Last Few Months

Last few months
I did many things,
Last few months
I ran wild;
My smile was returned to me,
As I once more became a child.

Last few months
I ate a little less,
Last few months
I lost weight;
When my queue had ended,
I again began to wait.

Last few months
I ran a lot,
Last few months
I danced in the rain;
My life was hurled from a catapult,
As I lost where I was meant to gain.

Last few months
I felt no scare,
Last few months
I met peace;
My heaven now belonged to me God,
Like the pond belongs to the Big Fish.

Last few months
I ran into a lot of money,
Last few months
I didn’t have to borrow;
To own myself a kingdom of joy,
I embraced a wee bit of sorrow.

Last few months
I wrote a lot,
Last few months
I embraced hope;
Everything went smooth, as I played the Hero,
Of my long cherished dream, my hand-written bioscope.

And that bioscope’s still on,
In theatres that showcase amateurs;
It plays to packed houses every Sunday,
My pantomime and a gala of moth-eaten caricatures.

"Just another Nightmare"

Not too long ago,
I stepped into a messy quagmire.

_____________________________

At first I had had my inhibitions,
But then something happened,
Someone caught me by the hand
And said, “Come now, follow me,
There is nothing to fear.”
And so I let myself be led.

But the farther I went
The deeper I sank,
The damned stench of blood and clay;
And the all encompassing darkness…!
But none of these did my mentor feel,
As if he belonged there,
As if he were born out of that pungent mess.

I felt as if led by a Shade,
For where I was blind,
His vision seemed clear,
But the prefixes and suffixes
Of what he must’ve felt
Were blur!

But I did hold my patience
Even when everything around
Smelt of a kill, a Rat.
Until he gave me that Sinister Smile,
And I felt an inhuman chill
Crawl up my spine.
And then I ran, I ran,
Away from his sapphire gaze,
Till I broke free of that God-forsaken maze;
I was bathed in mud,
And I too now smelt of the Blood.

________________________________

It was long ago,
I stepped into that messy quagmire;
I found out afterwards,
It was just another nightmare;
But I still smell of the blood,
And whatever I touch, turns Clay.

A Dove’s Flight Home

A white dove flies…
Above the dale o’ silver grass,
O’er the fields of golden wheat;
Far he has to fly,
To the land of olive trees.

The place where the white dove lived,
The branch which bore his nest;
That place is lost,
The branch now broken,
So the white dove flies.

The white dove flew,
O’er vales ‘n’ hills;
His wings stretched above
Forests of chrysanthemum,
Marshes with smiling daffodils.

The dove decides to stop,
Its wings demand rest;
The dove is out of breath,
Scarlet blood flowing out
O’ its deeply hacked breast.

How the dove received its wound
We do not know;
Cuts and burns have a story of their own.
Though he blamed the world,
It was a fault his own.

See the dove flies again!
Pursuing hope, false but fair,
To reach his new lair,
The olive tree, his Eden owned,
A paradise lost, a new one found.