Grasp

As I flip through the pages

Tearing apart the bounds between me and all else 

Clutching to the wheels 

Of my chair

In the confinement of knowing,

The cast on my fractured limb

Plasters more than my bones.

Trying to fuse the cracks

Kneeling in the omniscience 

Letting go, letting God

Letting the free form script

Decided the course of a will that wants control.

I soar in my thought, leaving behind my limitations.

As I read through volumes after volumes 

Of days, deceptions, illusions

Forcing the readers on my nose bridge

I see the wisdom

Magnified in that tryst

Then I smile, for at that moment of knowing 

I know everything 

When I know I know nothing.

Imperfect

She has a glaring flaw

A flaw that eludes her, blurred 

In the brightness of what she chooses to see.

She, the sweet child, to have that blemish

Like a beauty enhancer 

Like a blessing in disguise,

An inability to guise, a shortcoming to pretend 

Tending to every emotion with parental love

Giving what she can, without an agenda,

A veil, an ulterior motive.

She smiles with her heart, with no sifters in place

She loves with her soul - like love is supposed to be I hear

She speaks like she’s making love to the truth

Or shelling in silence and dwelling in peace

Sweetheart the flawed Her

No manifesto in tow

She shines on the puddles and the planes

Streaming through body bending crevices of sorrows and joys

She has a distracting flaw, that attracts shallow judgements

Made under sinister smiles

For the world has misplaced consciences

Lost in the narrow lanes of personal narratives.

She is what you see, If you see what she is, that is!

For that’s a flaw in itself to see things as they be

As you and me are flawless in word and deed

Our selves dwell in inflated amor

Spread and shared with the a faultless existence

Sometimes I feel sorry for the flawed Her

As a part of this irony called love.

Isn’t it a virtue to feel sorry? Ask the self 

Or may be don’t ask it. Let it be.

I’ll leave the flawed Her alone

Saving her the loneliness of being an odd ball

In a perfect world!

Present

One day the Sun rises
Over the Greek Isles
A witness stands by watching
Gasping at the view
After thousands of miles of voyage
Foraying through where to catch this occurrence
Contemplating, planning and packing those bags
All for this sight, this sighting.

That day, when the Sun rises by those sapphire waters
Glazing bright icing on the salty sea
A soul ponders in thought, lost in awe
Wondering where else to catch Him rise
How else to experience this flutters, these feelings
Of the Sun that rises, somewhere by the ocean
Or those mighty mountains
May be over a monument, or lavender fields in Provence.

As those thoughts filter through the living light
A giving awareness dawns upon the being
The next stop, the watcher decides
Should be at home, those familiar lanes.

Those lanes might not tumble into paved perfection
Those planes might not be doused with tulips
But this very Sun rises there, this very warmth hugs the skin.
So the bystander wanderer reaches home
The vagabond harnesses those dreams that waver
The nomad grasps those quests and leashes them in today
And watches those golden rays graze right before
The grass that cushions his daily path
His bespoke Sun rises right there, each day
All he has to do is not to stray.