The shortest route
from here to there
Still needs me to
get off my chair.
New Poetry Series on Channillo
If you’re on Chanillo, do check out my recently launched poetry series here:
http://channillo.com/series/sand-in-my-parfait/
It is set up for weekly updates. I added my second poem just this morning.
Masterpiece
Let NOW be your canvas,
Your breath be your brush:
Let no words upon it
To slash, burn or crush.
Live your masterpiece.
Yunus The Grocer
This grocery rhyme in honor of our local grocer.
Yunus the grocer sold his samosas
At two-dollars-fifty a pound:
A savory treat of taters and meat
So very exquisitely ground,
And wrapped in a layer of dough,
All packaged and ready to go.
The Need Of The Hour
All the children we orphan,
All the children we kill:
We can deck every coffin,
But we can’t check our will.
All our tears are fire,
All our mourning is play,
When we look in the mirror
And we must turn away.
Thirty seconds of sorrow
To be ready to preach,
No, the fire burns deeper
Than the heat of our speech.
Take a moment to wonder:
If the tables were turned,
Would we run to hide under
All our family burned.
Time to strangle injustice
With sincerity’s rope;
Time to drown every challenge
In a puddle of hope.
But we’re lost to the darkness
If we’re led by the blind,
And the seeing, all silent,
Simply follow behind.
Fighting fire with fire
Maybe needed sometimes,
But the need of the hour
Is for wide open minds.
Wide. Open. Minds.
Lies
The lies we speak,
And the lies we spread:
One kills our souls,
The other keeps them dead.
Get Your Bearings
The amity of land repels
A sea beset by rancor,
Yet there it is to come alive
Upon the stab of anchor.
Running
I hold on to my run
Like the sun, to the treetops.
“You first,” I say.
“You first,” says sun.
Home.
I look up.
I’ve won.
Inspired by (and picture courtesy): https://www.instagram.com/p/BAfzB89HEaN/
Wonder
I wonder if the wonder I express at all my wondering
Is all the reason needed to explain away my blundering.
The Windy Season
Above a fog of reason,
Beneath a cloud of rhyme,
You’ll find the windy season
Of poetry sublime.
Anytime.