an ode to the wordsmith

hammered on a blank paper anvil,
he bent those impossible links to a chain…
wrought from the fires of his heart,
were letters ode to glory, and to pain…

held tight like the slipping sands,
in the strong shell of a sixty minute glass…
he captured life in black and white,
in words that would neither fade, nor pass…

he believed not in himself as one,
but just another medium for the passing by…
for what his worth did mean now,
would only be about what he left behind…

when crooked questions posed,
his answers were always straight in line…
that the ones who needed to know,
would find it all in the passage of time…

and here his words, i now quote,
from a letter that he had long ago wrote…

"to the wordsmith is this ode,
for these words, are not mine,
but his, that i have quote."

that kind of me

the kind of man that i once was,
i'm no longer used to being…
for this bridge that i must cross,
don't let pass, that kind of me…

let the bygones be forgotten,
another day the sun will see…
i shed my skin for this now,
true to the very bone try to be…

i've burned my wings with fire,
fallen prey to my self you see…
but if that keep me from the sky,
you don't, what i do believe...

when the light does fade away,
i could find my shelter in the dark…
at the break of mornings dawn,
fight the sun with my own spark…

cause they said to me once,
that life will not happen twice...
so here's to day, and to night,
for who i am, virtue or vice…

the sixty second run

it takes just a degree to break,
that circle we had never wished to run...
but it is all that we've lost now,
and it is all that we could've ever won...

a man wise to me, hath once said,
the most trying sixty seconds of life,
are best spent when you still run...
but who knows it for the truth,
it could well be a sadist's pun...

now the one life as I've known it,
has been black and white in only,
the blurry pictures of us then...
we live in the grey space for now,
and we'll leave one morning's day,
but let the answer come to when...

reborn

"It came to me on an evening's dawn,
but now, it's taking form.
you'll get to see a piece of me growing,
being born..."

lost to a sunlit haze,
bleeding breath, ohh glory blaze...
like the brighter red,
were pit against a burning black,
king of the cards,
still just part of the stack...

fleeting glee, a screaming wind,
regardless, what might have been...
Ohh how she glows,
the scarred moon in that sky...
giving even the night in itself,
a reason, come alive...

to the floor, a house of cards,
a plea for peace to a raging war...
like on a worn piece of hope,
were a letter written to the god,
torn to shreds, yet hanging on,
the will of a man burnt, but reborn...

the "in between"

you paint me in your shades,
of yellow and green,
but, in the grey,
between the black and white,
is where i've always been...

I'm not what you've known,
or what you think you've seen,
I'm just the dark shade of grey,
the in between...

the colours were your imagination,
never a part of my scene,
I'm just me, you see,
just what I've always been,
the dark shade of grey,
the in between...

through my eyes...

to my dear dear Hani,

in awe I had stood,
when I had first encountered her beauty…
with delicate strokes and vibrant colours,
she had been brought to life…
her beauty had been chiseled with such tender love,
that it had made the Mona Lisa smile…

to the canvas on which she was born,
she had never failed to show love and grace…
and the wall that bore her with pride,
she had forever held in a loyal and loving embrace…

meaning and depth she had added,
to the strong wall that she had adorned…
radiating happiness and peace,
in every ray of light,
to every soul that the light had found…

to the eyes red with tears,
she had given relief from the tiring despair…
and with eyes open to a different truth,
she had shared a vision that was unseen and rare…

she had shown wisdom to the seeking eyes,
of belief and faith, and the strength to bear…
yet, humble she had always been,
of her greatness, keeping herself unaware…

in awe I still stand,
cause every day as I see her,
I still see in her, a different shade emerge…

of peaches and apples...

she’d broken into his garden,
broken in and lived there for ever long…
living off peaches and apples,
peaches and apples from his garden…

he was the caretaker for that garden,
looking after the garden had been his job,
wandering through the compound,
getting rid of the things that didn’t belong…

he’d caught glimpses of her off and on,
glimpses that somehow, had brought to him a smile,
a smile so intoxicating that he couldn’t rid her,
rid her from his garden, do what he’d been assigned…

fond of her close yet so distant company,
he chose to let her be for the while,
deciding to let the time pass as it would,
postponing his duties, as long as he could…

unaware of the unfortunate truth,
she believed that it was for her that he cared,
slowly growing fond of his presence,
she looked at him, as her savior in despair…

she didn’t look for any other place to go,
the truth about him she hadn’t known,
but then it had all, as slated, taken a twist,
when the owner to check, had made his trip…

the owner of this garden, of peaches and apples,
fired the caretaker, and questioned his decision,
asking him for the truth and an explanation…
it was simple, the caretaker admitted his fault,
and promised to fix what had gone wrong…

peeking from behind a tree, she had heard them talk,
and as she realized the truth, she barely eluded a fall.
there she was left, with her fate quite clear,
she had to leave the garden, go farther than near…

leaving the garden wasn’t really a problem,
to her the peaches and apples weren’t so dear…
she could find somewhere to be,
she could easily figure somewhere to go…

but then, she is the only one who knows,
she’d fallen prey to the cupid’s arrow,
the arrow that had taken her, but left him alone…