Tuesday, June 18, 2019

Where is Love?

Originally published here

Show us, they said
A sad chuckle escaped my lips,
Marvelling at the wilful blindness
Like Braille, I made them feel

It’s not in the picture of her and I smiling at the camera
Nor is it in the gifts you see
Then where, they persist
A blind man’s patience for colour is thin

It’s in our hands when they intwine,
and in our eyes when we’re together, or not.
It’s in her letter and in her letters
It’s in her smile, it’s in her laughter.

Tell us more, they muttered mesmerized
A small smile adorned my face
As she walked in with the same

It’s in his words and his emotions
It’s in his kiss, or rather our’s
It’s in our hands when they intwine,
It’s in his smile, it’s in his laughter.

Spellbound and stunned, they stared
As we put the finishing touches,to our potrait of passion,together.
And that kids, I said
is where it always is.

Where what is, asked the oldest
Having missed the start
I looked into those brown eyes and
said exactly what I saw, love.

Last night I woke up

Originally posted here

Last night I woke up,
and stared at her face.
I woke up,
and she stared back.

I woke up and saw her face,
delicate and soft like wax,
the melting suspended,
the beauty haunting.

I woke up and saw her smile,
warm, reassuring and yet eery,
the mystery troubling,
Yet the enigma calming.

I woke up and saw her eyes,
Deeper than the shallowest pools,
Shallower than the deepest oceans,
the charm inviting,
the fear cautioning.

I woke up and saw her hands,
resting perfectly on mine,
feeling finally at home,
right where they belong,
and somehow where they belong not.

I woke up and saw her lips,
softly kissing mine,
I opened my eyes and counted the freckles,
The feeling enchanting,
The emotion pure.

I rubbed my eyes,
and the illusion broke.
I smiled, and waited.
Waited for the phone to ring,
but it never did.

Was it an eternity that passed,
or a second prolonged?
I turned and shut my eyes,
The phone rang, and her voice echoed.
The smile returned, the night had begun.

Wilted Roses

The two wilted roses lay
faded to a dull maroon,
the way they had been

A petal of the petals bent
as if reaching out slowly
to touch the other

The slow tick of time
pulled a fast one on them
disappearing in the flick of a swish

The thorns blunted
and the stems bloated
Yet their last breath they did not foresake

The drop shall fall, said Yin
and with it us, the other
Isn’t hope just prolonged despair?

The drop fell, and so did they
their petals reaching out to each other
Falling, reaching, blooming.