illusional reality

An old black watch and gingham shirt warm smiles and sparkling eyes sweet mischief and charm all the way. The journey of a thousand miles taxis, “not trains", you had said holding hands all along goofy grins and lazy strides walking till we found a ride or a place to sit and munch on thoughts Meeting new faces. Saying a “hi” Shying away from crowds and light. And malls-those noisy places of delight! Smooching, snuggling, kissing and cuddling, and yays! Cos you’re taller than me! And sweet nothings and ice creams But so much more there was and is a promise of something more and sweet. If only you showed up more quick! So I’ll resign myself to this and sending little kisses your way wishing you a lovely birthday ! Pic courtesy-moi-même!

Sugar and spice.. And everything nice.. warm words of advice sprinkled with love garnished with trust and concern so real and a coating of mirth and joy and smiles helping us go more than a mile pursuing dreams and new horizons ..returning home to the old master bringing wishes of good health , love and laughter.. And mousse and pies and chocolate chips ! NB:pic courtesy-Dada

the tide dimmed walls of sand are falling down the grey-green slope the pink streak is ,slowly, fading away. the laughter of a thousand stars burnt ,ashen, cold. a moment of solitude or an eternity repining ,restless souls- all damned to hell. a night watch ,an owl a sad kitten mourn for what was never meant to be..

How can you just let it go? shatter a soul and let her rot who never wanted it to be this way. suffering and pain and bellows of love a wickedness teeming in your eyes vain delights on the brow of fate a wondrous splatter of glowing colors black grey and brown murky shades of despair the only source of light a thin dark line jagged and tried. finally broken?

how can i even think of it? It is not an easy thing to do. running away.forgetting the past. it all glides so smoothly through the fingers. like a silken piece of evidence a splatter of milky white across the blue ocean like a vice around the throat of man curling,choking,strangling.dead roots of innocence now corrupt. a wall of shadows passing by the ancient bells of sorrow indifferent pain.to any fruit. this is..not..how..it is..

A forgotten sea of wishes... of love and loneliness. a poem strung with pearls. gray .green and blue. Crude whispers of immortality. false promises of reality.. a sea of wisdom rare ,of hues pink and golden brown. blue jeans and t shirt vert that's all that i have known. an artist's hands.a tongue of truth. a bending full of roses. Kneeling down . a book in hand. and lots of wild miracles. A wavy dream.an illusion. a grain of sand.Too real.

looking at the tiny hands. of destiny and mirth. A handful of dust from the womb of death. Harmonious chatter. black ink.dry. a soothing balm of sore lies. a mocking face.a distant sight. as the train of thoughts passes by. Each day a news. New faces and old. a maze of coal.red and gold. a faceless sword.gilded rain. terror and shock.tired lawns of shame sweet kisses of life. a world of pain

A drink of disease.a shot of dust. Be it the smallest moment of joy.Or pain. Remembered later to punish.Hurt and destroy. A soul in agony.None to hold on. Rub it in that face.Ugly and dark. A fat nose.Sharp eyes.Yet unseeing.Stolid Lids .bare and brown. A body.yearning for death. behind a threshold of love. decrepitude and loneliness. and the time machine. Gongs of silence. and a tick tock tock... Tiredness ,melancholia,dearth and gall. And no one to pull out the cord...

The pale morning filters in through the lime yellow blinds of the bedroom.A single ray of dust particles invades the mystery of the dark walls. I am arranging books on Ralf's bookshelf.He loved his books. He loved me the way he did those huge tomes.He was a good man.Gone now.Ten years. Alice lives in the city with her husband George and their kids. My name is Rose.Rose Thompson.This is how my mornings begin.Every day. My gaze falls on the framed picture of Alice and Ralf.Her first birthday.She looks like a doll.Her pink dress an evidence of our morning struggle with baby food.I smile and dust the frame. And then I see it... Old.Tattered.Red.I pull the huge book out and a wilted rose falls out .It was red and blushing when he had given it to me.My mind drifts back to the Summer of 1940... Rose March,22,pretty,full of life.In love. Carl Stevens,23,handsome,drafted.In love. The Luftwaffe bombings had become a routine phenomenon.Men were being drafted in thousands. Killed in millions. ...

I see him sitting in his rocking chair, under the cool shadow of the cherry tree we planted all those years ago. Eyes closed, a smile on his lips, he’s doing what he loved doing best.. listening to the wind rustling the woods that surround the old house. Grandpa’s ears,always alert, pick up the sweet music of the dry leaves crunching under my feet. He looks at me and grins. I feel like a six year old all over again,making little paper boats with him by the lake.. I sit at his feet ,leaning close towards him ,laying my head on his lap. I open my mouth to tell him how much I love him ,how sorry I am that I couldn’t tell him that all those years ago.. but no words come out. I try again and again… but words die in my throat,frozen,dead.. Suddenly I hear grandpa say “ I know ”. My head shoots up to his face. He is still smiling, the molten brown of his eyes swirling hypnotically , as if he could see right through my soul.. I can’t take it anymore...

Sunshines and moonlights and a milky stream the shadows of the morrow go blink blink blink... a pen a paper and a million lines. going one-two one-two ...three three three the raindrops on the window's ledge.. the weeping lilies of the night.. a corkscrew, a knife and a bottle of wine. a litre of water and a careless glance. powdered cheek and a painted nail. tin cans and soldiers all forgotten.. long live this freedom.. that love has begotten.

I wake up with a start.Yes.It had to be a dream.No.A nightmare. What else could it have been..? I am a little ruffled.Glancing at the alarm clock i groan… still an hour more to go...this won't do.No. Waking up in a sweat,night after night,only to curse the dawn. I snuggle under my sleep warmed quilt and my hand reaches out to stroke the cold half of the bed...it's a ritual now... since the last seven months. Still,I tell him what Angela told me about our baby, and I want to cry. But the tears have all dried up,sucked out from me by the same dark angel that crushed his skull to unidentifiable pieces that evening... I feel empty inside...no feelings,none at all ,the way you feel when rage,love,frustration..and all those feelings squeeze the breath out of your lungs...am I slowly becoming detached... or is it just a phase? The sky outside is still dark… a sliver of a moon is all I can see from the window..no stars.. The scars are all healing slowly, as if to remi...

Le vent me pousse vers la solitude une existence éternnelle de l'ombre Des aveugles et des aveux se rencontrent à la porte La gare encombrée et les gens courantes la vie légère et la folie de noir Une vision de pouvoir des aigles la melancolie qui traque l'île de circonstance au seuil d'une révolution une révélation grande toute seule..j'attends le commencement du deuil..

innocent.reedless nights. an age of abandoned stilts.. sifted edges and a gilded plane nothern winds and blaring horns lamps and oils and velvet tans sweet dreams of an ageless charm you,me and a nameless face. a pleothora of faceless people blackboards and chalks and leopard prints green fields fo corn and ripe plums an endless vision of existence a pale furtive silence and the other side of paradise..

a whispered tune of the lonely tree a balm on the wounds of the morrow the moral blinds of all my tomorrows a single thread of white shame. of black sorrow and seclusion. a blistering pain at the pit of my vision crooked fingers and unbent backs. the hardy labour of a sunny day big brown packets and lonely tears a calm threat knocking at the winds of my door.. and the eternal query... "does it matter?"

Another cool salve on the blue blistering wound.. "Nor can thy shame give physic to my grief; Though thou repent, yet I have still the loss: The offender's sorrow lends but weak relief To him that bears the strong offence's cross." --Shakespeare(sonnet34)

how many times have i faltered on this green grassy mead a false breath of love and sorrow promises that never were kept. truth.a history. white linen or cotton? an esteemed look of desire.a glass of port. the vein of sad tomorrows where have all the flowers gone? innocent rays of sunlight or burnt wisps of a past? trembling moments of grace . and a whispering heart. a good luck charm.a charmer. fake notes of sweet surprise. a sonnet.a ballad.a love song. no proof of dark despair. a book in my hand. clotted seeds of grain. the mewls of the tiny kitten . whose folks did her betray not a dream.but very much Real. the notion of a loyal knight.a vision. not light. for it's an axiom seldom false. "veiled eyes , a thousand signs,ignore"

a fog of love on a pillow marked A and B crystals of sugar on the window sill boiling water.and fire. led by the hand. to the altar of truth. eyes blind.plain acquiescence. red and mauve and pink. a blue so startlingly white. that i know not what to say. fingernails and blinds. curtains and pitfalls. evens and odds round and round soothed egos and parched throats a dash of love. a litre of wine.and star studded evenings lithe blossoms tossing their dainty heads in the wild wild wind. a note of surprise not sorrow. when she said "i do" hands held and fingers entwined. a fair breath of spice and salt. white and black and all things nice. and me...the well wisher of the stars

As i scan through the pages of history,i discover the old trodden paths,ancient rites and charms worn by the sacred heart... - "I saw, and liked; I liked, but lovèd not; I loved, but straight did not what Love decreed: At length to Love's decrees I forced agreed" -Astrophel and Stella-Sir Philip Sidney

swirls of ecstatic moments onions and rich grapes deep purple and green. tender stalks of innocence and a mighty hand that knows it all the gathering storm of the night and a puppet. i all alone on this shore of silence. a dark warm night. the loneliness of the long distance runner pants and sighs. a muted hello. a wilted sound of excitement on a deep black shore. an overflow...a hand and a vision of the future. sweet songs to sing. or just a parody of an emotionless heart the strings of the violin chant a magic rhythm. the words of which are an enigma a smile. a thought. a careless whisper the blisters on the body of a soul or just a fling? the smouldering cloud gathers all the pearls not one .not two. but a thousand twenty two.. two shades no different from one another eyes closed. the fall of a million days is it black?or red? the colour of roses? or the murky pool of the desolate lash? i know not.for it is my destiny... a screech a sound.and two hundred years..