Pieces of Dark.

My shadow moors me like an anchor,

Spins infinite circles-

Runs me aground.

Ticks the stories off the hurried seconds,

Becomes time itself-

Wrinkles my brow.

Sets the sun to race the horizon,

Drowns it in darkness-

Immures me in itself.

Retrieves a sallow moon from the night,

Dots the sky with stars-

Reminisces dawn.

Burdens me to sift through dreams,

Prowls on a tight leash-

Breaks into a sweat.

Tears future’s drape of ‘morrow,

Scrambles present in a bag-

Mixes it with past.

Silently awaits its ritual immolation,

Quivers against me imperceptibly-

Bleeds pieces of dark.

Marking Time.

The all seeing eye has been replaced

By all telling ones

A mutual supposition exists

In the illicit delight of life

Where the flea market of yearning

Bids in sundry moments

Romancing longing

In kisses clandestine,

For future's paths do backward find

Coming back to waiting time

Time, whose revolving doors

Blur me out, and in

Shadows scurrying in circles

Drawing our sighing reliefs

On tessellated pavements

Where arching shadows become sundials

That singularly trace

The lonesome march of listless skies

And a solitary blind eye

Bright…

Origami

Don’t fold my letters love

The crinkling creases

Opportune opine

And make vagrant fate lines

To wrinkle my passions

Adding strange character

To the lonesome conversations

Before you read; So instead

I’ve brought your favourite scissors

The rusty one that would creak

Its sombre disapproval

Every time we brought its blades together

To make love                  

But by then we had learnt

That scissors better paper better

Than the quaint stains of ink

When it comes to our sort of art

For its consummate ease

To tenderly trace

Each line, shape and letter

And variously spout

Words, images and clatter

Like from a magician’s hat

Making me always

The confetti of your dreams

To fill and set afloat

In the garden of balloons

Where taciturn gravity

Would embrace my element

To whisper gently the translation

Repeating the hope of words long lost

Remembering your existentialist hobby

Of twisting parchments

Into paper boats set sail

Upon stormy rivulets

That soaked in their souls

Disintegrating it to shreds

And swallowing it whole…