Poetry

When I saw your brown leaves

When I saw your brown leaves
On the sidewalk this morning
I was refreshed
At this mark
Of a nascent fall

When I heard morning mist
Like a cat creeping slowly
I sprang to life
At the sound
Of its gentle footfall

When I got home
For the first time in days
I was able to closely
Consider my face

It had grown weary
From sun’s stolid heat
But through your grace
I still walk on my feet

And my face is grown milder
Like the days of the season

Perhaps for this, too,
There’s a reason

Standard
Poetry

Drifted apart

We meet again on our old turf
Where we once used to rule the world
Just years ago, inseparable
Now each of us has gone our way

We have drifted, drifted apart

Our boyhood dreams of sun and surf
Have melted as our lives unfurled
The damage is irreparable
So why should I bother to stay?

My thoughts gave me a start

Standard
Poetry

Statues

Tear down these idols
The soulless white ghosts
And never build other
Deplorable posts
Sooner or later
You’ll find them all flawed
If worship you must,
Why not worship God?

Standard
Poetry

Empty streets

Haunted by the phantom people
Walking round the empty street
The world that frolicked, gamboled, sauntered
Overnight has lost its beat 

Lackluster its former glory
Grown dim its once gilded sheen
Bleak, drab, joyless, long forgotten
Yesterday is but a dream

Yet outside the trees are budding
Grass is fresh, the air smells sweet
The world that slumbered, suffered, waited
Overnight has found its beat

Standard
Poetry

Perhaps

Perhaps it’s true that guns don’t kill
Perhaps they only sow unbidden grief
And drill new holes to fill
With strength of character and will
Until our own hearts too grow still

Perhaps it’s true
But why then will
You send your soldiers off
With guns?

To kill.

Standard
Poetry

A chair, a desk, a reading light

A chair, a desk, a reading light
A pair of gray socks on the floor
An open suitcase by the door
So starts the quiet nomad night

A desk, a reading light, a chair,
A window into unknown space
A room where all is in its place
But still there’s something missing there

A reading light, a chair, a desk
My comforts in this alien scene
That give it mellow warmth and sheen
It’s all so quaint and picturesque

Standard
Poetry

A simple tune

A simple tune wafting through the air
Entered the living room
Casually strolling
A distant bell tolling
All was well, the day pleasant
And the afternoon sweet and fair

It lingered a moment, unchallenged by other
An invisible warbler
On an imaginary tree
Singing just for you and for me
All was well, the day pleasant
And the afternoon knew no bother

I still hear its voice with you around
It breaks into a song
When our souls meet
And pulsate to the same beat
All is well, the day pleasant
And the afternoon fragrant with sound

Standard
Poetry

To the artist, from a young man

I saw your latest canvas, sir
On my drive to work today
I couldn’t tear my eyes away from it
They kept asking me to stray
From the road or better yet
To pull up on the shoulder to get
A closer, unobstructed view
Of your masterpiece—the reflection of you
Why did you paint it so masterfully
Yet I must carry on driving?
—Yours truly

Thank you for writing,
My dear young friend
I appreciate the thought you gave this
And the words you penned
Many are those who just drive on past
Chasing a thing that’s too fleeting to last
You’ve captured the essence, and though onward you pressed
My canvas remains on your eyelids impressed
Whenever they close you will glimpse it with ease
And when they are sealed—
—Blessings and peace

Standard