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.
Your thoughts sow the barren mind
where hunger has gnawed for long.
They sprinkle this soul of mine
for the thirst has much prolonged.
Seeds of love scatter about –
my musings juggle and dart.
Buds of these amorous sprouts
bloom in this dolorous heart.
The fragrance unrolls and lulls.
Your veins throb in the petals.
There lives a spy in my soul
watching desires unwind.
As and when emotions roll,
she reports back to my mind.
Then they dissect and assess,
and hose them down with reason.
My cauldron boils in excess
for it sees it as treason.
My wits vie for some respite.
But this heart flickers despite.