They tell the way they have seen
the life passing through their doors.
And of places they have been
by wheels, rails or mighty oars.
But let me have my own tale
for my eyes seek their own choice.
Borrowed stories feel so pale
for these ears who heed no voice.
Let my senses flow and churn
as the pot of desire burns.
I often lament over things not said
even when many thoughts have reached my tongue.
Some had the lustre but courage unfed,
and some with a fine melody unsung.
Sometimes few words can bring a little smile.
At times their echoes stir up a yearning.
Often they utter for a sweet long while,
and hope to express a deeper meaning..
But my vocals sought no flattering tune
yet struck a few chords though silently played.
And the lyrics were haphazardly strewn,
but found those ears with a spiritual aid.
I lacked skill and fancy for eloquence.
All I could offer was my long presence.
Now closed are the outside doors
as this fear fearlessly roams.
The skies display shades of rose
but we are bound in our homes.
Hand of fate has dealt new cards
with colours you to select.
Ask yourself what you regard,
and look within and reflect.
Time has paused- now pace you set.
Your soul is your sole asset.
A musk rose bloomed on my sill
with white petals peeping in.
The quiet rooms amour filled
as its fragrance drifted in.
It gossiped with coffee beans
and spiced up a blended scent.
Rolled into my fuzzy dreams,
churned out a rosy essence.
Deep ingrained sweet and sour are
seeds of the waking-flower.
Worldly wisdom the cart loads
to reach somewhere that seems wise.
The wheel eyes the random road,
and the axle squeaks and shies.
The spokes squeak with mighty strain-
align to juggle this weight.
Lose no bearings bogey-train,
and oil the armour of fate.
Wobbly ride across the span-
along rolls the journeyman.
Here she lies in woolly laze
with the embroidery spread.
Here we soar in God’s embrace-
hope for wings with magic threads.
And her spell warmth emanates
in the winter nights of blur.
Royal aura nobly states
when honoured to walk on her.
But for joy and slumber deep-
what troubles under not sweep.
Two small stones clattered for beat,
deep nasal voice sang for food.
Little girl scampered bare feet,
arms for alms her mother stood.
Often a smile filled these souls-
not enough for their bellies.
Sometimes few coins clinked their bowl,
and the lives got a new lease.
Short and light is their slumber-
long is the song of hunger.
Ship swayed on troubled waters-
the mischievous sea at play.
The frothy slopes ponderous,
and secrets deep to display.
The wheel spun searching in hope,
sails fluttered to winds of change.
The seamen tightened the ropes,
and love defogged all the rage.
On those oscillating decks-
somehow I found my sea legs.
Virtues seek reciprocal-
gestures vie for approval.
But desires equivocal,
and the fate appears cruel.
You rejoice in the belief
that deeds would be gratified.
Alas! this fancy is brief,
and such futile seems the pride.
The soul has treacherous roots.
And hope is a bitter fruit.
Why pick those threads of virtue
which needle your every thought?
When such dogmas stitch and sew
to tailor you with a knot.
Let the tongue utter your mind,
and unbutton the desires.
Tho the words seem undefined-
they roll to kindle fire.
The coat of colourful wits-
deep within the soul bird knits.