The Foremost Love

To be all alone

In the middle of a crowd

Is not what this life

Is meant to be about

To be all worn out

In the midst of gaiety

When striking a simple conversation

Marks the onset of anxiety

To be unsure

Of what others feel for you

Is a disservice to your own feelings

Which define and make you, you

To be high strung even at night

When others seem to rest in delight

Is a very unkind plight

So just follow the light

Of your own heart

And let it guide you home

To centre and ground you

To love and surround you

For above all that in this world may be true

You, yourself, owe it to you

Out of the Box

The only difference between my desires and reality

Is that the former is limited by my own sense of worth, imagination, faith and frailty

Remove these from the equation

And I’d be unparalleled, limitless and undefined like infinity

If you look carefully, there’s a deep profundity in this piece’s brevity

So tell me what you make of it?

Begin Again

Isn’t ‘new beginnings’ a redundancy?

Or do we all go around chasing old habits, places and people

Time and time again

Swimming in circles

Getting nowhere faster

Content with circuit being our lot?

I think next time

I’d just like to have a beginning

Period

No new beginnings

Begging to begin again

Of sunrises and sunsets

The rising sun brings with it

Hope and joy

A renewed vigour for life

Invincibility and motivation

As if you’re god’s favourite creation

And nothing, almost nothing, is out of your reach

The setting sun speaks to me

Of calm and peace

Of rest, overdue and well deserved

Of satisfaction and bliss

Of a day well lived

Of an evening well loved

And I go to bed content

In the certainty of another sun

Which soon shall rise again

Without fail

And bring with it

Hope and joy renewed

I dream of reality?

You ask me if I’m a dreamer or a realist

As if being either could define me in your eyes

Or being both at the same was incredulously impossible

No

I am a dreamer and a realist

For if you wouldn’t dare to dream

How could you possibly fathom the limits of your reality?

Language of the Universe

In a universe so infinite

Why would you want to love finitely?

Define yourself with numbers

Like scores, marks, weight, age, people?

Why limit your soul to one astral plane?

Why restrict your knowledge to only that which is defined?

What’s stopping you other than your own self-imposed boundaries?

Even if the universe were to be finite

Why couldn’t you live infinitely?

Or rather

Why shouldn’t you?

Even if the universe were finite

Go ahead and write your story

On every particle of it

Tongue Tied

He wondered if I’d ever written something with him in mind

Confessing he’d been scouring for a piece of him in every word of my pieces

I could only smile and say no

Little could I tell him though

That his disappointment was misplaced

I yearned to tell him so

But I

I could never do justice to the embers he ignites within my soul

For I’d never be able to write anything for him

There just aren’t enough words

Or pages

Or lines good enough

To sum him up

So I write

Day and night

Of everything

But him

In the hope

He’d notice

That he has me tongue tied

Street Lamps

Did I ever tell you about the love stories trapped in misty, yellow street lamps?

Of cold winter nights and foggy, dewy mornings?

Of the sweet partings they’ve witnessed and the unshed tears they’ve hidden from the world by dimming their own glimmer?

Of happy reunions, drunken songs, smitten glances and lingering fingers, unwilling to let go?

Of forgotten paths from childhood days

Of forsaken crushes from teenaged forays

Of forbidden meetings and notes exchanging

Of broken hearts, dragging feet, slumped shoulders and endless pining

Ah! did I ever tell you about the love stories trapped in misty, yellow street lamps?