TO BE “HER”

Light- beams shooting across her silhouette

She holds on to the trees and sways

The leaves borrow her rhythm to rustle

They serpent around her like a veil

Her braids unravel from captivity

And twirl like an old light-house stairs

The forest gives her away to the wind and wind to the sea

 She enlivens all the three

Sea wind borrow her hate for chaos

Both pirates and empires waited for her

The waves mimic the rise and fall of her form

Now I want to follow her too

Follow without thought, fear and attachments

Walk with me into the sea

Can you see the old treasures she takes us to

Witnessing birth of life in the world

Witnessing the end of another

To be the wind that reminds someone of home

To be the sea that mystifies mankind

And the forest that one doesn’t want to be found from

To be an entity

To be the disappearing 

To give in to the primal

To be her.  

How do I remember?

How do I remember?

I have begun to doubt my memories

Can I do justice to them?

Do I remember the wind as it was that day or do I mix it up with me?

Do I remember love or I ruin that too?

Or do I make rain seem like a memory of a matka with a million holes?

Is every reflection and everything crawling to be remembered with fascination or am I just created for the hyperbole?

Do memories of dark days get stored in black white in everyone’s head?

Are days of joy supposed to be remembered or created?

Are my memories of success in childhood in harmony with the now "me"?

Is family supposed to be reminiscent about?

Are winters remembered by the cold or by hot choco?

Is music remembered or lived?

Do I want to be remembered or forgotten?

Is anger as fierce as I remember?

Is my country remembered everyday with a feeling of a déjà-vu’?

What is it when you only remember no directions?

Where did I drop the map?

Do I remember what I think I remember from blurry memories?

I ‘am afraid of not having memories that don’t make me laugh,

Do we live life or does it become a memory in the end?

I do not comply or resign my memories to life

I will not let my memories be copyrighted by “reality”

What kind of man is this?

You are a wise man

You are strong

You are brilliant and beautiful

You are weak and headstrong

You are filled with every energy source at the same instant

You are noteworthy in shades and the pure-light

You create awe and pity 

You flow like the water and create new oceans 

You standstill like the mountains and cause the winds to break

You are infectious 

You are dull

You are the filthy from the source 

You are innocent and conniving

Your sins are ugly and desperate

Your body is in his image and bursting with inequities

Your eyes are sharp and sad

Your smile: a sweet embrace.

Do I want to know you?

knock,knock?

They came a knocking on my door,
I said I have more then what I bargained for,
They wouldn't hear,they ignored.
They came a knocking on my door.

The pastor told me they will heed,
All through the sermon he said they would stop.

Pray to the lord!he said,
in the name of the father,son and holy ghost.
Read every chapter and every verse in the book,
committed them to my memory if I could.

Believe,trust ,hope and pray
Stopped and searched for that Amazing Grace!

God-Hope or Insanity?

I pledged to break the seven deadly sins,
or go as far as my conscience could.

The pledge now seems  pointless to me
A waste of life and energy
I think Iam fated to be on my knees
ardent and oh!so sincere.

Can I go back to the time when the pledge was made
but neither can I stay in the dirty maze
of name calling,image and who gives a damn?!
I'll stick to my original plan!

I'll stick to my original plan!

MY ROAD

 Iam tired of this
I want to stop
stop being so stupid
so emotional
what and where does it get me?

I want to run and never stop
where theres a road
or create one
tired,frustrated of lifes constant punches time to punch back
I dream of catching a road and never getting off it
meet people I never met
go to plains I never would
don't want  to find my soul want to loose it
and never discover her again
old me begone by the spirit of recklessness be gone
never come to this body again

hitch a ride to this place
a place where smiles don't have baggage
and opinions and actions needn't be justified
where nothing but you just you matter
Neon lights pave the sides of these roads
cheap and unhibited
laying there untouched but conveying romanticism to the road
come with me hitch a ride on my wishful-thinking bus
I got plenty of room
laughter is frequent and loud
dreams are  many and uncensored
life is a cricle or a straight line
its a video game only you are the creator
my utopian road oh!my utopian road
where music and freedom are not just lyrics
where money is not a road sign
love,lust,innocence is not mocked
cynicism and sarcasm are not needed to guard yourself
the road has potholes
potholes of inspiration
my utopia,my utopia!

All the questions I dread?

Am I a conformist by not conforming?
Do I or we make choices or just choose to name them so?

I heard somewhere once that there are no "mistakes"in life am I not making enough of them?

Am I too scared to go with the flow?
will I jump at the first sign of love,but then again is that a bad thing?
Will I repeat the mistakes that my parents made or will I invent something new for my kids?
When my hands are just a mangle of nerves and hair as white as snow
and when I look into the mirror will I like what I see or what others see?
I 'am having a great ride or is the ride having me?
and most importantly will I die young/old?

THEY TOLD HER

"You  have to be the wise one" they said to the little girl
You are not  allowed to cry
you are into the fortress they said while stopping her mid-twirl
You are ruining it ,you cant fix it,you are too shy

She waited outside the door of every storm
she waited out the blues
she waited for happiness in its old form
she fooled herself,she waited for the promises to come true

she walked on like they said she should
she felt responsible for every success and failure
she clung to memories of yesteryears ,they said she could
dolls,dresses and chocalates had no place here

she was the only responsible adult
she was the only responsible kid
she soon discovered she was a seperate cult
a cult for those who were stuck between their adult and kid

she did know if she could be anything but her
so she became her now
she became the cults only survivor
knowing not to define herself now

swirling stars,candy and laughter are gone
a suffocating silence takes its place
the participaticipation of feeling is not allowed
 emancipation is forbidden lest she is relieved
how can she then punish herself?

every feeling is drained every dream is forbidden 
every blame is taken
every word is remembered yet

EVERY moment wants to be forgotten.