He wanders through this wild, mad world
In search of soothing dreams,
And like the Lark that sings for All,
He swings on hopeful beams.

He lives amid a throng unknown,
Forsaking many smiles;
And yet the glint within his eye
Does many eyes beguile.

He talks to none about the dreams,
Conveys to none a sigh,
The others think him very queer,
He will not tell them why.

And Hope is never there at all,
And life is foully weak,
There comes a point when dreams are all
A weary heart can seek.

In them love can live forever
And joy is never old;
Courage is always the bravest
And souls are never sold.

In dreams shall he find his solace,
Wherein he freely flies,
They form the home in which he lives,
The tomb in which he dies.

The Twins.

Storming the brain of the mind of the twin,
Had not the measure of love that would give
Joy, nor the hurt, nor the pain that could win
All the interesting decisions to live.

Flying from Worlds where Happiness lives on,
Rested in homes wherein Lust oft deceived –
Laughing and waving with him Hope had gone –
Smilingly, Life in a whisper believed:

“Lying for thee, and then pining for thee,
“Crying for all, to be happy for what?
“Vain and unkind, to be sure, thou shall be,
“Naught to the world, in quandaries caught.”

Just like the Earth, in a dream for the Sun,
Blissfully aches to unite and be one,
Hearts of the two (like the Prodigal Son)
Waiting to feel then be crushed by the ton.

Waiting and waiting, to wait is a curse,
Lasting forever like darkness of death,
Hope has been carried away in a hearse,
Gone and forgotten to never be met.

Life which follows with a staggering sway,
Breathes with the burden of living alone,
Crying in anger and begging her stay,
Losing a twin is a reason to mourn.

Looking in eyes that do kindly seem true,
Life in a dilemma is scared to be weak,
Searching for Hope in a crowd of so few,
Now, to be happy, a love she does seek.

Seize the Dawn.

I see with all the windows closed.
I see the outside world alone.
I feel its pain, torment and grief –
Within its arms I, too, do mourn.

The night is dark as is its wont,
The stars are dead behind the mist,
The blooms have withered long ago,
To never ‘gain be seen or kissed.

I see the Girl, I feel her pain –
In hues of blood just like the rose,
That now is burned and turned to ash
And rapes the wind in silent throes.

The moon is black before the sun
Its ring of fire can’t kill the gloom,
Which pervades all on earth and air,
And seals the world for death and doom.

And though I spy no light or laugh,
Scattering this darkness caused by tears,
This scared world and she wait in hope,
To seize the dawn if it appears.

20th July
edited 16th Feb 98

To B—-

The words I write now may not seem so true,
And neither shall I plead forgiveness, dear,
For all I said and did just to hurt you.
For who shall see my grief, or the lone tear
That falls upon your grave besides the sea;
To whom shall I turn now? Who is all mine?
Sweet death, which lifts your soul to be set free?
Or Life, which is mortal, thus not divine?
I hearken! Yet I know, ‘tis but in sleep
I feel he sound your heart beats on mine own;
But when I see the dawn, I cease to weep
And thoughts of loss I can’t help but disown.
For when I weigh the smiles against the frowns,
My lone tear ‘mid the sea rapidly drowns.

2nd August

Like the Sweetness of Wine.

The life I lead is not the one I had;
I have no cause to call either one bad.
I think of years long gone, and feel the tears,
Which bear the pain that never disappears.
I then berate myself for thinking so;
For all those years have left as these shall go;
And as I watch the gentle fall of rain
Recalling times of joy, remembering pain –
I note that what had brought the joy and pain
Is long gone to never be seen again.
And then, I pause. Why weep? Oh, foolish me!
In pining for what was, I failed to see
That as those times are dead, so shall these go;
What rises high now may then crumble low,
And years from here shall I covet today,
For I do tend to think of yesterday.
The present makes its way into the past,
And often moulds the first to bring it last,
And since the old is sweeter than the new,
We see the rainbow but later its hue.
The life I lead is not the one I had,
It has to age enough to make me sad.

20th July


The tangled webs of cruel death and life;
The neutral shades of colour, black and white;
The bondage of hope and sacrifice;
The present darkness, and the absent light.
The horrible sun, the vain, dirty moon;
This sluttish earth, that lying, calling sky;
The maddening silence, that haunting tune;
The things that crawl, the wretched things that fly;
The prostitute Love, her diseased pimp Hate;
Bliss of oblivion, horrors of fame,
The bastards of destiny or of fate,
Be they anonymous or with a name.
The laugh of happiness or sadness’ cries;
This auctioned world of promises and lies.