When I started
Down the river I went alone.
There were rocks and foam
And I was afraid
Still being sane.
When the river widened
The shoreline spread before me
And the waters calmed.
I floated along on that placid plain
Thinking this is how it shall be now.
Long I drifted in quiet peace
When again the land narrowed
And the current increased.
Then I realized how temporary
Peace and safety actually are.
You know it is too late
Just before the end.
You hear the waterfall
Crashing on the rocks
Just around the bend.
The morning started with a heavy hum,
the road ahead felt gray and steep.
My eyes were stinging, salt and numb,
with tears that I could barely keep.
I pressed the pedal, reaching for the floor
but the steel felt hollow, wanting more.
The car ahead slammed down their light,
I pumped the rhythm, heart in throat.
A second’s flash of sheerest fright,
the distance narrowed like a sinking boat.
My brakes had vanished, thin as morning mist,
a jagged ending to a day’s dark twist.
But Grace was riding in the passenger seat,
I missed the bumper by a breath of air.
My life is like those brakes, worn and beat,
yet God was holding every frayed-out snare.
I’m safe, I’m home and though the bill is steep,
I’m just glad it's the car—not my soul—
that's in for a heap.
Those familiar faces of the days far bygone,
The curious, eager looks and the mind blank,
Sometimes, nay ,often haunt and then dawn
On one ,when casual life plays a wont prank ;
And capricious events and happenings drive
The credence ,faith and the sanity to deprive .
The tears in those little gleaming,narrowed eyes
Meant nothing, yet something of pain for sure ,
While the plain empty smiles beamed otherwise
Of retreat or return to the shell and to endure;
The feel of relieving content being just denied
To the little ones who morph as they are pined
To cry and groan till the wail stretches and yond,
And settle with the helpless sigh of exhaustion ;
With some toy or sign for a change ,or a fond
Apt relation to regain the realm of lost caution;
To self-console and revive ,the in drawn shy one
Transforms its own existence to keep up the run
Possessions and life secure centred in the core
Of fear infinite and abstract ,ever trying to aver
And to drive the hurt tender soul to slyly abhor ,
Not knowing the upright from the unjust fervour,
Picking up random values,seeking things sugary,
The stern phase of childhood slinks in to memory
A crushed light ignored the barrens warped,
The portrait stretched its walled character,
Gambler garments malice of shown marked,
Wakes a loose parley of losers barked,
Drawn drank sense, of the disparager,
The darkened questioned, shaped silhouettes,
Of obscurities merit its due,
Glares moves a heap of token assets,
A lengthened armed shallowed some regrets,
Facedown with cards, the table knew,
Pictured paints like an artful dodger,
The enclosed grows taller than itself,
Outranked and owned outspoken codger,
Last-minute cribbed the homey lodger,
Marmalade sweetens right off the shelf,
A day begets a dawning nightfall,
The narrowed light cast a long shadow,
All turned their backs against the stonewall,
Except for the vague, zoned off-the-wall,
The latent unperturbed sort, John Doe.
When my body is sculpted to perfection,
When my beauty gleams without a flaw,
You may whisper that I’m artificial—
But I am not. I am the raw,
Unyielding truth of perseverance,
The echo of battles I’ve won alone.
You question me with narrowed eyes,
Raise suspicions like storm clouds overhead.
You never saw the fire beneath my skin,
The silent strength in every thread
Of muscle forged through pain and grit—
You never asked what made me whole.
You judged my books, my songs, my soul,
With a heart colder than winter’s breath.
But I will rise through ash and ember,
Shine brighter than the stars of death.
I am not your fleeting fancy—
I am the storm, the calm, the flame.
And when I stand in triumph’s light,
Know this: I remember every slight.
I remember how you turned away
When I was broken, night and day.
So if you don’t love me now,
You don’t deserve me then.
I am worth the struggle,
The climb, the scars, the bend.
And when I soar, untouched by doubt,
It’s not my loss—it’s yours,
Without a doubt.
Many paths lead away from home, but only one leads back.
As the years sit salted upon the rack.
You find the path home has narrowed.
Turned from gates of dependence to mirrors opaque and black.
You arrive with exhaustion on your boots.
A feast of favorites on a favorite plate.
Go upstairs to your yellow crib.
To ignite those unreachable dreams again.
Things have become slightly slanted.
The faces so unfriendly.
Some are missing altogether.
Replaced by fresh ones, but you don't know their names.
Home is a place where you go back to lick your wounds.
Stay in tune with yesterday.
Until the nest completely blows away.
Nobody knows your name; you're a graying orphan.
A gasoline-splashed stray.
A stranger lives in your nest now.
The whole world plays the jester.
Holding a piece of your ancient flint.
Leopard narrowed his yellow eyes for the night
His body is stretched across upper branch tight
He snores easily, but is awakened by a small boor
This small tasty mammal rustled across the jungle floor
MODIGLANI
narrowed
necks
CONSTABLE
locale
landscapes
RILEY
migraine
mosaics
TWINKU a double word distich with integral title
How do you confess yourself?
Over chicken and rice
In the light of a moment
In laughter and life?
Or is it with warning?
"Please don't be mad."
Trembling lips
Narrowed eyes and red hands
Or is it with silence?
Scribbled words on a bed
Leave for the weekend
Buzzing phone wasting dead
Or is it with defiance?
A mock-up of "brave"
I will not let myself
Destroy me today
Or is it an apology?
"I'm sorry I was scared"
But your tongue is so telling
Your thoughts were so bare.
How do you confess yourself?
In a way that is true
Bare your soul to the people
You hope care for you
What the paper said
A newspaper I sometimes read is not happy
that billionaires dabble in politics
the paper is partly right; especially if the rich
The person who thinks about it is not liberal.
People who are successful in relative youth
tend to inflate their importance, ask what
do I know how to fill my time in service to my
country, even though they know it is about
themselves and well-being to use their
business acumen to benefit for the state
and at the same time, give them importance
on an international level
Sigh a mogul is not an intellectual, his vision
is narrowed as his business talent that does
not include the mass of people who might
have other interests, say about quality and
social issues that have no visible outcome
but nevertheless benefit those who are of
a modest talent
A billionaire should not brush them off as a
hindrance to their view, life is more than
running a factory and meeting people who
are in awe of the wealth
The reflection in the water of the woman
Was not pleasing; even to herself she looked
Hard.
Frown marks were etched deep; two lacerations
Between her black unruly brows.
Thin lips clamped together in a downward Arc
Showed her disappointment in life; her dissatisfaction.
She didn’t want to go on; She didn’t want to go home.
Her reflection said “I bet you haven’t got the guts to get in like Ophelia did.”
The woman’s eyes narrowed; she actually hated her reflection.
She took off her green shawl and lay it neatly on the green grass beside the still pond.
The unhappy woman stepped into the pond;
She sunk slowly down through her own reflection.
She had fallen for her own reverse psychology.
And now she is no more.
Was the sun the catalyst
For altered pigments
Narrowed eyes
Genetics
Moving through the cycles
Of nature’s perfection
The moon a silence
Rocking us all to sleep
I am the door she ran through;
Broken, off the hinges, jammed in place
I lie on the floor that once brushed off my shoulders
Unable to move as I stare at the ceiling
Watching her walk away as she steps over me
For, I was just an obstacle for her to clear
Life's view is narrowed by my perspective
Looking for a quick pick me up
My dead weight is too heavy for the weak to lift
Easy has left me when difficult moved in
I need to fix my splints and oil my hinges
Grit flies from spinning rubber,
the traffic is edging through roads,
narrowed, by the plowed and pushed aside.
Curb-side snow remains; solid humps turn brown,
in an un-melting light.
A lone chicken hawk circles an iced-over acre
of snaking roadway,
its black track attracts the birds eye,
as if it were the contrail of an elongated rat,
stretching into a bolt- hole of frozen sky.
When I saw you last time,
The world held its breath,
As if time itself had paused,
And all existence narrowed down,
To that singular, fleeting moment.
Your eyes, like galaxies unfurled,
Held secrets and stories untold,
Reflecting the universe within,
A universe that beckoned,
With a gravitational pull,
Drawing me closer,
Into the depths of your soul.
Your smile, a sunbeam’s embrace,
Illuminated the darkest corners,
Chasing away shadows of doubt,
And in that fragile, luminous instant,
We were infinite,
Bound by a connection,
Unbreakable and timeless.
When I saw you last time,
The world around us blurred,
And all that remained clear,
Was the image of you,
Etched in my heart and mind,
A memory to treasure,
An echo of a love
That transcended mere moments,
And found its home in eternity.
…
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