We came together, when by youth we were led and loved to play and had no tear to shed. There was too much joy in my head and now the pack is but dead. We grew up together with nothing hidden, everything shared: plates, rooms and on one poor, cold night: even our bed. Often seen breaking … Continue reading The Shuffled Pack
There are his shoes. So where is he? I ponder as I tie the laces, tighter than necessary. But I should not wonder where he would be. Gone on to where shoes are not needed – my tears come easy. This is his riding jacket. So where is he? I think as I put it … Continue reading Missing Me?
He remembered searching for her eyes, but instead finding tears in front of his.
Why am I a poet? Is it just because of my vocabulary and language skills? If so, all poets should have earlier been teachers at schools. Is it because, the world I see is different from others, that I write poetry? But then, every madman on the streets would be the poets of the century. … Continue reading Why Am I A Poet
Home is where the heart is. But when the home is ravaged ... the heart no longer is.
noissim troba taeper i .noissim troba .elitsoh mees yeht .ecnerefer erutuf rof erutcip a edulcni ew .eguolatac ruo ni selpmaxe yna ot dnopserroc ton od taht serutaerc dnuof evah ew .noissim troba
An umbrella is more romantic than a raincoat as I could share it with her.