Friday, April 07, 2006

The air

The air around you only knows to love.
To fill every void, quench every need.
And when carelessly pushed out;
There’s no demur, no greed.

It lingers in places,
Selflessly nourishes,
And futilely wishes,
That one day you will see,
That it shall never cease to be.

You’re busy with transience ,
She waits in penance.
Not like wind in your hands.
Or a fleeting romance.
She’s your tranquility.
Your immortality.

How does it feel to rush in,
To be sent out sans permission,
To see no sense in reason,
To be a victim of treason,
To be there each season.

Lover, you love me not,
And I am unwittingly part of this plot.
I am your air,
And nothing about this is unfair.

Wednesday, April 05, 2006

A series of unfortunate events

Took my own sweet time to grow.
And a long time to know.
Mirrors mustn’t be walked on.
As though upon a lawn.
And scooty brakes are ear-buds for many a buffalo.

You never stand on a moving vehicle.
Or bathe a cat with a gallon of pril.
Tomatoes are squishy.
And silences are fishy.
And misunderstandings make everything nil.

As a kid I rolled over dad and off the bed.
And luckily managed to not land my head.
Might that have been good ?
Well, that’s quite rude.
Never mind, enough has been said.

I got to twenty one with a fair bit of luck.
Escaped from geese with quite a bit of pluck.
Some loss of phones.
Some use of my bones.
And still doubting if when in doubt, I should go f***.

The entire process of truth and discovery,
Is sometimes rather worrisome and so very weary.
That some of us turn gray.
While the rest of us pray.
But at least you can say life’s never dreary.

A series of unfortunate events
Happened while trying to make sense,
To first realize
And then summarize
That only at death does life become past tense.