Just A Feeling

Just A Feeling

I have a feeling that I’m sick of something
A feeling I’m sick of but it keeps on prompting
It’s undefinable but it seems disturbing
I have a feeling that there’s a breech in something

Is it you? I feel like I know a clue
Is it me? Or is it something we never knew
I’ve traced back my steps to see if something blew
But it sends me lost and lurking out the blue

But wait, I feel like it’s been long it rained
I’m sure. Ever since I bruised my face and brain,
Ever since the accident I had with the train;
The crash that threw me whole into the drain

Hey come, I think there’s something with your eyes
No? But it used to, first, get wet then dries
Yes, tell me when; the last time I saw you cry
O dear, you have found someone else to make you smile

Motive

Motive

I was lying on my bed
When virtue came to a sudden end
The patience in me, a mortal man
Was crushing up in a lethal ram

I heard the voice speak
But to me, I needed not heed
It came from my heart within
But my sanity I dared not trim

The night had a motive
But my mind, I think, was passive
I could pass a test of ‘death in action’
If only my heart bore that passion

But then I left the empty room
Tinted blue like the edges of a shining moon
And I ran, heading for nothing
I ran, with hope to find something

Answers

Like a slave in an escape from his masters
I surrendered myself to a vicious fate:
Circumstances decide the choices made

Pale Horse

Pale Horse

Souls need not converge around an alter to be blessed;
The blood trails that lead them is too horror a burden
Misery need not converge around the eyes to be felt;
The blood trails they cause forth is too heavy a burden

O darkness!
Engulf me; you slave of the morning,
You spirit of death
What keeps you long from my mourning?
You taker of breadth
Sweep me under your wings and show me your kindness
I am your home servant; make of me your witness,
Quench with me your thirst

The bitterness of birth is twisted
‘Cause the scriptures made it look plain
The sweetness of death is neglected
‘Cause the scriptures made it look vain
You lord of the rejected,
Kiss your poison into my veins
May I cross the gate into your bliss

The Worst Escape

The Worst Escape

Serenity and quietness surround me
But these are unseen bonds that bind me
I’m staring at the rainbow
Through a crack in a small window
I wonder if I have true colours inside me

For every passion that finds me,
Its another dream I can’t pursue
My conscience is the judge that files me
And I can do everything but sue

For my thoughts I am in jail
And guess what fine I am to pay;
‘What it costs to be me’
My every escape leaves behind, a trail
That no matter how far I run, I run right back to me

Even if I could escape,
From what do I make my flee?
Myself, or the fantasies that make me?
I need my bail
What does it cost to be me?

Who’s There?

Who’s There?

Help me, o kindness!
There is a man in my room
Save me, o goodness!
There is an eye in the moon

Hovering around the remains of the loom
And clustering across the ceiling of the room
Is not just a cloud out the blue;
It has a face like a haunted groom
It has a beautiful scent of doom

Its hands and feet are as thin as air
Its body cloaked in fog
Or do my eyes only mean to cause despair?
Its face looks like a god;
Hell’s prodigal heir

Who’s there?
I can feel your energy within me
It struggles to defeat me
Me; one child of a dead mother
Me; the pride of a poor father
Please seize me not, o haunter

But if you must take me off this entity,
At least, let me know your identity
Will we be gone for eternity?
Are you Death?

Who’s there?

No, ma’am

No, ma’am

I’m on a journey to find love
My heart is empty and it feels sour
My mind is full and it feels heavy
I think it’s time to find love

The moon is shining, I’m on the sea shore
The wind is blowing, but am not sure;
Is it money I need? Or is it love?
Do I need money to find love?

The sun is rising, I’m on my room’s window
The snow had fallen, my house has turned igloo
The girl next door, her mum is a widow
Could I, in her, find love?

It’s night. I’m at the widow’s shelter
‘I’m here to give your daughter this flower’
The widow smiles, winks and whispers,
‘Am I not young enough to have your flower?’

Words Are Feathers

Words Are Feathers

We were friends before we met our flaws
We were lovers before we said some words
Now there is no ‘we’,
I plead you to hold some words,
‘Cause you’ve known me;
You might tell my fails to the world

As the wind turns,
Watch what you dispose at mountain tops
‘Cause birds fly, moments hop,
But not as far and quick as words

So, as you sing to them my worst rhymes,
Just as feathers fly,
Remember how fast a whirl wind may ply
And what it can disperse
‘Cause this is that moment of our lives

I am hopeful that we may again, kiss and share
But if you have let lost the feathers
From the pillow that we once shared,
You may never be able to gather them
For us to have another peaceful night, shared

Fear

Fear

You feel the quake in the air
But it comes not from the wind
It breaks from somewhere beneath;
The heart, the mind,
Adrift a realm more within
It’s an enemy
A friend to creative threat

You deserve it, don’t you?
You are friend to a creative mind
But look, who owns the heart that fell?
You’re in panic, you are in pain;
For a sword that may never slay

Now, the wind is talking
In the dark, stares a drawing
A craft of a crazy mind,
The woe of a lazy heart
Just a price for bravery’s death
‘Fear’
A cause that many fell

Temptations

Temptations

O Guardian Angel,
The guard to my soul
Where were you?

Where did you live when the devil knocked?
He aimed and threw his luring tempt
I gave in and mourned my heart’s attempt
To make my soul repent
Did you flee, and he shared my soul contempt?
I was meant to believe in you

Where were you when temptation rocked?
It came like wind from hell, swept
From miles away, to share my soul a dent
As the devil crept,
Did you flee and I lost my soul and wept?
I was meant to believe in you

I know there are things I can’t understand;
The storms behind my back that you have calmed
But say you could make the truth a glaring fact
And lead me off temptation’s path,
And build your house in my solemn heart,
I’ll live to believe in you

My Life, A Scrabble

My Life, A Scrabble

My life’s been a scrabble
Since creation’s travel
The birth that made me unveiled me
It woke me and showed me;
Alas! This is life, she’s a gamble

I’m awake by her dungeon bell
I’m a convict in her filthy cell
I have my world in my sack
I see no words in my rack
But a hell in her-spell

With her I have a broken heart
But even though I kept the spell,
With her I made a triple-word:

‘I am Amazing’

O Karma

O Karma

How beautiful you twist it;
A humor to a great mourning,
With fog in a bright morning
You’re twisted, you take bliss

How short you left peace
For the driver in my slum street
Who behind the wheels, sped quick
And washed me with mud squirt

But oh, how harsh your justice
To the one who bathed me
Disguised in a fog, thick,
You met him with a big hit

I assume that at first hint
He had offered an apology
And seduced me with a free lift,
I could have told him of the fallen tree;
He would have plied the foggy tint
Still, make out the journey, free

But how harsh you caused ‘cease’
To the humor in his bright morning
And the ‘bright’ in his fogged journey
You could have let him and save mourning
Still, blessed be your justice

The Heart That Hurts

The Heart That Hurts

Let me tell you the heart that really aches;
The heart that loves,
The one that cares,
The one that fears
That it may break someday and beyond mere tears

The good heart of a saint;
What makes it breathe as crooked and bent
Like the wind through ocean vents?
What makes it skip a beat and pace
Like raindrops on my shelter’s crest?

Let me tell you the heart that’s not sweet but sour;
The heart that’s with power
To love and share desire
But it’s the same that will mourn
Oh, faithful one ignited by fire

The heart of a good woman,
The heart of a forgiver;
These still be the ones deprived rest and liver
The heart of a humble servant;
Who shall serve it love and revive?

Let me tell you the heart that hurts the most;
The heart that condones

I Love You

I Love You

I can’t find interesting things to fill my mind
I sigh, I sit and watch the sky
And pretend I’m flying high
But I’ve never flown
So it’s too hard to paint that sight
But then,
This reminds me of how hard it is
To have you off my sight

I watch a dark cloud
And I wish that what is staring down is you,
So that you can rain me tears
And I will kiss them off like I always do
It’s twenty miles to town
And every mile takes me away from you
I’m twenty years now
And it’s two years since I met you

The Endless Row

The Endless Row

I’m sitting by the shore of a lake
I look, I catch sight of a wild bird
I cast a little rock into the air
And watch the staring bird fly
But not to me, sad nerd

She’s black, she’s wild
‘Come to me, wild girl’
She perches with the breeze,
On a tree in lack of leaves
‘Perch on me, black girl’
She sings, I cry,
‘Sing for me wind one,
For I am a lonely one
Since flares of the golden morn,
You’ve stared–the only one’

I’m still sitting by the shore of the lake
I look, I catch sight of another bird
I cast a little rock into the air
And the staring bird takes flight;
Though not to me, sad nerd

She’s white, she’s wild
‘Come to me, wild girl’
She perches with the breeze,
On a tree in lack of leaves
‘Perch on me, white girl’
She sings, I cry,
‘Sing for me wind one,
For I am a lonely one
Since flares of the golden morn,
I’ve been here–the only one’

A death portion is in my hand
As I cast my feet upon the sand
And pull myself unto a boat;
Time take my life on an endless row
But here she comes–the black one
She perches on my shoulder
Her sister too, the white one;
She perches on my finger

They sing, I cry and say with a smile,
‘Angels, how beautiful you are.
Your song heals my heart
You remind me of how beautiful I am’

A Writer’s Motivation

A Writer’s Motivation

I look east, west, north and south;
From where could my help come?
What does my heart seek before the ink?
The thoughts of periods; after the commas that I shan’t neglect?
The thoughts of respect to the topic, that I may not deflect?
They bore me to death

If I could bargain time with you my ticking friend,
Would you save me your sounding chimes?
And tears ever flow off my waiting pen,
I can write off these waiting cries

Truly, from where could my help come?
How do I spend this golden glare?
Stare? And mourn a rising sun?
Oh verily,
How high the price to write up joy
I’d pick up my pen:
From where does my agony come?
‘A Writer’s Motivation’