Wish

I long for the company of those who can sit at the bank of a river and look at the waves for hours. Those who would wonder how it feel to be a wave that travels miles and miles to kiss the shore. Those who can appreciate the journeys and efforts of other creatures. Those who can value devotion, dedication and diligence. I am sure there are some people out there who won’t get bored of flowing rivers, flying birds and colorful flowers even if they get the chance to patiently observe them everyday.

If I come across them, I’ll talk to them about the marvels of nature, the beauty in the simple things, the magnificence in the always busy honey bees, angry wasps and diligent ants.

I’ll tell them how i feel about all these little things that may seem useless to some eyes and will ask them to share their reflections with me.

I want to sit with those who can feel the magic in the leaves that dance in unison with the feeble puffs of the breeze. I want to know how others feel when they watch a train slowly leaving a station on a beautiful evening. I strongly believe that everyone carries a big treasure of unique feelings and stories in their heart. I already shared some of my feelings with you and I am ready to lend my ears to all those who want to share theirs.

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Impulsive Sin

On a mid-February afternoon

I sat beside the Bangpakong

as it flowed in style

like a model on the ramp

The breeze was nice and cool

But towards which direction the river flowed?

That was hard to tell

I was trying to figure that out

While my eyes caught a yellow flower

that wind brought near my feet

It was dry but still bright

With its cheek on the warm concrete

i looked up towards the sky

The moon was there

dull yet visible

Like a half bitten cookie

Yet beautiful

And then the wind got rebellious

As it caressed my face and ruffled my hair

I didn’t mind that excesses though

But with the next swirl

It tore apart that little yellow flower

And blew its petals in the air

Hither thither

A beauty reduced to pieces

And bright yellow dust

It made me sad – not only for the flower

and I knew I can’t but I wished I could ask the wind

What did you do to the flower?

Why did you do that to the flower?

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Ride your bike

To the eyes that shine

Even when there isn’t any hope ahead

To the eyes that smile

When there isn’t something amusing

A never ending childhood

Is locked in those eyes

 

Kudos to those who dare to rejoice

In the times of despair

Kudos to those who are stronger than sadness

Whatever the odds

They ride their bikes against the wind

And their hair dance behind their back

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Constant among variables

This world shall pass

and all that goes on here shall pass too

the little boys of today

will become grey haired tomorrow

the flowers that adorn the garden today

will perish too

the caravans shall pass

as they ain’t meant to stay

everything that exists

and all that we see

is intoxicated with the wine of change

but a lover’s heart never changes

although the sea reaches the sands everyday

to erase the footsteps of those who part their ways

but the tides don’t touch

the impressions made on the heart

the way someone makes you feel

stays in your memory till the last sigh

while the body gets busy with the daily chores

the heart spends its days similarly

remembering the love every moment

singing the songs

and dreaming for unison

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Questionnaire

Where should i go

when the city turns into a ghost town

when music becomes noise for the ears

tongue loses the taste

and eyes cease to appreciate the beauty

in such times – to find some solace

should i be the dust

and chase the passing cars like stray dogs

should i be the leaf of a willow in autumn

shaking with the fear of separation

or should i wait for the moon to rise from west

cling to its silver beams

and swing my mortal self out

to the other side of the blue lake

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Open and empty

Clouds got together

to shower upon the city

rain poured down the sky

and brightened the obscure graffiti

yet hearts remained in dust

of complicated grudges

as the rain didn’t pour in there

i must say – what a pity

Love was on the loose

eyes wandered around

palms empty and open

after loosing what was found

ears became more sensitive

to catch your faintest sound

but the night grew darker

without any sign of you

the smiles got scattered

that i saved for you

and the lyrics flew out of window

that i wrote for you

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On a Sunday’s eve

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Who sleeps under the bridge?

Love has gone to sleep

under the little bridge near rail tracks

where sand remains damp

during the hot summers day

and fireflies wait until the sky turns dark

when they start torching the dry bushes

in a vain attempt to set the whole city on fire

To me it seems a funny pursuit

that starts below that bridge

and ends where it starts everyday

but now there is a twist in the tale

as love has joined the party

 

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waves of emotions

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Betelguese

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