Sunday, 20 September 2009


Her boots strike the ground
When no one's around
She breaks into dance
When given the chance

This is her therapy
For broken heart malady
Tip-tap on her toes
Gets rid of her woes


Crouched to the ground
In the fumes of the day
She's crawling around
In the game that they play

One lap and another
On a circular track
In silence together
They make the attack

The fuel runs out
But they're making good time
On momentum they coast
Past the finishing line

Tuesday, 23 June 2009


We made grand plans the day before
But faced with death we are unsure
And though we know that it is time
To put our freedom on the line
We falter and, we compromise
We are but cowards in disguise

Great speeches stirred us to believe
We're owed far more, than we receive
But who will pay to make it so?
None of the people here, I know
And I'm a coward too, it's true
I wont lay down my life for you

A man beside me says, "Let's go!"
He isn't anyone I know
He charges forward, and he falls
His body full of bullet- holes
We stand around, but then we run
A Whip is safer- than a Gun

Saturday, 4 April 2009


Some time ago you stayed with me,
Together sitting on the grass.
It never did occur, that you,
Would leave me for another man.
But times, they change, that much is true,
But I don't change, I stay the same.

Reveal to me, if it's the same,
With him, just as it was with me.
I hear that flowers don't stay true,
And prostitute upon the grass,
For any passing bee, or man.
Are their advances blessed by you?

Admittedly, I dream of you,
And picture you as still the same.
A girl beside an honest man,
A woman who loved only me.
Who lay so still on green green grass,
But now I doubt if you stayed true.

And now I doubt *all* that is true!
And doubt that I ever knew you.
We rolled upon that lie-stained grass,
And every, "I love you," was same,
Mechanically fed to me,
And I believed I was your man,

For whom was your love for? What man?
I wasn't him, It wasn't true,
Inside a fantasy you led me,
And willingly I followed you.
And after, nothing is the same,
I'll always see you on the grass.

Your feet ran wild and crushed the grass,
But can not crush the love of man.
My love for you is still the same,
At least that much I know is true.
Despite whatever's done by you,
You'll always have, a friend in me.

And it is true, it was a game,
Played by you, me, and a man,
Lost by me, on trampled grass.

Tuesday, 24 June 2008


This man, right here, is an exception,
Possessing virtue, but no vice.
He should be, in an art collection,
Marked: "Not for sale- has no price."


Does shallow rhyme amuse you so,
That you decline to let me go?
Rhymes about a hundred roses,
Rhymes about how cute your nose is.

Can you not notice my disguise,
That I fashion from these lies?
That have no substance and no meaning,
But which you seem to find appealing.

I'll tell you now, I think that you,
Deserve far better than a few,
Love poems written by a man,
Who hides behind a crafty pen.

Please do not take this the wrong way,
And think that what I'm trying to say,
Is that there is a man of worth,
Who hides behind this awkward verse.

Because there is no such man here,
No wise man, oracle, or seer.
A poet made of flesh and blood,
Is all that's under this facade.

Wednesday, 30 April 2008


Take me to the man who teaches,
How to sell one's misery.
What foul lie is it he preaches,
That promises, to set me free?

For if I could sell depression,
Mania, sleeplessness, and vice.
He can have all my possessions,
I won't haggle over price.

Friday, 29 February 2008


A lonely tree springs from a seed,
Blown from afar by cruel winds,
It has no shelter from the storm,
No forest, family, or home,
Although it has no single thing,
It is a happy tree indeed.

For when its fruit has blossomed forth,
And branches strain beneath the weight,
The birds shall not resist the lure,
The tree of loneliness they'll cure,
For with their help it will create,
A forest from the fertile earth,
To keep it company forever.


So many times I've been oppressed,
By gossip, lust, and poor advice,
That I've been chronically depressed,
Lamenting this- my lot in life.

The children's laughter does not reach,
My ears, which have been so abused.
With hate, and spite, by vulgar speech,
Of every crime I've been accused.

The chains that bind me have no name,
My jailors have no mortal form.
I have only myself to blame,
I am deserving of their scorn.

Tuesday, 31 July 2007


The Oasis that embraced me,
Has dried up,
And I am thirsty,
For a love that shall not leave me,
In a shattered paradise.