Sai P

The first shower of spring arrived unannounced

To wash away the remnants of winter

Frost-kissed and forlorn.

The flowers burst open their wings

Pulling apart their velvet coat;

Leaves engaged in the rendition of rebirth

Growing jubilantly in the light the season brings.

Every being joining in the ritual

Waiting for the first shower of their Spring,

In mid-June or late September,

A promise made by the season of renewal.

Rage within, yet softness stays;

Refuses to wither.

-SaiP

Like the foliage that cloaks the branches of the trees, losing its colour in the fog. A wall standing erect, carrying the weight of human thoughts, written and re-written over the former until its truth dwindles. The change of the human heart at being misconstrued.

To live is glorified. Until one becomes a memory in someone else’s memories. There they rot or try to linger in the crowded human mind. Sometimes it appears as vivid as it befell an hour ago, and other times you cannot fix the jigsaw puzzle, each effort forming threads of false pictures and words knitted to form a web. There they perish.

.

.

For your footsteps echo in someone else’s dream;

Your thoughts louder than the tides that hit the shore,

Bottled up feelings floating on the deep-sea

It can’t be broken, no there’s not a key,

But it unfolds like covered inked pages re-telling a folklore

Sometimes in her softest hush and others in her shrillest scream.

It’s midnight and you’re awake

The radio played the afternoon rhythm and blues

And filled in the void between me and the Autumn dust.

There was a time wherein children sitting in a circle must,

On a sheet of paper paint their fancies with the crayons,

And I covered the arms of the trees in blazing gold and bronze

Pouring a bucket full of sunsets in this liquid town.

In the deepest blue of the sea

The hiatus between your breathing self and the trident of Poseidon

A regal honeycomb but a humble bee.

Where the beauty veils an ugly verity,

Where the kohl and rouge veil the age

Where the mouth mouths against solidarity

Yet expectantly peeking at the bottom of the page.

Hope is a beautiful thing to nurture, without a fee

The misty land and valleys,

Where the rainbow ends in a pot of gold

And the tales of the star-crossed lovers remain untold;

Where ink and blood fight with uncommon élan

Migration when the things turn shallow;

Will you even out the grass and idle the dawn away?

And in the daylight buries its head into the blue sea

For it can discern the mistaken and right

Agrees that it can glow till the hours, wee.

And just like the moon, you shall shine

The one you painted, starlight glowing behind the two of us,

There on the table is a wine glass, give it a swirl

But don’t come looking for me,