Sunday

Sunlight filters through, It’s a Sunday morn,
Bringing memories of a long gone past,
When peaceful slumber was mine to take.

I loved the clouds, their fluffy white,
As they drifted across the sky,
So blue, so bright.

Dry leaves on the balcony and stairs,
Vendors screaming their ware,
Mother’s food, a pillow to lie.

Tom Sawyer, Crusoe and Blighton,
School and study all forgotten,
While Mother cleans my canvas shoe.

Love was given and all was taken,
Anger tiny, remorse naught,
Just couldn’t wait for lunch.

Swaying trees in a growing breeze,
Sea breeze coming in,
Afternoon siesta – almost there…

Sunday isn’t Sunday anymore.

Sparrow sparrow! Little sparrow!

The little sparrow chirped and flew,

Newfound strength in its wings,

The happiness of freedom to discover

Besides other things.

The sparrow found its soul-mate

In a thorny tree,

The thorns never hurt her heart

She was still so bright, so free.

The sparrow loved this world,

So green, so blue, so bright,

The sparrow loved everyone and thing,

She did not harbor hate.

The sparrow loved its little ones,

And gave them many things,

Values, courage, love and anger

And happiness to bring.

The thorns restricted her flying,

The world was angry with her,

The sparrow did not see why,

There was nothing wrong in her.

She never could hate anyone,

She gave them all her love,

But all she got in turn,

Was a bitter, bitter love.

The sparrow taught many little ones,

And taught them how to fly,

And they in turn adored her,

And loved her all the while.

The sparrow never adorned herself

She never had found the need,

But, oh! Her love was beautiful,

And her heart was bright indeed!

The sparrow fell ill one day,

Time had run its course,

Still she lived and loved and fought,

Her battle more poetry than prose.

They all came down to see her,

And for her illness weep,

And she loved them and loved them still,

Until, finally, she fell asleep.

LOVE YOU MOM!

Let me be.

In a faraway place that I see in mind's eye,
In startling clarity I hear,
Sounds of laughter and approval -
My own senses crying out in freedom,
I see my life as I want it to be.

My heart shouts in contentment -
tears of ectasy on my cheek,
Open meadow on valley green,
With cottage small perched handsomely,
My spirit dwells there.

I shout, I sing,
the echo loud and crystal,
but here It gives more than was given,
A thousand notes of wailing harmony-
and yet so still as the coldest lake.

What joy I find here, what momentum
lies in this clear wind,
The strings of my guitar resonate in this
completeness, Let me live here
if anywhere, let me be.

Out of control

Im slipping away from myself; Im moving towards the person I tried not to be.. but what is inside has to come out. Then perhaps, I have been foolish in my beliefs.. and stagnant in my thoughts. Im not sure how I feel about this.. perhaps i dont feel about this at all.

Iam manifold what I thought I'd be.. and yet I feel Im half the man I was.

Im desperate for contentment. Why have I changed so much? There was once a time when I found contentment in my most desperate moments. I seek.. aimlessly and with reckless disregard.. to find something I dont know about. Sometimes I feel as though Ive just lost that something.

I feel as if its passing me by. And that time is running out for me. I have to stop.. And I might just have to turn around.