A gift

If I had a wish

I would gift you the moon

If I knew you would come

I would sing you my tune.

I will catch the moonlight

and weave you a dream

to slide into the night

on that moonlit gleam

If I see you cry ,

I will send you a smile,

and hold you in my arms

to see your tears dry.

The cost of magic

The magic was mine

and so was the fault,

I showed u the shine,

but not the pain it bought.

To the river, with Hope

This is an answer to Vagabond's poem 'River'

When you slept in those caves of death,
and lived your pain in every breath,
When you bled from those pebbles sharp,
to the tune of fate's lilting harp.

When you walked those miles dark,
wondering if you made a mark,
on destiny's treacherous shiftless sands,
in those dark dreary lands.

Was it not with hope in your heart,
of the river's mysterious chart,
through fate's unknown kingdom strange,
of deathless , eternal change.

Did the river not caress your feet,
and kiss it with a promise sweet,
did it not , with a charming bow,
wash the blood from that deadly blow.

The sea beckons ,
and your heart answers,
you have paid Fate its due,
and now, may the Force
be with you :)

The Philosopher and The Clown

On the long road of Fate, as happens so often, the Philosopher and the Clown met, once upon a time.

And as happens so often, there was a burnt house nearby.

Their conversation went like this

The Philosopher : "How can you be so merry when there is so much Sorrow in the world, so much death , so much pain? It has been 10 long years since I have smiled a happy smile ... and yet you can laugh in this cesspool of Sorrow !!!"

The Clown : "10 years without Joy !!! What ails you my friend ? "

The Philosopher : " My life is what so many people dream about. I have more Money than I need , I have a beautiful wife whom I love more than myself, and I have a daughter who is like Joy itself. But I am not Happy. 10 years ago, I walked by that burning house ... and I saw a beautiful woman and her daughter burn in that very house, and I saw the father standing by ... helpless. I saw the fiery flame reflected in his tears, and I saw those tears reflected in that fiery flame. And in that very moment I met Fear. He whispered to me dark possibilites of a dark future, hideous bylanes of Fate , tales of sorrow and death , pain and loss... and from that moment, I became the Philosopher "

The Clown (with a smile) : "I was the man you saw that day, the man who lost his wife and daughter.That was the moment I became the Clown."

Fallen Angel

i walked out into the snow today

i saw a fallen angel by the woods

sheltered from the winds

and the whisper of the snow

it lay there , strangely inert

the snow was red

from all the blood he had shed

and his mouth showed

the agony that the wind howled

i brought him home

and yet it lay

still, in a womb

of what sadness i did not know

months passed u know ...

long months

strange bitter melancholy months

and the snow kept piling up

and yet he wouldnt stir

for who knows what unknown depths his heart had bled

at nights the wind would whisper

dark tales, bitter tales of love

and treachery

in a voice that rustled of blood

and on moonless nights

when the world was silent

wicked footprints would appear in the snow

dark menacing , portents of the future

and yet he lay still, my fallen angel

as the sun made

golden bridges on his brow

....

Black and White

This poem is actually a collaboration between me and Senor R. Yay to collaboration (and Google Wave) !

When you think you are right

and paint the world in black and white,

When you feel the solid ground

and think you know your way around.

When you think you have learnt

all the lessons life has taught,

When you , in your hubris great

wonder if you could take on fate.

When you think you have in sight

a lovely future, of joy and light,

When drunk in vigor of your song

you feel nothing ever could go wrong.

Then one day, it all comes crashing down,

Crumbles away before you can frown,

And buried in the debris of your pride,

Lies the corpses of wishes denied.

The monuments you had built with lofty spires

Of hopes and ambitions, unending desires

That shadowed the sun in a mockery so brazen

Now lie trampled against the horizon.

But is this all, that is there to be ?

Is this the end, you had to see ?

With the last beam of the setting sun,

Has all, that was life, in you, is gone ?

But yet one song remains to be sung,

Before the black sheet of the night is flung,

If only you look through the ruins you wrought,

You will see something, you had never sought.

Yet untarnished, you would find,

Your humanity, that you had left behind,

Wrapped in a wisdom born out of your plight,

A promise of a morning beyond the night.

Dragonfly

She woke up every morning hoping to fall in love.

And on most days she did. "Cute guys" were her reason to live. She flitted like a dragonfly from one cute guy to the next. She fell in love in the morning, and fell out of it at night. It hurt every time, well as much as it could manage to hurt her. But nevertheless a good night's sleep dreaming about Elvis cured it all. Sometimes if the guy was lucky (or unlucky) enough she loved him for a whole week. But never more than a week for sure. Yet it was impossible to hate her, and to love her was absolute damnation.

She was the kind of girl whom selfishness became. She made poets out of tennis players and philosophers out of nerds. It was about the smile maybe, the sparking sunshine quality it had, or maybe it was the laughter, ringing uninhibitedly yet musically. She was rather cruel in making fun of things she found ridiculous, like a non-cute guy who would ram headlong into a pillar while staring at her. She liked being the center of attraction. When a cute guy would be around, she would loosen the curls of her hair, and sway her head with her ringing laughter to make them play with her cheeks, and then she would gingerly tuck those curls behind her ears and steal a sly glance to see if she was being watched. And hell yeah, she was. She liked being the object of jealousy of other girls, and never missed a gossip about herself. She knew every epithet they attributed to her. She liked that smoky smell of jealousy that effused from those words. Yet it was impossible to hate her and to love her was absolute damnation.

Her mother tried and gave up reining her. She thought, time will tame her someday. "After all", she sighed, "she won't remain seventeen forever". Her father was proud of her. He thought, she had his attitude, his sway over people. "After all", he boasted, "she has my rebellious blood!". Yes, she was proud, very conscious of her powers, very confident in her stride, very sure of having love forever. Yet she was just a dragonfly, light, carefree, flitting from one branch to another. It was impossible to hate her, and to love her was absolute damnation.

At this point you are probably hating her a bit, and loving her a bit more. You are imagining  her careless curls, bouncing on her face when she walks with a spring in her stride. You are wondering, if you will fall in love with her, and you are certain you would. You are wondering if you will be jealous, and most certainly you would be jealous too. You would say, she needs to grow, you would say she needs to feel pain, you would say she needs to fall in love for real. And I wonder if I should give her the "Philosopher's stone" that will turn her into a faithful little lamb from the dragonfly that she is. I decide not to.

I will let her flit from branch to branch, leaf to leaf. If you see her, do fall in love. It will sting forever, but that is only because you will keep scratching that area to feel that tingling sensation again and again.