ALONE IN A CROWD
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
she’s alone in the bustling crowd~
around her, river of faces,
a current of hurried footsteps,
briefcases bumping, hushed goodbyes
archipelago of motion
no one notices her quietness~
train arrives, and she steps forward
departure’s anonymity
The sea was a whisper before it was water,
cleaved through the wind.
I stepped into its silver mouth,
waves curling something pressing in
a wistful longing for a past I never knew.
Seagulls traced ethereal designs across the expanse
their wails scattered like fragments.
Somewhere underneath the foam,
the past was fossilized within sedimentary strata
waiting for my hands to delve deep enough to find it.
The tide came in more forcefully
and I thought of to how love in this way
always arriving, always leaving---
sometimes tender, sometimes intense enough
to split the coast in two.
When it ebbed, it left behind more than remnants of a disaster,
it embodied the ideal I sought;
calmed by the steady undulations of the sea,
gleaming in calmness;
as if the tide dredged up
on the verge of being forgotten.
UP IN SMOKE*
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
whispers on the rails,
a lone train fades into dusk—
memories depart,
echoes of laughter linger,
in the smoke, dreams drift away.
*Note: This poem was originally published at Writer Monk in July 2025. It is my original poem
you are a loss i will forever mourn even in my sleep
paralysed by the ghost of you that haunts me in dreams
i gave you my heart till you bleed it out
forced me to say words i never once believed
they say people are always blinded by the truth
"forever lost" is truly the lost case
i was here bleeding at the shore
when you departed to another sea
Flickering lights cast shadows on the crowd,
Each chasing hopes that slip through their hands.
Trains whistle past in endless circles,
Rushing toward visions that never stay.
I stand beneath a single blinking light,
Waiting quietly as the crowd fades away.
No need to follow fading tracks,
No rush to catch a train that disappears.
The platform empties, footsteps soften,
Only my shadow remains, still and calm.
Lights dim slowly until all is dark,
The station folds itself into silence.
Here, stillness holds me nowhere left to go.
One last train arrives, quiet and just for me.
A dream that stayed while I let the rest go.
Now, I don’t know why,
he left without a word,
returned from the grave,
only to walk a road I could not follow.
Someone must have held his name closer,
spoken in a language I could not hear.
I watch them exchange unspoken truths,
a passerby in their quiet communion.
And now, I don’t know why,
she left without a word,
came back from the night,
holding a baby’s hands, still and cold.
So, I must let go,
accept the shape of my solitude.
No cryptic signs or fleeting gestures,
only clarity will chart my course.
I throw open the window,
invite the mercy of the wind.
I am a judge in search of justice,
an equivocator craving honest ground.
"Departure"
In the majestic curves of galactic arms
we choose to dissolve all war and hate
we venture forth fast away from primeval captivity
into the unknown welcoming cardiomegaly of It
what waits like Kaa wrapped around our scorched fate
beckoning our inner worlds like glowing orbs
we are swallowed into the burning crystal ball
Its starry gates open like god-like jaws
evolving like Paleolithic tadpoles old stone age
lacking tales to execrate all the obdurate
their time will come when all is far too late
and their karma is to remain to do it all again
fortune’s for the brave
freedom's for the few
we choose It like The Chosen do
to turn our backs on all that human hate
we raise our minds
we raise our eyes
our heart's electric
sending morse code messages
we begin to watch
the open skies of Blue
for forgotten arrivals
seen through moving clouds obscured
Candide Diderot. ‘25
Aquel sinsonte que se posaba
en el balcon, apenas trina.
Al no escuchar tú voz sutil
cantando sin secar.
Y esos rosales que ayer regabas
con delirio, hoy se marchitan.
Pues ya de ti no queda ni la fragancia
de tu esencia en nuestro hogar.
departure
i touched her face
then kissed her lips
and stroked her tears
as i turned away
her hair was long
i brushed it aside
and we kissed again
as never before
i remember her tears
on my fingertips
and her lingering kiss on my lips
encasing her forced smile
i walked her to the waiting taxi
hoping she would change her mind
but somehow we both smiled
hating the smell of yellow cabs
and it was the hollow sound of the trunk
slammed with a final exclamation
that she would turn and leave
on her one-way trip to tomorrow
tomorrow…some distant elusive place
where we reflect upon fond memories
wondering if maybe today had failed
and if the taxi stopped short of tomorrow
tolbert
Two wood pigeons on the hedge
Two thrushes fly low
Over the uncut lawn
Unfamiliar voices behind the door
Then the door opens
Two men carry out packed cardboard boxes
In a few minutes the loading is finished
A man's voice speaks on the phone from the garden
I turn away, looking towards the road
A car door slams behind me
I close my eyes, while the car hisses by
What a relief: they finally drove away.
I lean against the fence
The birds singing in the neighbouring garden
I suddenly breakdown:
Goodbye, goodbye...
I'm afraid to say more
Though no one is listening
The house is empty
Who’d have thought it would become
The past archive, so soon?
One last look at the garden?
I don't believe they cared.
They've got plenty of pictures
With her blooming garden, so that'll do.
They don’t know
I have her comments on every photo
A gallery of roses, cacti, pansies, petunias
Her olive tree, and blue hyacinths
She said they were blooming already
On the 5th of March, one day before our time stopped
And another time entered
I don’t have to count it, do I
We don’t live there.
Five vials of hope before 2:55,
An epinephrine Saturday feast
After midday, preventing time to arrive
Again, to stall the curse at least.
The single drop of tear tells it all,
I guess I've seen it coming.
And it did, but very stealthily, the fall
Disguised in serene eyes staring.
Broken voices of 2:55 and hence
A glass of water, a pat on the shoulder,
Paper works, the waiting, querying the sense
Reduced to an atheist's prayer.
The chaos ceased, all quiet on the front.
The war is lost; not a dream did survive.
Life is a poem that is so blunt,
All gone, after midday at 2:55.
I stand before it,
Something that was my present in past,
And is yesterday today,
Something that has become a memory at last.
A shade of yellow settled in my eyes,
Which would now reminisce everything in sight,
Bidding my last goodbyes,
Everything slowly flushed by a sepia light.
Those tarnished blue coloured walls,
That have been hit by our class’ cricket balls,
Those trees of green,
Which luminate the autumn sheen.
This role playing ground,
Changing its character as occasions are found,
Once a ground to our sports fest,
Another to when our parade isn’t at rest.
Those now-never-to-be-seen teachers,
Whose faces I miss,
These dusky classes,
Which now strike a lighting bliss.
Memories hidden in those benches and blackboards,
Each one has a story it hoards.
The forgotten tales of when I thought ‘their’ and ‘there’ were same,
Would be recalled if the wood had a mouth and a name.
Past is the moon,
Memories, the water,
Nostalgia, the tide,
Nothing to be felt but a warm collide.
When I depart this world
I will take with me
A heart abundant and bestowed with love and kindness
A fulfilled life lived happily
I know my words sound somewhat fluffy and light
Perhaps inauthentic, stock standard, corny or cliche
Yet these words l have written ‘ are solely my truth’
My lifes true meaning at the end of my days
On spewing wave, our departing ride
Crazed currents crack, an azure slide
Freedom mingles in sea foam seethe
Cobra throat coast gulps river relieve
Estuary entry rests, rushing ruthless
Canoe oar dip downtempo soothe us
Convulsing closing, seen from stern
To mayhem mouth we shan’t return
Silver silt filters salt, lake lap littoral
Ranges ahead etch graduating blues
Drift beside reeds, bird pews hymnal
Harp strum seraphim strike chords
Nacreous nematodes writhe towards
Tiny sun centre lace tutus feverfew
Pirouette pirogue wet on dawn dew
Papery apron snapdragon bonnets
Bloom ten a stem syllable sonnets
Cut log capsule covets its heritage
Forested foothills fix ship wreckage
Fir hands welcome hung hammock
Cosy ocean recoil, mountains titanic
Sixth of November
- upstream -
Sunday, last day
Departure bay
My faith display.
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