Amaranthine; a blog of original poetry

 The tanks roll in And buildings burn. The tanks roll in And men shatter, And women run to nowhere With their crying babies. The tanks roll in And separates lovers, Friends, Family forever. But who all remains  Will rise. Who all remains Are the strongest; The ones selected by ‘warfare' selection. Men and women will rise Without tanks, Or guns Or muscular arms. Men and women will rise By the strength of their tears, Their babies, Their loved ones they'll never see again. And they'll upturn tanks, And take bullets without falling, And shoot Hitlers before they can shoot themselves. They'll rise And the whole world will bow down to them.

 Blood slashed onto a wall, Leaking down through the shadow of a man With a knife. He leaves, Letting the door stay open. Black roses hide in some undiscovered cave, Not knowing there are red roses, White roses, Pink roses. The blood falls onto the black petals, As if making it feel red and Normal For some time.  The blood gives the flower it's identity. But not for long. They say roses are red. No one will say they're red and black. Blood slashed onto a wall, Rolling down to the rose beneath Slowly. The black rose doesn't care. No one will see it anyway.

 I see Leaves thrashing the window, Scratches in the paint, Lamps with fused bulbs swaying in the wind. I sit doing nothing; Yet I feel like I belong. I have a lot in common with the world. The world is thrashed by leaves from the world itself, One is scratched away for merely existing, We have no roots. So we sway in the direction of the wind; In the direction everything else moves. I have a lot in common with the wind too. Given the freedom to travel, But not given eyes. Given a chance to carry pollen Without knowing it. Hugging the snow on mountain peaks Without being able to feel the cold. Given a glass body to spread light, But not given light in the first place. Not able to really feel the wind, The sun, The innocence in the smile of a child. We feel nothing.

 “Let there be light.” God commanded. But I'll never be dead Light just passed through me And dies out until myself be. “Let there be goodness.” Says the priest. But with dusk I move west and east. Goodness is just a mask you wear. I am instinct, your true layer. “There's day and night.” People say. Yet omnipresent I always lay. The facade of existence that you see Has little cracks that set me free. (Found this in the drawer today. I was much younger when I wrote this. I wonder who much other stuff I've written long ago still lies around the house. So glad to find this 😅😁)

 “May I come to your room?” She asked. Ha! My room. The unwashed shirt thrown on the table, A vase of dead flowers kept on the chair, The ceiling fan having a chocolate wrapper in its cobweb. Stupid people  Will say it's fine, Average people  Will say it's shit, And intelligent people Will call it abstract art. I know her. But I don't know If she's stupid, average or intelligent. But I said yes; To her, I can’t say anything but “yes.” But I still won’t clean my room. It has been like this for so long, It has become Part of my identity. Cleaning it Wouldn’t make it my room. It is because of this, Not because I am lazy That I won’t clean my room.

 A bullet hits the bottom of the glass, And the blood rises through the water Like a slow vortex. Panes shatter and chains hang loose. A pocket watch gets buried in the sand. We get trapped in colourful bubbles That limit moment, We get scared by mere statues. A bullet hits the bottom of the glass, And the blood rises through the water. The water has become blood, And spiders splash around in it, Fighting for space. The spectacles should be wiped, The barbed wire should bend and break, And skulls should have their mouths open. Blood converts what it falls on into blood. It makes things forget That they ever existed. It does the same to people.

 VULTURES I want to do things. But vultures of love stand in the way. They come like puppies, Helpless. But don’t help them. They are waves That will become tsunamis. They are winds That become storms. Don’t help them. They don’t know How to find the way alone. I want to do things, But the vultures stalk me, Waiting for me to rest To grab me in their claws. But I keep running through the desert, Without water, Surrounded by cactuses I can cut open If I have the time. But I can’t stop. The vultures are after me. And I should keep running. THE NIGHT WAITS The smoke rises And a skeleton looks back at me in the mirror. The smoke rises, Windows fling open And spider webs break. The smoke rises And blinds, And also reveals. The smoke rises Like a raven searching for a grave to yell at. The night waits, The clouds wait to engulf the moon. The night waits For another curious soul to walk into it And get lost Amid the contorted trees And bodies without souls Hanging off of its branches. The nig

 I'm a simple drawing; The house and the tree every child draws. I'm the gravel On which motorbikes slip. I'm the cup That is kept even though it leaks. It's hard to live like this. And yet I survive Like the street dog lying in the middle of a rushing crowd, Like a hanging bulb swaying in the violent wind, Like a crying rose, A wounded bird, A light. I'm simple, And I don’t last for long. But after I go, They'll realise I'd existed. After I go, They search for me everywhere And glorify me for the things I did and didn’t do.

 The old man with the book smiles, The dog rolls up into itself in the rain, The curtains flutter, Lovers kiss. The rain falls in many colours Over the fading flower they forgot to take When they moved house. The wind plays jazz to make the still lake dance.  The mist hugs the hills, And swans embrace a heart between them. The neon bounces And the jazz goes on in the bar below; Red seats around a blue table where the bartender serves, Listening to the buoyant ramblings of drunk old men, And the dry sobbing of the drunk young. The bartender is the ultimate magnifying glass Of human melancholia. But it does not remain sad for long. For The old man with the book smiles, The dog rolls up into itself in the rain, The curtains flutter, Lovers kiss. Isn’t it pretty?

 Red light can come from the insomniac sun, Or from the hyper clubs that go on all night. Bullets can belong in a gun, a museum, Or both. Bodies can belong to people, Labs, Or graveyards. And souls can belong To alcohol, Women, Or rarely; Very rarely, To oneself. My soul belongs to me. But occasionally, It blows like the wind And in the attempt to knock down trees, Get stuck in their leaves. And I struggle to get it back. Red light can come from the insomniac sun, Or from the hyper clubs that go on all night. The world can’t be trusted.

 The world is a design on a bed sheet; The same pattern over and over again. And yet we stumble, And yet we fall Again and again. The world is a drawing by a child; A house, a tree and the hills Will always be there. Yet we want more, And get lost And sink into this mire Slowly Slowly And slowly. The world is a bonsai, A flower that survives because it has no smell, No pollen, No substance. The world is flawed, The world is more predictable than we think. The world is flawed. But can we disagree That it is the reason The world still exists?

 Spots on the nose of a cat, Pollen in red flower, Fields lit with flaming lamps, The misty ocean. These are all beautiful things We seldom notice. These are all beautiful things. We create roads to divide, But the trees hug each other After growing up. A plum cake, Tea, Cookies; These are all prettier than most stuff Built with blood, sweat And much death. These are all prettier Than the pyramids, The palaces, The Taj Mahal Thousands died to complete. Why do we take so much pain To build these up? Can’t we just sip the tea And call it a day?

 The bridge is a single tree Fallen across the river, Covered with moss And fluttering blue butterflies. The bridge is a single tree That committed suicide Before the land, Water, Or man Killed it. It cannot control the direction of it’s own fall. Yet It fell in such a way That it is a blessing For all who cannot swim. It is a blessing Even more than when it was alive. For when it was alive, There was a snake residing in its branches. After its fall, The snake has left. Now It is free. Now It can exist without hurting anyone, Without being alive. And it can help us all.

 You are a cathedral with purple and blue windows, Crumbled paper, A tear drop. You are the Taj Mahal with the stones, The desert with howling winds, Paris when its lit. You’re all these things And so much more. You're a lightbulb floating on water, Still giving off light. And that light Reaches every shore you get washed onto. You're beautiful, And I don’t know why you don’t know it. The world awaits And angels blow their trumpets To see you walk your own way. The flamingos embrace And wilted flowers look up On seeing you. You are marvellous, And I’m surprised you don’t accept it.

 The mountain sits there Like a giant old man; Humps like knees, Peaks like shoulders, Ice hanging like beard-hair. The mountain sits there Like a giant old man, Grunting frequently About the wind, Existence, It’s own helplessness. He is lucky enough To see the white foxes, To see the lake freeze, To see the sky flash in all colours. Yet he is sad And lonely And miserable. He crouches To protect himself; Even he doesn’t know from what. He crouches And claims he doesn’t have the luck To see things other than The white foxes, The frozen lake, The lights. But he doesn’t know There is nothing more beautiful to look at Than he himself.

 She's a tigress Looking through the bushes When the forest burns behind her. She's a tigress Looking to the river; The only thing that doesn’t burn, But not jumping into it. She is calm. She is graceful. She has done All she has to do. Should she really save herself? Is there a point to this? Or should she stay put And let the fire Turn her into fire. Or should she stay put So that she can kill the forest After she dies. The fire closes in. The river waits And waits And waits. The fire closes in. The fire closes in.

 A tower looks out through the mist hills. The bird sings And wet branch of flowers shakes from the weight. The gentlemen sit And the wine slashes around the glass. Bees drink nectar And shadows drink light. The dog knocks down chess pieces And horses run off tracks. The river cries And the hills convert it into song. The firewood screams And the winter converts it into warmth. My heart screams too, And they pretend not to hear it. My heart screams too, And you wrap it in a blanket And shake it And sing lullabies. My heart screams. It is hungry and you can’t feed it. So you put it to sleep For a while.

 The road looks black and white, The pink flower shakes from the stem, The stags collide And stages are lit To make us laugh With stumbling dancers, Forgetful actors And clowns; People who have become just as creepy as they're funny. The stages are lit For bad performances And magical acts that are not really concealed. The stages are lit To make us laugh Until we feel human, Stop laughing And start to cry Thinking about the hurt feelings of the actors on stage. Then someone among us will clap. Then All of us will clap. The actors, The dancers And magicians Know that they've messed up. But they make a teary smile, For they realize Humanity is here to stay.

 There is no electricity in my room, But the door hinges are wide enough. Sometimes We walk into caves And get lost in the many passages that lead nowhere  Sometimes We walk into caves And lose the flame on our torches; And sometimes, The torches themselves. But there is always enough light To show us the cave walls. There is always enough light To remind us where we are. And when the night screams, Vases break, And torches go out, This faint light Is god given. See it. Take it if you can. If you can’t, Then follow it. It might not lead to paradise, But it always leads to the source of the light. It always leads Away from darkness.

 Crows flying chaotically  Against the boring sky Around the television towers; So carefully, So considerately, Not one bumping into another. We are chaotic too. Just look at the crowd  At the railway station, The neon streets, The malls; Lazy To watch our steps, Lazy To help the child who has tripped, Lazy To say sorry. They say we are smart, They say we can feel. But there is more to us. We are smart But do not think. We can feel But do not care. Maybe  we shouldn't think, Shouldn’t feel So much. Maybe All we need Is to be like the crows.

 The bird looks through the bush, Salt is put on eggs, Water gathers on the can of coke in the fridge, And a man walks On the bridge over the ocean, Disappearing Far Far away. He gets lost In the mist, Opinions of people, The blindness caused by light. He is scared Like a child roller skating for the first time, Like a shattered mirror which hides its pieces so that it's not put together again, Like a tree without leaves, Adult without clothes. He is scared Of the known and the certain. He is scared of fate. But he still walks On the bridge over the ocean, Far Far away.

 A die rolling down a spiral staircase, Books arranged not in alphabetical order, A happy cry, A sad laugh; Randomness is the universe. Yet they unleash vampires To suck the blood of us all For showing that randomness, That ugliness, That disorder. They thrust us with arrows, They summon dragons to burn the tender huts We built in our hearts. They systemize, They mechanize And machinize us. They burn the forest To capture a single tiger, They break the bowl, Claiming they are freeing the fish. But it dies on the carpet Alone. They break chains and throw us into rotting cells. They pluck flowers And put them in vases with blood. They mess us up And make us think we are responsible. It is time To fight back.

 The white crane wants to dance But there is too much oil on its feathers. The tortoise wants to move But it has become too weak to carry it’s own shell. So it stays in the shell And becomes the shell. The world is an empty bowl With all the strawberries lying on the table. The world is a photograph Where everything except a single flower Is blurred off. It's hard. But the crane tries to dance amid the chaos. It’s hard. But the tortoise tries to make the shell a part of itself, And not the other way around. It's hard. There's water on the can of coke I took from the fridge. I open it and drink. I don’t dance And I don’t carry anything with me. I open it, Drink, And the days repeat.

 A headless body With broken limbs Crawls on the bloody floor, Not knowing That it is searching for its own head. But there's no use of knowing. There is a mountain of heads on which the body crawls Along with the other bodies. Some find their heads, Some find other’s heads and make it their own. Some find their heads And hide the heads of those they know So that they won’t find it. It's dark in here. Even the sighted fail to find their way. It's dark here For the dreamers, Clear headed, And the headless. It's dark in here. Will we find our way?

 You sit on the park bench Wearing a hat that shades your eyes, Waiting for me. But I don’t come. I hide behind a tree and watch you wait for me; Your dress old, The book in your hand the same, Your hair wild like it had wild sex Without you. You wait for me unprepared, Like I'm a letter in a bottle swung at the sea, Never bound to reach the right person. You wait for me unprepared, And you no longer look like the girl I know. You've become a wild swan With torn feathers, A mare with a thick mane, A free soul, A beast. You've become beautiful By becoming ugly. And I love it more than anything.

 I see the tiger stare, I see the statues dance. I see the light blind, And the darkness show. I see these things And what I don’t see Shoots me in the chest without Hollywood dialogues. And what I don’t see Punches me in the face. I see beautiful women become nuns And ugly women get married. I see capable men shy away And dumb lads rock the stage. Someone who quit college made things, And someone in college copied someone's thesis For a doctorate. I don’t know what is blinding you all. But this is the world I see.

I splash water on my face And look at the mirror. It’s cracked, And it is now that I truly see myself In it. I walk out of myself, And all I see Is a black and white desert With a black and white cactus, And a colourless wind. I walk out of myself And get lost, Burn, Lose direction. I walk out of myself And see the drums beating in the world's heart, The smoke rising from cold firecrackers trying to be lit In the world's soul. They tell me to embrace the world; This hell, This barren forest With it's barren rivers And stones that wound and poison. They tell me to embrace the world And I refuse to.

 I slant my bicycle on the post and sit down To watch the blue mountains. The heart dances; A million sunflowers turn to the sun, The flamingos take off, The girl at the Starbucks smiles And draws a heart on the boy's coffee, Without him asking. The day is so good, My poetry falls short in putting it down. I have tea and croissants in the mornings And walk out To see the sky wake up  With red sleepy eyes, To see the birds go by In V-shapes, To say hi to the old man next door, Planting red tulips under a blue sky. The day is so good, My poetry falls short putting it down. We need something more now.

 Palms like leaves, Body like grapevines; The sun falls on the vines, To show the single red flower That had the courage to grow there. I sit there with her; We both wearing cotton caps. I sit there with her; Afraid to touch her. But she touched my hand, And her eyes glowed Like the evening star through a cloud. I put my hand around her, And she leaned towards me. And I held her Tighter. Palms like leaves, Body like grapevines, The sun falls on the vines, To show us the single red flower That had the courage to grow there.

 You shade your eyes when looking at me As if I'm far away. But I'm close by; Close enough to touch your cheeks. But I'm close by; Close enough to adore the red shyness on your face. You still think I'm far. Why do you look at me through a kaleidoscope And pretend that you understand? Why do you look for water in the desert, And light in the depth of caves? Why do you try so hard to look into me? Just open your eyes And look at me. Just open your eyes And let your heart guide you. You'll see me Like you never hoped you would.

 When they think of loneliness They think of some hopeless man or woman Crouching beneath a window With no curtain, In a room with wrinkled walls. When they think of loneliness They think of someone Who is depressed, Too tired to seek out interaction, Too keen on thinking of suicide. When they think of loneliness They think of capable beasts locked in cages, Bars without drunkards, Wine glasses without wine. But when I think of loneliness, I see something else. When I think of loneliness, I think of myself in a crowd. When I think of loneliness, I think of noisy bars And glasses overflowing with wine. Loneliness is noisy. It is peace that isn’t.

 We try to bathe in fire, We try to loot empty pyramids, We try to tie down shadows to electric chairs. We know we'll fail, And yet we try Like fools In a world where the six year old watches porn, Where the guns never run out, Where lies win over truth. We have tried And we have tried enough. There is more than what one man can take. There is more than generations can handle. There is more than a blank pallet To life. We kiss in public And bite each other when alone. We behave in public And scream profanity at home. We are doomed And we have to be our own saviours.

 Red shirt, Red pants, Pink goggles; Everything is wrong with her And it makes her perfect. Schizophrenia, Madness, Attempts of suicide; Everything is wrong with her, Yet she's beautiful. Her madness speaks wisdom And her eyes evoke the emptiness of pure humanity. Pink flowers beneath dark trees, Bubbles, Rolling dice. The men shout And women cry At her. But her madness sets her free From the greater madness we all go through. Her madness sets her free From the knives, The cigars, The ghosts that haunt us all. Her madness sets her free From madness itself. She's lucky And we're too jealous to see it.

 We think being soft is being weak. We think being lonely is being intelligent. We think seeing magic is being a child. Isn’t it sad? We have to be autistic To smile at a butterfly. We have to be schizophrenic To see something that's not there. We need illness To be real again. What has happened to us? We are Too good, Too structured, Too fixed in our ways. We don’t see The melody in birdsong, The flute of the wind, The majesty in the cloak of a native American chief. We are Too good, Too structured, Too fixed in our ways. And we can never be happy.

 You move randomly Like a happy baby throwing his hands and legs. You move randomly Like reflections in the dark, Like sunlight sprinkled on glass, Like wheat in the wind. I try to understand you, And the more I do, You change yourself. I try to understand you, But I can only try. Thunder shakes the earth And lightning burns the tree. The tigers hide behind bushes, The vultures circle, The light cries And the cries throw light. I try to understand you, But I can only try. You are marvellous, You are a pearl washed ashore, you're the lifeboat in a sinking ship Never used. I try to understand you, But I can still only try.

 A poster of Johnny Walker on the wall, Four glasses half empty with wine; In one of them, A white flower With drops of blood on its petals. In one of them, A hair, From some old woman. In one of them, The dial of a wristwatch Dead and bubbling. And in one of them, Nothing but wine And wine itself. We drank, And we swallowed these things with the wine. But I got lucky; The glass with wine And wine itself. Nothing will tickle me, Nothing will tick in me, Nothing will grow in me. They say I'm lucky. But knowing this makes me sad.

 Morning, Grass with dew, Wet feet; All beautiful things, Yet I wait for something more. All is enough, Yet I wait for something more. The breeze brings scents of flowers that aren’t there. Memories. I wait for something Without knowing what I want. I can feel in company And be lonely. I can feel alone And be myself. I don’t know what I'm searching for. Sometimes It becomes clear, And I get what I want for a second While playing the piano, Writing a poem, Taking a walk Alone. But it is lost again. And I've to find it again In a different place.

 I stand under the tree And watch its heart-shaped leaves fall gently. I stand under the tree And wonder about what happened To the mask I left at the bar; A mask that was a crutch for my emotions. Without the support, They fall one by one. A white flower shakes in the wind, A wine glass with wine shatters, Everything hangs by a thread, Everything falls. I try on masks Of clowns, Of plague doctors, Of nature herself. I want to stay me. But the cost of that is this terror Worse than piercings, Than being punched, Than being tattooed for the first time.

 A tattooed woman sits naked, Hiding her breasts. Her hair is purple, And hands green. A tattooed woman sits naked, With wild hair, And a penetrating gaze at the world That made her this. Not that this is bad, Not that this is good. But this is a heart that does not feel pain, A soul immune from suffering. Is it good? Is it bad? Who knows? But it is visible in the emptiness of her gaze, The aimlessness of her moment, The hunger of her heart. This lion has torn her apart. This lion has shared her With other lions Who are not from the same pride. Is she good? Is she bad? Who knows? But I know She's empty.

 Some people are transparent fires We forget to pour water on. They burn But no one sees. No one realise they exist Until they smell their clothes burn; Until they see their skin burn and part. But realising it at the last moment Is useless. You cannot tell anyone. All you can do at the last moment Is scream. You'll burn into ash And turn into wind Before people arrive Hearing you scream. And you'll have warned Nobody. And nobody will know About the people who are transparent fires No one pours water on. And they go on doing their job.

 Raven Sitting on a clothesline With no clothes. Because she isn't there To hang them. She could do more; More than Cleaning, Cooking, Washing, Hanging clothes. But she didn't. She was a bottle of coke, Shaking at the back of a running car. The cap shot off before anyone Could drink it. And the stains; The stains on the back seat Are there to stay For long. As long  As the car keeps running. As long, As the car isn't taken to the junkyard. The seats being eaten By rats, The earth, The rain. Raven Sitting on a clothesline With no clothes. Because she isn't there To hang them.

 A flower fell off a bouquet, And someone stepped on it. And they all went about with their business. But I can’t help but stare at it; The act of hastening death. Everyone went about their business. But I can’t help but stare at it; The dewless petals, The red colour blackening with the creeping shadow of death, The stalk separated from the head Like with a guillotine. It might have been plucked from it's family, From the other flowers. But it's okay. They'll die as well. It's just that this flower will die faster. But in this world where everything happens in a rush, Can’t death do the same?

 There have lived great men  and woman. And no one realized their greatness. There have lived great men and woman Who never became famous. They are the gem among the dew, The sand in hourglasses. We stood in their shade And got wet in the rain when we moved away. We stood near them And lost direction when we moved far. Yet we don’t say these things When they're alive. Yet we don’t say these things When they can hear it. Mirrors break, Dandelions fly, And angels cry over their graves. They may be in heaven, But they are lost to the earth, Where they could have given more; So much more If they were appreciated.

I am a bird in a cage Who got a twig from the outside world Somehow. I am a bird in a cage Looking at the same house, The same grass, The same dog on the same mat Everyday. I am a bird in a cage Who got a twig from the outside world Somehow Through some wind That never intended to give anyone anything. You can call it luck, The universe, Or god. But it happened. I got the twig And it had a flower. But I did not know what to do with it. So I ate it And waited for more. But nothing came.  

 A white horse with wings Can come out of the ocean, Cats afraid of water Can develop a taste for fish, Bats dying on power lines  Still roam around at night. Logic is not enough in this world. Logic is not enough When a rhinoceros chases you through the Savannah. Nature steps in And tells you to run for your life. It doesn’t tell you to wait And make a trap in the sand. Maybe The weird is just what has not become logic yet. But Should we make it logic? Should we really ooze out the magic in everything? We have become Too smart. We have become Too selfish. We have become  Too organised, Too fixed our ways. And we don’t see the magic in anything.

 There was a piece missing from the puzzle And they all tried to find it. There was a piece missing from the puzzle That I was too lazy to look for. So I did nothing And placed the puzzle for exhibition In front of the whole world. But I won the competition Because I was alone. I won the competition Because none of the others came on time; They were busy searching for the piece That did not exist. They were busy to perfect And they never achieved that perfection. I was flawed And I still am. But I didn’t care, And I succeeded.

 Someone walks through the mist Towards me In the distance, And I don’t know who. He knows me. But is it someone I know? I run Afraid, Through leafless forests, And deserted streets Lined by torn posters and blood. And he's still there in the distance. I hide myself In churches, In bars, In asylums. I dance for the blind And sing songs for the deaf. I keep jumping from fire to fire, Victim to victim, Asylum to asylum. And yet, The man is still there far away, Always looking at me Even when I sleep. So I don’t sleep much anymore.

You're so near yet so far away. There is no glow in your eyes, No wildness in your hair, No life In you. You're so near yet so far away. The wind comes And the white flowers shake their heads. I come And you say nothing. There is ice in your heart And dust in your soul. There is a still ocean in your eyes; Deep but dead With the fish rising to the surface for air. There is a cloud that you float on, That never let's you fall through. This cloud is keeping you captive And for some reason, You seem to enjoy it.  

 Sorrow is an old friend; A letter in a bottle hitting the same shore Again. Sorrow is an old friend Who comes  With white flowers On which dew turns into blood, With cake Which tastes of raw flesh And veins. Sorrow is an old friend, Who hurts you by hugging tight enough; And they'll all think it's tears of joy. He comes out dragging a chain In the snow of my dead soul. He comes out after imprinting his palm On the frosted window of my heart. He plays broken violins And puts on puppet shows for me And me alone. He shoots at the air and claims a bird fell dead Somewhere. He puts on bad dances I'm forced to clap at. Sorrow is an old friend I'll meet again.

She is beautiful too. But no one sees it. She's A butterfly stuck in ice, A swaying lamp, A wick burning without much oil. She is beautiful And only I see it. My heart cries; The chains clank, The drums beat, These tamed horses go wild on seeing you; And I'll need you To tame them again And get them back. And I'll need you To ride them out of this cave They have lost themselves in. You are beautiful  And only I see it. But looking at it for too long Is blinding me. I've had enough looking at you. Now We should embrace.  

 Trusting our leaders is like saying the prostitute loves you When she has so many others to fuck with. Trusting our leaders is like trying to improve the taste of new wine By adding sugar. Trusting our leaders is drenching flame with flame, Arguing with emotions alone, Cutting cakes at funerals. Trusting our leaders Without asking how they became leaders, Is what we're doing. The guns fire And children die, And it falls on the people. They rob banks And rape And kidnap, And it falls on the people. We bowed down And made our backs the steps for them to ascend to the pedestal, And they say they did it all alone.

 My brother's a flower, Used at weddings, Used at parties, Used at funerals; Fitting in everywhere, But belonging nowhere. He's the fire dancing with the wind, The moving shadows, The plastic bottle rolling on the sidewalk With the wind; Ignored, Not placed at it's rightful place. He hasn’t found himself. He's the butterfly Staying on a single flower, Afraid of flying too far, Afraid to explore the other flowers, Fearing he'll not find a sweeter one Than the one he sits on. He hasn’t found himself. And they called him lazy; But I know he is not. He is just afraid, Scared of not being noticed. He's just afraid Of our parents, Society, Change. He'll have to jump from flower to flower To find the sweetest one. And I hope He'll find it one day.

 The world laughs And I laugh back, And the world wonders why. It sees The worms that eat up this fruit, The rolling stones, Darts that don’t hit the target. It sees The sadness, The stupidity of one person And laughs. But the laughter will be silenced. Because the world doesn’t see Our innocent smiles, Our kindness, The genius in our awkwardness. The world doesn’t see The ladybug on the flower, The one string still on the guitar, The ‘joker' in us all. The world doesn’t see the flower on the stalk, The sun behind the clouds, The genius in the drunk poet Shouting profanity in the street. The world doesn’t know us well.

 We had wine together And lost ourselves in each other's eyes; Sad shadows lingering in them To dull the light. We had wine together And lost ourselves in conversation About music, The rain, The weather, Just to find reasons to stay. We had wine together And we broke bread together. I corrected your hair, And rubbed away the lipstick that stood out; All excuses to touch you With naughty innocence That you enjoy. We had wine together And stayed looking at the pouring rain. Today I sit outside Watching the rain And wonder where you'd gone.

 I'm a love letter written in cursive, Left on a bench And carried by the wind onto the surface of a pond. I'll float on the surface And someone will pick me up And try to read. But all in vain! There are only two people who can read that handwriting. And there is only one person who can read it when wet. But the letter will reach someone with poor taste, And no patience. The letter will reach someone Who will throw it back into the pond. The wind watches over me Helplessly, Unable to get me out Of the hell it has gotten me into. The wind watches over me Until I soak and sink in the water With fishes that can’t read. Then the wind will go searching for another bench, Another hopeless man, Another letter...

 The curvy holes on violins, A grass through the crack in the concrete, Rain jumping off umbrellas, Misty cliffs, Tomatoes rolling out of a basket; These are the beautiful things We do not notice. The wine is distributed to some many people That no one gets anything. There are too many straws in the same glass That there's no room for much wine. We are too busy to notice The little things. The designs on railings, Flowery creepers on old gates, The spark in the eyes of young lovers About to kiss for the first time. An embrace From lover to lover, Parent to child, Young to old. A light Through yellow paper, A painted church window, An empty hourglass, A soul; Shimmering to die or be reborn. We don’t see these little things.

 I see you after a long time, And you shy away into the peach trees. There's fire in my veins And fireworks in my heart; My eyes glowing like a giggling infant's. There's the same in you, And you're too embarrassed to look at me Because you know I'll see it. A stoke takes off lush fields, A drop rolls down the leaf, The streams giggle And stones shout; For you have come After so long. And I know You have come To meet me. The violins play, the ballet girls dance, And the flowers bloom on old graves. Come out And let our eyes read each other, Let our hands touch each other, Let our lips feel each other’s. Let there be light And fire And birds with burned wings Flying towards bright clouds. Let there be A touch, A cat, A warm blanket. Let there be a spark in your eyes When we meet. Let there be love.