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Why do I keep dreaming of you?
Your fingers, intertwined with hers
Your face, dimmed when it was me and you,
now beamed with confidence

Was it meaningless or was it a vision?
I must have known —
when she comes back,
there would no longer be an argument

I would be called out of my lies
of how we were different;
We were the best of friends
when she was far, a figment

Translucent Facades

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Was it only a dream
or was it something unsaid;
something both of us hide
to avoid more twists and turns

Was it something you feel
or was it something I wish;
something we try to conceal
because things have happened

that we do not know
how to handle

things have happened

that we do not know
how to deal with

even with so much that we know
even with those words we exchanged —
even with the translucence
we wear as facades
of our abundant sentiment

and with the translucence
we pride ourselves on,
as an attempt at a diversion,
we hide the secrets undeclared,
the confidential attachment

even from us

The Night

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Image courtesy: Pinterest

There is a reason why the night
is reserved for slumber —
With the moon in sight,
hearts riven asunder,
noises and fire put to flight,
and a mind turns somber,
the sorrowful becomes a poet
of life’s solemn wonder
and beauty found in twilight



Maybe I’ve tried, maybe I’ve bailed, maybe I’ve failed
Maybe I’ve reached the end of the world
and there’s nothing beyond;
Maybe I’ve flown, maybe I’ve fallen, maybe I’ve run
Maybe I’ve been nowhere
and seen the opposite of everything;

Maybe you are still the safest place for me
and maybe you are still the height of hopes;
Maybe you will drag me down
and maybe you’ll drive me insane;
Maybe there’s no tomorrow
and maybe there’s no yesterday;

Maybe this is it, all that we have,
safety and sanity, commonsensical simplicity;
I’ll pay anything to drop my anchor here,
now and again and again and again
as long as here means you
and home is your embrace

Knowing us, though, those are a silly thought
and nearly an impossibility


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Image courtesy: Pinterest

Why would life go on
if my page is blank
once I lose my muse
and all fail to enthuse

Why would there be dawn
with no one to thank
when I embrace the blues
and write them to amuse

Why would robins leave the cage
and younglings leave the nest
if tempest threatens to rage
and summer soon put to rest

For freedom, they say
and for growth
For a change in weather
and good things to happen