i often wonder

i often wonder

how you can be so sure

about what i feel is so unknown

this life that searches for peace, for hope, for happiness

this life that is so jealous of that joy

what i feel is a gaping hole

that awaits to usurp it all

feeding off of tragedy

cursing all sanity

i often wonder if believing with you

will lead me to your hope…your effusive happiness

or make me feel trapped and cheated

when it all goes straight to chaos

DARKNESS

Darkness
slides and slips
like glinting slime upon a mottled marble slab
cascading along the eaves
of an inked through canvas
crashing into an infinite
number of pieces
each
crystallizing
into a haze of gauzy silk
luxurious yet softly
and swiftly stifling.

prickly pins and needles
stinging until numb
i drowsily helpless
to resist its
gloopy, gloppy, oozy
pit of tar

muddled mists lazily smoke
rustling whispers surround
brushing by, bristling, listening.

startling neon colours
burst and collide
spark and fade
across the starry-less pitch-black night
pulsating in the distance
dimmer still no nearer
further still no end

a panther prowls
its spots unseen.

caesura

it’s repetitive yes

rhythmic and thrumming

undulatingly slow

or thumpingly fast

and muted

yes

but i dont seem to care anyhow

i can only convince you

of what you want to believe

life is a timed waltz

yet you’ll never know

when it

meets its defeat

that elusive beat

that keeps thudding on

one day for some reason or other

decides it’s out of tune

or too played out too

and never wants to hear its music again

leaving you in disharmony

or worse

silence.

The Winding Wind

it’s only the winding wind 
that follows the Sindh* 
like weaving twine 
all through the pind* 
looking for its 
mighty kin, 
its 
tributary twin. 

where their 
paths align 
and interwine 
rough and wavy 
trickling and thin 

knowing 
that wherein 
there is din 
there are certainly 
water-needing den-i-zens 
running along its 
splashing shoreline 
beguiled by its ripples benign 
it returns to where 
the crashing waves 
begin, began and rush ever towards time. 

Sindh – The Sindh River aka The Indus River, India

Pind – ancestral village

i have a soul

i have a soul
i search for it day and night
i seek it in the mirror
i seek it in their eyes
i seek it in many smiles
i seek it
and yet it eludes me
i crave its perfection
that peers out of my dreamt shadows
it murmurs soft in a slept glance
held without touching
between my bewitched fingers
within and effortlessly in all
scrapped clean
cut free
bled pure
of all the tainted intent
of man