I didn’t want to go on vacation
I would rather stay home with my friends
When does being treated like a baby
In this family come to an end!?
We went to a stupid hot beach
I don’t even know how to swim
I would rather be practicing basketball
Back home in the high school gym.
I sat moping on the beach all alone
As the sun was starting to set
We’d been here for all of three days
I wasn’t having any fun yet.
Then I noticed her walking by herself
Silhouetted against the red sky
Just on the edge of the water
I was speechless as she passed by.
I watched her walk down to the pier
Where she turned and started coming back
I went down to the edge of the water
Making sure I would be in her path.
I was aware of this beautiful creature
Walking ever closer to me
Her blond hair gently dancing
Inspired by the ocean breeze.
She looked up and smiled as she passed
Slowing down for me to say, “Hi”
An opportunity I couldn’t respond to
As I simply let her pass by.
All night I stayed awake dreaming
Of this angel I saw on the shore
Silently thinking and scheming
What I would do if I saw her once more.
Next day I was on the beach early
To give my destiny a shot
I sat there searching and burning
The sun was so very hot.
Just when I was about to give up
And mope on back to my bed
I heard a sweet voice saying,
“Boy are you turning red.”
I’ll spare you all of the detail
From my steamy summer of love
When on a golden ray of sunshine
My future wife was sent from above.
I do not know?
The Beach of Promises
Fingers entwined, barely touching,
turquoise waters teasing your dancing toes,
strolling along that serene deserted beach,
our promised dreams within aching reach.
Hands clasped, holding on,
sea-breezes tickling the nape of your neck,
walking together, alone, vowing to never breach,
the dreams dreamed on that faraway velvet beach.
Hands in my pockets, alone,
traces of you linger, teasing,
lost in my scribbles, your memory fading out of reach,
my thoughts ablaze, now and then,
catching a whiff of your fragrance,
wafting through alleyways of nostalgia,
your hand in mine on our pristine beach.
In a tropical place, the climate
becomes a way of being
Fruits and flowers on shirts and dresses,
breakfasts of bananas.
pineapple flavoured passions
pathways to the moon on evening seas
coconut milk tipped waves at dawn
palms tilting horizons, gulls gliding
the edge of time
Yet- where I live does not define me
Not like the timeless, Irish dairymen who-
rain or shine- milk cows they
could easily set their clocks by
Here on this perfect stretch of sand-
I am rootless - envious
of those who have never moved
I feel puppetized by modern life
A little schitzoid - liking where I am,
hearing the voices, while
a part of me pines
for pastoral beginnings.
All around me
Great cities made of sand.
Green sky scrapers poke through the ground
To thrive in life’s strict conditions
And melt away with the tide…
Great houses made of cards
Form lines, and tightrope walk existence,
Knowing that any moment, the wrong brick may fall
And buckle our world to its knees
As Mother Earth shouts Jenga! from the sidelines.
So while were here
We dance with the Glass Goddess
Poised miles above reality,
Leaping over the heavens on our domino stilts-
We floor it in the sky
Living death in the fast lane,
Seizing the day
Because any moment
We could disappear
I do not know?
My Wishes are Simple
My wishes are simple,
my desires few,
to gaze upon an ocean,
and marvel at a solitary drop of dew.
My wishes are simple,
my dreams not too grand,
to feel the waves teasing my tired feet,
with no footprints left in the cool, wet sand.
My wishes are simple,
my thoughts serenely gentle, calm,
my heart resting beneath a swaying palm,
healing my being, caressed by nature's soothing balm.
I do not know?
for bruce springsteen...
it was a rain-swept monsoon day
way back then, so many moons away
when i felt the music strumming in my veins
setting me free like a runaway horse without any reins
you sang of simple truths,
your verse spoke to people just like me
in my lonely, wasted, and desolately quiet night
as you screamed out tragic human wrongs, and of everyone's plight
'bobby jean' spoke to me
of that girl down the street
glimpses of whom, we as innocents would furtively meet
and 'the river' that flowed through my ever-barren heart
led me down further roads of thunder
when slowly i finally learnt that the hardest part was fighting on
and never to surrender
to the hard-luck dreams that were born to run
while i danced in the dark
with memories vivid and stark
even as i whined like that dog who for forever lost his howling bark
and then a 'human touch' came along
and 'better days' seemed real, not just words in a song
and still you sang and swayed and spoke straight into my unseeing eyes
as gardens of secrets were opened, and as your fist punched the skies
in an anger that i too felt and in whose cauldron i too burned
as we saw murder get incorporated, while on its wobbly axis, our fragile world apathetically turned
and then suddenly i was told that i was all grown up
working on a highway of scattered ideals
and absolving myself by sprinkling some coins in a waiting cup
well, after all these years of walking along so many a thorny road
with an armour of your verse covering me, even as i hear them taunt me and even as they continue to goad
but now i can feel myself fading away, into the bleakness of this coming night
just like the ghost of that old tom joad...
spinning round and round till i fly up
and hit ground
turning into sea
i grab the bass fish gliding past
i dive into the eyes of the brown green scales
head first never fails
in the soul of the beast i sit
my locks float around the fish shell
his hearts beat started to move me
onto my feet
bend my knees
shake my hips
rattle my brain
clap my hands
the soul of the fish is where i spend the rest of my plans
I do not know?
The Sieve of Time
along the banks of time,
whirling through the passing years,
clinging to my futile scribbles set in rhyme,
thrust into an unrehearsed pantomime,
clenching slivers of joy as weariness descends,
lulled into a peaceful slumber exhilaratingly sublime.
hazily adrift, a dandelion seed on the wings of time,
trapped in the sieve of spiralling memories,
caught between pristine bliss, and reeking slime.
flung aside for no discernible crime,
my human heart thuds with elusive hope,
though battered, bruised, and covered in grime,
I stagger ashore,
embracing each moment of detached, oblivious time.
Oh! My home, my sweet home
When shall see my home?
Away from home in a far place, i remember my sweet home where there is no hunger. Wake up in the morning and in a jiffy food would be stirring at you.
My sweet home situated in the outskirts of the ever business booming big city of boomerang very close to the Niagara Falls which is called the city of angels. Oh my sweet home. I will never forget my home, where toads and frogs used to combine to form a mass choir in the middle of the night and giving us a horrible selection of tunes especially when the rain has just subsided.
Oh how I miss my sweet home
Fall sick and you are immediately healed by the pampering you get
Nothing can compare to my home
When shall I see my home?
The morning sun stretches across the sky,
charging a palette of blues, greens and chalky coastal whites.
The smell of salt is carried by the early morning humid wind,
and seagulls search for their first delights.
The sparseness of our beach terrain rises up
into sweeping, spartan hills where provincial gardens stew.
Our little white bungalow house proudly stands
on the high promenade and gazes down to the ocean blue.
With stucco walls our house is stout,
it’s long low face consumes the heat of the clamoring seasonal sun.
Through the wide, arching doors to the four season porch,
the eaves crown a frame of fragrant cinnamon.
Our long, slender, wall-less garden extends out to the sea,
where our cliffs afford views of natural luxury.
A centuries old stone staircase descends to our beach,
where blue waves refract light into love’s estuary.
The four season garden is divided in two, half is for cooking
and half for the artist’s eye to bravely portray.
The sun warmed, fertile sandy soil has been sculpted
into rows of herbs, beach fruits and leafs of blue-gray.
The kitchen is open and the heart of this house,
where home grown love is slow cooked and always eaten close.
Stone floors and wood paneled surfaces appending the rooms,
with unframed windows to gaze and expose.
Interiors would be decorated with the colors of love,
painted by hand in the organic way that lovers can.
Our bed is a sand dune of linen and sea bird feathers,
where sunsets and it’s music seduce us time and again.