Key to My Heart

You hold the key to my heart

It nearly kills me when you're afar!

My life is only a dim shadow

And you are all the light in my universe

You control my entire existence

Without you, I'd be no more!

Ways of the World

The old man told him not to run after perfection but find contentment in what he gets otherwise; and never regret anything because everything happens for a reason. But the youthful lad had yet to see the trials that led to conclusions; and the course of life showed the young man how true the sage was after all. Years after, the tombstone of the youth read, "Here lies the one who didn't strive for perfection and never regretted anything and lived a peaceful life." Strange are the ways of the world.

The Journey Ahead

She tries to smile but can't hide the tumult of feelings that inhabit her being.

She watches her step carefully, wanting to make mistakes no more.

The ground is hard, the journey long, destination unknown.

She looks around, her eyes meet nothing but endless stretches of untrodden land.

With eyes closed, faith in her heart; she fights away the advancing fears.

She draws a deep breath and plunges head-first into her future.

Love Drunk

It was love at first sight. Just one look at her was like a kick in the gut, hard and potent. She was flawless, exquisite in her beauty. And then she looked at him with those languorous, chocolate brown, dream filled eyes and he felt giddy with excitement about what would happen next. A smile played at her lips and she pawed into her Chanel quilt bag and took out something, but he was transfixed by those pools of brown to notice anything else. She walked up to him, or rather sashayed, and slipped a note into his fingers;
Michelle 1362-935-11 xoxoxoxo in red-is-the-color-of-sin lipstick. Love drunk, that’s what he was, and the hangover beast that would rear its head in the morning would be a mighty big one

The Way Out

Ben Johnson couldn’t predict the future; he couldn’t even predict the next few hours’ weather. But at this point in life he needed to know what way fate would take him. The feeble attempts he made to fix the errors hadn’t really worked, they had just reinforced that he was a loser, a failure at everything he did. Defeated, he mixed up a cocktail and gulped it down, a drink of shame, humiliation and trepidation. He then sat down and waited. Waited for the drink of death to do its work.

Clash Of Their Egos

PROLOGUE:
He was a simple man with simple needs; content with life and
the way it treated him. He didn’t ask for much from people, just
that they respect him and the relationship they had. He was an
introvert and the only person who knew him front to back was
the woman he loved, the woman he wanted to marry and
grow old with. The woman who was his and his alone. He
wanted nothing else from life. Just a little assistance from fate
to make his world complete.
She was really sporty, but while others usually played with balls,
she played with hearts. She juggled them, her position strong
and concentration on the mark. Why have one man when you
could have another in line, better yet, a third one on stand-by?
Deception was the name of the game, lies were the rules and
she was a champion at it. But juggling is a difficult stunt; balls
fall but bounce back, hearts fall and turn to dust. And then she
searched for more.
************

He entered the diner and was hit by a cloud of grease; he walked towards
the back and slid into the last red vinyl booth. A woman with a voice like
heartbreak was belting out a song about love while a mini-skirt clad waitress
went about fueling customers with caffeine.
He had agreed to meet her one last time, to hear her version of the story of
his heart's murder. She would probably come up with a thousand excuses and
explanations about the accusation he had thrown at her. She hadn't realized
that she had permanently scarred him; she was too self-absorbed for that.
He wasn't ready to let her in again; he just wanted to see her cry, one last
time.
A smug smile covered her face as she spotted his car at the end of the parking
lot; she made her way inside ready with apologies and counter accusations.
She was glad for the thick greasy diner air, it would make the tears come
quick; she had chosen the setting well. He was sitting at the far end, his
black shirt screaming character and good taste, paired with old money; she
couldn't afford to let him go. She changed her expression to grim and slid
into the booth, facing him. His expression blank he stared at her face,
probably searching for a give-away that the remorse in her eyes was fake, but
she was too good an actress, she covered all grounds. She smiled inwardly,
this wouldn't take long, and after all, he was head over heels in love with
her.
He watched her dab at her eyes, the plastic bitch, faking tears just so he
would melt like a sugar cube in her mug of black coffee. He'd wanted to see
tears, but these just sent a wave of revulsion through him. She seemed to
think she had layers, that it was hard to know who she really was, what she
didn't realize was that after all these years of knowing her he knew her
better than his own self. She was transparent as a glass to him, albeit a
cheap one that distorts reality for the untrained eye.He could predict what she wanted. She expected him to
comfort her, to tell her he was wrong to doubt her faithfulness, and he did
just that. He wanted to lure her to the peak, just to push her off.
He was falling for her fake tears; she had triumphed again. She put her
fingers into his offered hand and let him stroke them lightly, an attempt to
stop the waterworks but she willed more tears into her eyes to hang on her
lashes; pearl drops of sorrow. She wanted more than comfort, she wanted an
apology for doubting her, she wanted an admission of his unrequited love
and then she'd give one back, so what if she didn't mean it, he would lap it
up like a thirsty dog. He would believe her. She just wanted a 180° turn on
the road towards their break up, she'd play some more, teach him new tricks,
get him even more dependent on her and then she'd turn another 180° and
dump him. She had never been dumped, it was always the other way round
and he wouldn't be an exception.
He had loved her like crazy and that was his biggest mistake, the other was
that he had trusted her with his heart. She still thought she had a
stronghold on that poor thing and she was using her tears to make sure of
that; was she wrong or what. He was going to play along for a while, be the
old him who was mesmerized by her charm, and then he would drop the
bomb. He ordered them more coffee and sat back with a lazy smile and eyes
half closed,drinking his. She was too busy with her tissue and scheming mind to notice his sudden nonchalance. He cleared his throat to get her attention, then
leaned forward, looked straight into her eyes and apologized for doubting
her, the sinister gleam in her eyes left as quickly as it had come; but he had
seen what he wanted, everything was going according to plan.

EPILOGUE
A month later....
He was still a simple man and she was still sporty. Besides that,
they were changed people. He turned to granite, trust and
love for the female species completely gone. She became
careful, her previous escapades having left her severely
bruised and feeble. Juggling is after all a difficult stunt, once the balls fall its
the juggler who gets thrown out of the ring. The same fate
awaits the juggler of hearts.

Worry is My Second Name

The minutes roll on to centuries as time slips through my fingers.
I have my heart in my mouth, my strength continually sinking to my feet.
I toss and turn, restless; consumed by anxiety as night after night sleep escapes me.
My head spins in circles as I wake to greet the sunrise day after day,
With pulsating beats and fragile limbs I creep through the days like a lurking spirit.
I feel no more myself.

Tears Of The Moon

The orb hung, pale and murky, on the dark blue canvas. Surrounded by a thousand twinkling stars, guardians of the tainted beauty. Its reign of luminosity scared away the demons of darkness. It’s pallor, icy yet warm, lulled many an insomniacs to sleep. As dawn approached, the earth got moist with dew. Tears shed by the moon as the sun stole its limelight.

The Love Chase

She walks in and out of my dreams

I wonder if she can hear my shouts and screams

She comes near and then walks away

Before I can even find the words to say

She laughs and I watch her helplessly

And I chase her around breathlessly

She runs ahead and I give up

Then she beckons me to carry on

And I believe I can go with her to the end of the world!

Moments # 2

A second flies by
and then another and another
but moments stand still.

Moments

Walking on leaves
I smile at the crunching sounds.
Moments of mute outcries.

Hatred Erupts

The mental abuse
inflicted
caused an emotional cramp;
excruciatingly real
as hatred bubbled out
from a once dormant volcano.

The Dance of Life

Isn't this life too good to be true

I hop all around feeling so free

I stumble and roll and stumble again

I spin in circles like on a merry-go-round

I step on the dance floor

Hold the hands of time

And together we create

The graceful harmony of life!

The Road To Her Dreams

The night was dark
not a star in sight
but her hair reflected the sliver
The sliver of silver
that hung in the sky
while the wind caused the grass to quiver
Her gown was torn
her feet were bare
but in a steady gait she carried on
On towards the hills
and the lakes and the vale
where all her dreams were born
She hurried her step
then broke into a run
then stopped dead in her tracks
Skin hitting gravel
Pain shooting through
blood seeping out of the cracks
She moved on again
egged on by her dreams
and happiness farther in sight
She smiled to herself
as she neared her goal
on that dark and starless night

The Highwayman - My Version

Galloping through the dusty road
Hooves kicking up grainy smoke
His had skewed at a rakish angle
His cape bellowing behind
He stopped at a barn, not far from the trail.
Got down from his horse, when the moonlight was pale.
He stepped to her window
Peeped in from the window
And so began the tale.
What went on between them
Is a secret untold.
It was love, oh so dark,
This the legends hold
He died for this love
She died for this love
They died for this love
But left a story behind
Of a love that was bold.

The Highwayman

One of my all-time favorite poems... The Highwayman by Alfred Noyes





The wind was a torrent of darkness upon the gusty trees,
The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas,
The road was a ribbon of moonlight looping the purple moor,
And the highwayman came riding--
Riding--riding--
The highwayman came riding, up to the old inn door.

He'd a French cocked hat on his forehead, and a bunch of lace at his chin;
He'd a coat of the claret velvet, and breeches of fine doe-skin.
They fitted with never a wrinkle; his boots were up to his thigh!
And he rode with a jeweled twinkle--
His rapier hilt a-twinkle--
His pistol butts a-twinkle, under the jeweled sky.

Over the cobbles he clattered and clashed in the dark inn-yard,
He tapped with his whip on the shutters, but all was locked and barred,
He whistled a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there
But the landlord's black-eyed daughter--
Bess, the landlord's daughter--
Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair.

Dark in the dark old inn-yard a stable-wicket creaked
Where Tim, the ostler listened--his face was white and peaked--
His eyes were hollows of madness, his hair like mouldy hay,
But he loved the landlord's daughter--
The landlord's black-eyed daughter;
Dumb as a dog he listened, and he heard the robber say:

"One kiss, my bonny sweetheart; I'm after a prize tonight,
But I shall be back with the yellow gold before the morning light.
Yet if they press me sharply, and harry me through the day,
Then look for me by moonlight,
Watch for me by moonlight,
I'll come to thee by moonlight, though hell should bar the way."

He stood upright in the stirrups; he scarce could reach her hand,
But she loosened her hair in the casement! His face burnt like a brand
As the sweet black waves of perfume came tumbling o'er his breast,
Then he kissed its waves in the moonlight
(O sweet black waves in the moonlight!),
And he tugged at his reins in the moonlight, and galloped away to the west.

He did not come in the dawning; he did not come at noon.
And out of the tawny sunset, before the rise of the moon,
When the road was a gypsy's ribbon over the purple moor,
The redcoat troops came marching--
Marching--marching--
King George's men came marching, up to the old inn-door.

They said no word to the landlord; they drank his ale instead,
But they gagged his daughter and bound her to the foot of her narrow bed.
Two of them knelt at her casement, with muskets by their side;
There was Death at every window,
And Hell at one dark window,
For Bess could see, through her casement, the road that he would ride.

They had bound her up at attention, with many a sniggering jest!
They had tied a rifle beside her, with the barrel beneath her breast!
"Now keep good watch!" and they kissed her. She heard the dead man say,
"Look for me by moonlight,
Watch for me by moonlight,
I'll come to thee by moonlight, though Hell should bar the way."

She twisted her hands behind her, but all the knots held good!
She writhed her hands till her fingers were wet with sweat or blood!
They stretched and strained in the darkness, and the hours crawled by like years,
Till, on the stroke of midnight,
Cold on the stroke of midnight,
The tip of one finger touched it! The trigger at least was hers!

The tip of one finger touched it, she strove no more for the rest;
Up, she stood up at attention, with the barrel beneath her breast.
She would not risk their hearing, she would not strive again,
For the road lay bare in the moonlight,
Blank and bare in the moonlight,
And the blood in her veins, in the moonlight, throbbed to her love's refrain.

Tlot tlot, tlot tlot! Had they heard it? The horse-hooves, ringing clear;
Tlot tlot, tlot tlot, in the distance! Were they deaf that they did not hear?
Down the ribbon of moonlight, over the brow of the hill,
The highwayman came riding--
Riding--riding--
The redcoats looked to their priming! She stood up straight and still.

Tlot tlot, in the frosty silence! Tlot tlot, in the echoing night!
Nearer he came and nearer! Her face was like a light!
Her eyes grew wide for a moment, she drew one last deep breath,
Then her finger moved in the moonlight--
Her musket shattered the moonlight--
Shattered her breast in the moonlight and warned him--with her death.

He turned, he spurred to the West; he did not know who stood
Bowed, with her head o'er the casement, drenched in her own red blood!
Not till the dawn did he hear it, and his face grew grey to hear
How Bess, the landlord's daughter,
The landlord's black-eyed daughter,
Had watched for her love in the moonlight, and died in the darkness there.

Back, he spurred like a madman, shrieking a curse to the sky,
With the white road smoking behind him and his rapier brandished high!
Blood-red were his spurs in the golden noon, wine-red was his velvet coat
When they shot him down in the highway,
Down like a dog in the highway,
And he lay in his blood in the highway, with the bunch of lace at his throat.

And still on a winter's night, they say, when the wind is in the trees,
When the moon is a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas,
When the road is a gypsy's ribbon looping the purple moor,
The highwayman comes riding--
Riding--riding--
The highwayman comes riding, up to the old inn-door.

Over the cobbles he clatters and clangs in the dark inn-yard,
He taps with his whip on the shutters, but all is locked and barred,
He whistles a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there
But the landlord's black-eyed daughter--
Bess, the landlord's daughter--
Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair.

Against All Odds, I Will Survive.

She lost her hair, she lost her confidence. She lost her husband, she lost her support. Yet she didn’t lose hope. ‘ I will survive’ was the mantra she kept on chanting, when all others who knew her knew she just had a few more weeks. Her doctors had stopped trying. To them, she was a lost cause. They thought it was wastage of valuable time and resources to carry on with her treatment, which wasn’t getting her any better. Her husband thought she was more trouble than she was worth and left her on her own. And yet she didn’t lose hope.

She was in the throes of the end stages of chronic lymphocytic leukemia. And she had less than a month to live. But she was putting up every form of resistance she could muster because she knew there was more to life than she had experienced. At twenty- seven, she was too young to die. There were lots of things she hadn’t experienced yet. Like the joys of motherhood, like living the life of an independent woman. But the doctors had already started counting her days. And with everyday she lived, she received a new blow on her consciousness, trying to arouse her from the false sense of well being she seemed to be in.

“I will survive”, she answered plainly to any one who asked her how she felt about her impending death. She still believed that, even when she contracted graft versus host disease after her bone marrow transplant. It was as if her body was rebelling against the very notion she was striving for. Her health was waning, but her spirit was not.

And then her body couldn’t take it anymore. It was battered and broken beyond repair, but her soul was as resilient as ever. Her friends told her she was being unjust to herself. She shouldn’t keep her hopes so high, ready to be dashed by the slightest miscalculation. And after going into relapse after relapse, she should know better than to pin her hopes on the unlikely. The doctors gave her a week. Maximum. They said anything beyond that would be a miracle.

She lived. For three more years. Long enough to prove her doctors, and her fellow patients and friends, wrong. And when she died she did so with a smile on her face and a gloating voice, proclaiming, “I told you I had more time. In the true sense of the word, I have survived.”

Late Night Thoughts

Dressed in silver, bathed in violet, the night seems so pure. I close my eyes, let the cool breeze rush through my veins. I muse over the hours gone by. A smile appears. A serene smile. Yes, once again I'm trusting fate. The fate that has brought me here today.

Losing Grip

He reached out in an attempt to grab her before she went too far out; out of his reach, out of his sight, out of his mind. He didn’t fully understand what was happening to him, he was losing memories, losing them faster with every passing moment, with every jump that the second hand took. But he didn’t want to lose her for she was the reason he was coping with this hectic life. She was the bait he was using to pull his life back to normalcy. And he wanted to get there before he became a victim of his own loss of identity.

Fishing To Kill

I jump upwards
from my
abyssopelagic habitat
to swallow
the magnetic bait
offered by
your alluring eyes
just to be added
to a line of victims
of your emotional massacre.