So Do I

Humans make mistakes
And so do I
I wish I could use that excuse
But humans disappoint
And so did I

And they let you down
And I do so too
They fail you, they're selfish
And so am I

Humans are obstinate
And I am too
And they fall short
And so have I

Might I hide myself behind the curtain
Of human tendency to err
And fade into oblivion
I cannot and hence humans cry
And so do I.

Poetry

A poet's words found me and sheltered
My wrinkled forehead,
Embraced me and whispered
That I wasn't alone
Not the first to run into
The darker shades of blinding light
From the gentles of the nascent night
And not the last one strugging to inhale
The seldom ever seen freshness
Of the morning winds- unpolluted.
They read my mind and imprinted my life
In verse of ones I had never known
Yet felt so near that they could hear
All my whining in no requirement
Of utterances from my vocal weakness.
I breathed in and out and felt the newfound
Freshness of the breezing stanzas
of nature's poets.
And in my confidingness,
The sibilance of sunrisen sighs
of stoical satisfaction
Lended me a notepad
And a pencil sharpened enough
To write a lifetime of my very own verse.
Gave me a home inside mine
And a room so filled with metaphor
That solace itself found solace,
Tucked beside the barren bedside,
Under the pillowcovers
Of oh so poignant poetry.

Waiting For The Night To Arrive

Running towards avocations
And delusive laughs and smiles,
Towards comfort from second-strings,
Towards a shelter safe and far from my latent insecurities,
Towards a simpering mask to put on my face
And conceal my very self.

Wish I could change like weather
And stop my silent trickle,
To rainbow-ed sunshine.
Transit from roaring tempests,
To the coolness of a cloud's shade.
And be lesser like the sea,
Forever same, churning within,
Screening salty secrets of solemn sorrows,
Yet strutting a sunny face at the morning's sand.

I reach my mask and put it on but it slips, For my face is oceanly wet with a sea of salted tears.
Tears of tiredness from expectations ,
And not living up to them.
Those of others and many more mine, Tiredness from disappointed eyes of those around and away,
And those staring at me
From behind the mirror.
And my mask slips again,
Exposing the redness of the black in me, Waiting for the night to arrive
And lend hope to breathe again
In a world of suffocating strangles.

Mother's Touch

Clasping on like a soldier his sword,
Little hands swaddled in
The gentle warmth of motherly care.
Eyes squinched and forehead wrinkled
At a look of the world's hasting crowds.
A voice unable to reach out and up, Towards the enduring heights
To his mother's sharpened ears.
He holds her close like indigent nomads do The bag of their only right and earning.

The cattle moves like a bat out of hell,
And a soul as little as a single raindrop in An ocean contrived by mighty rivers
Is ever so unnoticed.
The earners move and now they move
So rather like raged elephants,
A path hedged is a path stomped away.
And the white shine in innocent eyes does Not wish to yet be stormed, like many Others who willingly would.
A teeming rush deluges in,
And drags the gullible eyes away,
Away from the only home they had known.
His shrieks of panic and dire distress
Shunned to nil by the crowd's grey noise.

And as he feels the final touch of maternal concern,
Reaching for him yet dwindling away,
His mind avalanches with trembling thought.
He stands alone, as little as a second,
To face the world of a billion years.
Piercing through builts worth ten of him, Slithering away to find the touch
Of the white cottons of his mother's fate.

Seconds, twelve, stretch away to a million moments
And the sharp eyes of evil scare,
The value of a captured young is never too less.
A hand grabs him so fixedly,
And pulls away from the mortar pestle,
Wettened eyes frighten to terror and turn,
To see a mother's relief, a clinch so firm,
An embrace locked and a ruffle of hair
Finally bring the nightmare to an end.

Ocean

I try to mimic the song
Of the ocean waves lapping onto my feet
Dotted with sand as tiny as the value
Of those feet in the untold of space.
The white froth of the melange of this aqueous air
Whisked by a tide for another,
Flooding to ankle-depth of my brown skin,
Darkening the ochre of the sand with
Wettened paleness of rusted grey sea,
The saltiness of the ocean's call
Overpowering the salts of sweat and tear
Like nothing ever could.
The forever flash of vermillion is down
For the sand is still sprinkled magic in its absence
And glinting colour is not the only beauty.
The rushes ruffle the sand again
And my feet sand-wiched between both
Go cold and blue with the taste of sea
For cold and blue and winter can be happy too.
My eyes, they behold the swiftness
Of this natural enginery, older,
Much older than all our ages collected
And much longer than all our breathes could ever be summed.
Larger than life and larger than death,
The ocean's gentleness evokes motherly caress
And my eyes shut down to its acceptance of love.

Dystopia

The ocean boils and ices flow
Like whitened despair on hope's surface,
Wings cry and then drop dead down
To scorched concrete,
For there's only concrete all around.
Trees shed their green as homage
To the earth that once used to be,
And prepare for death in the dry of dusk.
The winters wallow in woeful winds,
The summer screeches of searing sorrow,
Terrorized beyond the threshold of tolerance
And on the bleak brinks of dire blights.
The monsoons deluge as if for the last ,
Brawling to realize the bible's prophecies.
The fall has fallen, given up to fate and
The spring had left so long ago.
The blue planet has turned to grey,
The greens have turned to fire and marble,
The future has turned blurrier than
The air of blooming urban marvels.
The sea arrives to seal our homes
And immerse them for its rising spikes,
The coastal plain has dived in blue
To rid the sand of its plastic guise.
The left of mankind now battles for life
Both with the earth and for it
And among itself to seize supplies
Priced like ivories of a fossiled mammal.
Givers of breath now struggle for it,
The mortal faces have nowhere to hide
But face the wrath and vanish, to return
The earth its sanguine sunrise.

The Eyes Behind My Mirror

The eyes behind my mirror
Look straight and speak no false.
The eyes behind my mirror
Do not hesitate.
The eyes behind my mirror
Hurt me and hurt so much.
The eyes behind my mirror
Are bullies, but only to me.

The eyes behind my mirror
Body shame and hit me.
The eyes behind my mirror
Do that physically and mentally.
The eyes behind my mirror
Question my skills that I never had.
The eyes behind my mirror
Compare my misery to the bliss of others.

The eyes behind my mirror
Point at my insecurity.
The eyes behind my mirror
Laugh at me and my anxiety.
The eyes behind my mirror
Do not stop even if I beg them to.
The eyes behind my mirror
Are ruthless and shut me down.

The eyes behind my mirror
Speak bitter truths so unwanted.
The eyes behind my mirror
Mock my shape and my inner doubts.
The eyes behind my mirror
Make me cry with no sympathy.
But the eyes behind my mirror
Also cry along with me. 

The Greener Side of The Grass

The better, the greater, the fitter,

The brighter, the greener side of every note,

Enclosed in wishes and floating dandelions

On footsteps of temples and in crosses of faith,

In bowed prayers and joining palms,

Forever a wish of a finer fate forth,

Oblivious to the share of somber bads

In the realization of the subtles of bliss 

For it is ordeal that ordains the open gusto

And the dark isn't evil as evils think.

It is honest and it speaks,

It speaks and it reeks

That not each day shall be yellow and glee.

It reeks of truth, truth that is

Sour to hear and thus oft ignored

But ignorance is never so fit to face

The tread of trembling turmoil

The thread of threat and trouble

The tasking ticks of wishful tomorrowland.

For reflect, if it wasn't for bad

How would you pick the good among the crude?

If the blue and black and brown 

Weren't pinned despairs of dark,

Would the yellow be always sunshine?

If pain was a demon ever unseen

Would the fairies of frolic ever bless of bliss?

If tears of terribleness never fell,

Would the tears of rejoice matter so?

And so if the grass never turned to yellow

Would the greener side still be so green?

The Journey of a Short Lifetime

Birthed in a white foamy fluff
Scattered across the peach blue plate
Melted into sphered heaven
Delight of the tired reaper's fate,
Dived a length of no mortal's limit
Plunged across the nothingness of winds
And swayed across to somber urban state
To soaring glasses and silicate.
Where some did reach it's birthing home
Cascaded around the exasperate,
Up and around the fatigued faces
And onto the wheels of a driver's love.
Where it rested upon the translucent glass
And struggled to keep from falling again
It trickled, alas, and trickled swift down
The view of a teenager's intentive eyes
Who perhaps would pen a poem down
For its very existence, the story of it's life.
The window edged and it dropped apace
To cemented floor which once was sod
And beheld a kid relish the pour and hint
The rarest smile, among the masking faces.
The kid with his shoe, perhaps a gift of motherly love,
In dynamic detained, vaulted up and on the fallen victim,
Now corrupted by the dusted brown of the shoe's midsole
And teared apart into countless pieces,
None with a hint of it's kosher soul,
The end of a very short lifetime
Of the tepid raindrop.