeping close watch on your ethereal figure.

You stop time and three dimensions in succession, and leave me wondering, gawking.

The frailty is but a façade, for you are, in truth, a monument without need of any adornment.

But ever will I adore you, this I speak in silence.

No sonnet or song, neither mural nor sculpture can immortalize the glowing heart you hold.

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Red

I met him on the moon in the middle of October,
And he read the stars that I wrote down with lightning and a cup of tea.

The once-faceless adventurer who fought dragons for me,
Tasted wine of brevity that melted away his mask.

He sailed the East, he sent me greetings, and he taught me of patience.
His words built bridges, and added a sparkle to the marble fountains.

I wrote him a letter – a scroll of a chronicle, but the swords took him away.
Without a chance to bid farewell, I bury my words and hope for a shovel to have him unearth the tale.

Amidst Chaos

I wish you’d stop thinking about the thorns when the flower is the only thing you should see.

On cold, somber days I hope you try to dance even without the music or the sun.

Stop, and sit down. The things that you’ve been dreaming of are materializing before your very eyes.

Let everything come together as you inhale the breeze of a new morning beckoning you to stop being afraid.

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Letters to Juliette

The letters kept pouring in for Juliette

Love letters by the dozen

In pink, parchment, and crumpled envelopes

Sealed with high hopes, waiting to be opened, waiting to speak up.

 

But they weren’t letters of anguished love,

Not in need of advice or consolation,

Rather they were letters of admiration and awe,

For Juliette had given them light.

 

Every single one had something to say

About Juliette’s hair, or the way she spoke,

and even her presence

Evoked a thousand and one words that still do not suffice.

 

Fair maiden, why do you attract throngs of well-wishers, of hopefuls, of subtle cowards?

What is there that ignites a fire of eloquence, of stammering, and fleeting bravery?

You are a shining light, and enigma, a flame so unattainable

So let no one dampen your bright eyes and pure heart.

 

Juliette, don’t let them sway you with their honey-sweet words,

or the ink-blotched promises scrawled on paper, oh so easily burned up,

but leave instead the letters where they belong:

in a trunk up in the attic.

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