Clocks

The twelve wise women and men,
coming together at a roundtable,
feasting on time now and then,
served by three waiters able;

one long, old, and quite slow,
one short, young and orderly,
and the very short one though,
gallivants around happily.

The wise ones look out,
at the world far away but near,
studying the humans throughout,
their happiness, sadness and their fear.

Their murmurs and whispers,
holds wisdom of the ages.
Until the universe's winters,
this scene never changes.

The Sonnet of a Frog in the Well

Replete in world are strange mouthful loud frogs,
who view their world through that one hole in well,
honing their skills of smashing the keys on blogs,
while enjoying comfort in place they dwell.
Not knowing the zenith of the heavens above,
nor the nadir of the earth beneath their damn feet,
but still will speak many words on war to love,
with ideas formed while suckling mother's teat.
The ears of democracy hears voices of all,
and so must hear voices of these loud frogs,
rueful are the state of affairs, they appal,
the rich are getting richer, the poor going to the dogs.
From my crumbling well, voicing dissent of mine,
Aren't I just another frog in line?

My Dreams

My dreams are snowflakes,
that yearn for burning summer,
held by a dreamcatcher.

Meeting in the Ballroom Dance

A crescent moon is your smile,
reflects light of those around,
being mysterious all the while.

Like the tide in the ocean unbound,
the swellings of my heart beguile,
losing track of the time unwound.

What secrets does your darkness file?
To you, my emotions, now in thrall,
and to you, I offer a dance in trial.

Requesting your hand in this ball,
O' stranger, who has me in a trance,
tell my fate, ease my chest in squall.

You grab my hand and take a stance,
our legs then move in a serenade,
we speak unspoken through this dance.

Blitzing my heart with a fusillade,
night is over, much to my chagrin,
I look around, with your farewell's bade,
the crescent moon is now etched within.

Cat Closes Its Eye and the World goes Dark

Surely there are things better for me to do
Than cleaning my room or making my bed
Sweeping the trash under the said bed that's left
Unkempt under the covers, "it's over", I said;
The lesson of responsibility or
The lesson to clean up after myself
Never to be learned; and I would be mad
To not feel happy with things as in itself.
And I wonder that's why we shut ourselves
Away from things we don't want to believe
Living in a world of our principles
And self-righteousness we deceive
Ourselves in a stupor of happiness
Turning a blind eye to the darkness
Thus drawing the final curtain over
Our eyes to the truths of the world's carcass.

Life

Like sunlight passing
through a stained glass;
we are innocent, pure
at life's beginning,
coloured by our stains
reaching the other side.

Cast Away

I sat there
on the island
under the shades
facing the stormy sea
and the usual pensive clouds
now turned black searing the sky.

The winds
heavy, swift
tousles my soul
like a wet laundry
but without clothespin
it unhinges and flies away.

I turn to
burning boats
and then bridges
reminiscing the days
of the happy sun and beach
now only awaiting death's knell.