Category: Poems

Type and delete, type and delete,
Reminding myself of my own words,
Not caring about the now commonly felt hurts.
Familiar it gets:
Planned or unplanned, only known by the depths.

The depths can only be reached by those invited,
Depths are a secret, depths are deep.
Uninvited, one gets lost and smothered,
Between the confusion and the desires.
A burning bush scares away the rabbits,
May appear beautiful to some,
Yet the anguish felt by the bush is burnt,
Until there’s only ashes and that too disappears with a breeze.

A stray hay tossed by the wind,
Freedom or confinement it knows not.
A longing, so deep inside,
The ground or the breeze cannot fathom.

The ground seems inevitable,
Whilst the wind seemingly alters reality.
A setting sun with a blue sky,
May just be the highlight of its existence.

On air it takes flight: See what’s beneath,
On ground, it gets trampled.
Security or enchantment seems out of reach,
Yet with a sunset it appears to glimmer.

Yet with a sunset it appears to glimmer,
Yet with a sunset it appears to glimmer,
Till the night comes and it gets dimmer,
Till the night comes and it gets dimmer.

That creaky sound when cutting wood with a damp butter knife,
One can only try to imagine what the bare wood feel.
Is it pain? Is it anguish? Is it desperation?
Is it a cry of sorrowful frustration?
Or is it a melody?
A melody for the final outcome of the process?
A tune? A hum? An intermingling of hope and sorrow?
A hopefulness for a worthy outcome?
A burning sensation in the depths of its soul,
Constant as breathing, desirable, desirable …

I like to watch you fly,
Watching you is my hearts’ splendor.
I run to the garden at irregular hours,
Sometimes you’re not there.
I sit and wait, wandering, hoping to catch a glimpse of you.

I try to rest my mind, but you’re always there.
I am closest to you when I close my eyes.
You linger in my thoughts from sun up to sun down.
I am trapped; I am trapped by your elegance,
I crave being around you … This, I am afraid to admit.
I want to hold you in my arms and whisper secrets.
Why are you trapped?
Why are you not spreading your beautiful wings?
It kills me to see you in hiding,
It kills me more to not see you at all.
Your freedom I desire more than my need for you,
To see you fly and light up the mundane garden,
Without fear, free to paint joy with your wings.
If you were to fly, I’d be your air,
Unnoticed, yet always there,
When you’re tired I’ll carry you,
You’ll have to trust me, this I dare.
Even if you don’t, I wouldn’t care,
You wouldn’t have to look for me,
I’ll be your breath, your air.
Time is a sinking ship,
I am not on it.
I am at a garden where time never starts or stops.

Anonymous.

Take that axe and swing it … give it all you got!
You don’t need any encouragement, I know.
But I feel better when I do.
No need to worry about aim, the target will find you.
The target isn’t trying to runaway, rather, it is enticed.
I am guessing it gives you relief? Although … temporary?
Sure, take a break, a tree won’t go anywhere.
Here, sit here, there’s more shade here.
Let me lower the branch so you can have some fruit.
Ripe! You say? Tasty? I mean the tree wouldn’t know.
Are you going to try and chop the same side or are you going to randomly swing the axe?
It doesn’t really matter, the tree will fall eventually.
I see so your trying to figure out what you are going to make?
An ornament? A chair? A table?

For you?

That can’t be blood now can it?
I mean a tree can’t bleed? It can’t feel pain?
How would you know? You’re not a tree.
Anyway, swing wide and give it some force,
Soon you might hear a crispy sound,
It can’t be a cry? I mean the thuds when the axe hits the bark, they are merely thuds right?
Maybe the tree is singing, at each deadly stroke inflicted by you?
Madness right? It’s just a tree,
You want to make something for you.
In the meanwhile, enjoy it’s company and shade.
You’re smiling? Adorable! AH, the tree fell. I think it’s worth your smile.
It’s dead? Well I mean it is a tree, how can it die?
Found your piece? Made up your mind on what you want to make?
An ornament, is it now?
Ah, finally! done? You want to paint it?
I guess the wood needs beautification?
Will it protest? It is wood! How could it?
Put it up with your ornaments,
Maybe some kid might pick it up one day and give it a pat and ask where you got it from.
No more shade or fruits though; you got it in your basement now,
Do you even remember it?
I mean the tree?
The one, which fell? The one, which yearned for your smile?
The one, which collapsed for you embrace?
Madness!
It is just a tree right? I mean there are more of them.
It didn’t bleed or cry when you chopped it right?
I am just nuts aren’t I?
You’re right, dead trees don’t talk!