A Certain Sun

The morning gives me no solace:
It has come with heat and light
And I find myself asking
For the dark horns of the night.

Then I find love, soaked in desire,
Wrapped up in your arms and hair,
Smells of burgers and coffee,
Snarled sheets hiding all that’s bare.

The sun brings in the future,
The future has torn the heart,
Time sheds light on the knowledge,
That soon you and I must part.

Families, jobs, money wait;
The sun brings them all back in;
I fear what the world might say,
How you were lead in to sin.

The sun burns my exposed skin,
All hair shines like molten fire;
The sun just shows me the truth,
The stars just show me desire.

I could wait for the next moon:
Who knows just what I might get;
But memories of ones before
Depend on how soon you’ll forget.

The sun barges through the window.
I lean back and draw the curtain.
I note: it’s only his return
Of which I am fully certain.

Futile Promises – A Moon Song

It’s five in the morning
The moon hangs over a cloud:
Just as lonesome as I,
Wondering, if silence is just as loud
As a future goodbye.

I have no promises to fulfill;
You have none that you can keep;
The moon whispers none to me:
Gives me no certainty of sleep,
And of rest, no guarantee.

I shall see you again now;
But, after a while, you will disappear.
There will be just me and the moon
And it has always been clear:
A heartbreak is due very soon.

Promises are futile. They break.
Once there is a parting, it is done.
Love has no say in the sundering.
All will be left to dry out in the sun
As stark daylight comes plundering.

It will charge out, in a dust and a storm,
And words will be torn and taken,
To different lands and different skies,
And I shall once again awaken,
When the cruel sun tires out and dies.

Here I Am – A Moon Song

Here I am again.
Looking at the moon.
Somewhere in my heart
There beats a familiar tune.

She sings to the sky –
She shines through the night.
I have loved her before –
I have been loved by light.

The sun struggles to rise;
This love triangle I know;
The moon lies and lies and lies;
But the sun burns me so.

So I crave for the dark
And, when the sky is night,
I yearn for her crescent
That waxes so bright.

But I’ve heard her song,
It may cut like a knife,
The illusion of love
Is much cause for strife.

The moon shall wane,
She will break me with pain;
The sun will laugh and laugh
When he rises, unfailingly, again.

I used to wish upon a star;
But wishes are games;
When you wish upon stars,
Who remembers their names?

They are but suns,
That will someday die,
Or will just erupt
And shoot out of the sky.

I rely on the moon.
She dispels all noise.
She wanes and she waxes;
But never destroys.

I look to her for counsel,
She never gives it clear;
Since I turn to her often,
She holds me very dear.

So I sit quiet and stare,
I do not complain,
She knows me by now,
She soothes most of my pain.

She is my muse,
I depend on her face,
She trumps the sun,
For she taught me grace.

Made that Way

You will surely leave. You will not stay.
It is your wont: you are made that way.
The sun will rise and that is for sure;
The moon finds same time to cast her lure.
The Stars will burn, blow up, fade and die –
It just is, come on, do not ask why.
The tides will turn, as sure as you do,
You cannot twirl them like you mean to.
We may appear to change, you and I;
But that is just it, we will just try.
We can learn it all, grow old and die;
But I’ll still feel and will not deny.
And you, in your own way, will say:
It’s not his fault, he was made that way.


love took you there;
it flung you back here;
will fling you there again –
after a while, it’ll be
here, there, in between
sun, moon and rain.

This is not what I chose to feel

This is not what I choose to feel,

When all I did was hold you dear;

I’m now hurt with no hope to heal

And instead of love, I taste fear.


The days of happiness die fast,

The tangled moments have no respite,

What will, eventually, last

Is gathered pain, after each fight.


I find that I must cringe and rue

The pain of life, the loss of love,

Who must I relegate blame to:

A devil below, a god above?


But I walked with open eyes,

Thinking this is what should be done

To hold joy before it wilts and dies,

To gather flowers under the sun.


If the skies greyed and storms began,

What matter who merits the blame;

All that counts is I was my own man,

Who held to each rule of this game.


This year came unto me like a Wraith;
Bearing away my hope in surreal faith;
It unfolded its stygian wings
And spewed forth such ghastly things:
Cancers of different kinds,
Affecting the body, the heart, the mind,
Gods disappeared with flute and tusk,
The sun merely gazed from the gathering dusk.
Fight against the dying light, Thomas said;
But Plath was also a poet to be read.
I tried to run to the sun, catch his light,
His failure proved to be the worst of the blight,
He could do naught but be what he is
And change not a jot of how he lives.
So as the day died, he left me to night
I stopped screaming. I surrendered the fight.
Doing this brought me some clarity:
The utter darkness of wing made me see,
This wraith of Time is my constant friend,
Who doesn’t give hope, who doesn’t pretend,
Who promises not even pain to rend
Some new beginning from an old end.