Runaway love

Runaway love

Runaway Love

Runaway Love

curving on the street’s end ,in the footpath’s bend
the lil kid is so cold and none’s around to lend
his feet all swollen , his eyes so blank
the fate of life written on his own hands
he tries to figure out y all’s so black
y everyone’s so mean and want to sack
y a world of dumbs is all he can find
y is everyone so harsh and not so kind
starin at the dirty walls in the back-street
he tries to find stars in his hand’s streaks
but all he finds are the scratches that burn
ashes from the past with memories so stern
memories of a mom who died without medicine
of a dad always drunk who never called him son
and as tears roll down his beautiful cheeks
death pities him and he’s so weak
opening the cold arms ,it embraces him
only to let him drown in a calm ,happy sleep


The struggle for existence

The struggle for existence

The struggle for existence

The struggle for existence , My Poems , Some Heart Touching Words , A heart Touching Poem

In the dangling electric-supply wires

and the dim, corroded lamp

perched atop the telephone pole

with its pallor barely touching the ground;

And the swirling snakes of water

which slip down the chipped red-brick slopes

and are arrested suddenly by the coal-tar road;

And the lid-less, gaping gutter-holes

vomiting frequent throngs of roaches

who tread the scarce grass blades

bordering the moist leaks in the ground;

And the foul smell that glides across the land ‘ere

tugging at the rugged walls and dingy buildings

sneaking under the ugly gates

and into the oppressive, nearly non-existent verandas;

And in the endless din of useless discussions

gossip and grocery talk

earnest commitments

of saving a penny here, a dime there

only to eventually indulge in one last extravaganza;

In this do I find beauty

a beauty that mesmerises

with the verity of its naked truth

its bare bones, starched of the drapes and false apparels

fleshless bones of a bony vulture

that stands true to the what begets it

and feeds upon it, ravenously

the struggle for existence

Fickle hopes

Fickle hopes

My lyrics dismantle
On the work-desk
Against the clock’s tick-tock
The pen frisking
Across the bare paper
The lantern hanging low
And a ghastly pallor
Pouring silent gloom
Dissolving into my mind
The cracking glass-panes
Under the times’ banes
Sounds of you
Still in that air
Me still there
Upon that chair
Still collecting shards
Of my broken dreams
Still searching past
In the cold