The Daily Fret;Stanza 11.

Near Life Experiences.

A momentary pause;

It seemed to me,

And moments paused;

Can for ever be.

And in this stream,

That flows between,

Two pauses such,

That much do seem.

Indifferent strangers,

Whose wait does lean,

In frequent glances,

 As if the gleam-

Of ticking hands,

Of time would deem,

How near life,

This leap had been...

The Purple Sunbird,Cinnyris asiaticus.

The Daily Fret; Stanza 10

Cul-de-sacs

Cul-de-sacs

In shadows lie

Awaiting light

To rub their eyes

Dry

Brick and mortar

Strained from rote

Minds numb

And voices

Hoarse

Fickle beams

Through journeys dogged

Visions become

For someone

Touched

An absence

In silence mute

Stands unseen

Biding grains to run or

Fly

Cul de sacs

The mortar and brick

Tickle beams fickle

An absent game

Shadows laze

Their memories jogged

Their journeys dogged

Voices mute do not talk

Light descend

On thoughts dismayed

That dream no more

And will fade away

Eyes are home

To what darkness calls

Proof of life

The waiting game

That words in sand

Would talking thus

Hold handsFrom dust to dust

The Daily Fret;Stanza 9

Bargains rushed

Memories sifting,

Often tore-

Dreams too old,

To let it pour.

To heart absolving,

In a loving whore;

Who takes it all,

Like another lore.

With sidelong glances,

At half closed doors,

And absent stares,

At mostly floors.

Where scattered lives,

Like rags from chores,

Do passing fret,

For passions sore.

But bargains rushed,

Do rest best sure;

For love's price,

Is a little more…

The Daily Fret;Stanza 8

Metaphors

Vagrant ways-

Are ever sought,

And fancy words,

For random thoughts;

In glances scattered,

That meet do not,

But thrown enough,

Like little sparks.

In life's alleys,

That grim and stark,

To speeding lives,

Do seem a lot;

Like a blur most,

Where seems the past,

And future's rush,

On headlong paths-

Where traffic corners,

Scream yellow dots,

From red smug ,

That green so sought;

For winking sly;

Our games are fraught,

In dot to dots,

Or cross and naughts…

The Daily Fret; Stanza 7.

Black & White

 

Fates shards,

Like rolling dice,

Were brilliant laid,

Black on white.

That coloured life’s,

Own seething light;

Myriad hues ,

That bled did bright.

And shone in too,

So much that night,

Did pleasant stage,

The drama slight.

Of flitting shadows,

Across the screen,

A flickering image,

From a movie reel.

With crackled sound,

From a radio beam,

That streamed a story,

Of what has been.

A fiction once,

That history seemed;

That told much tales,
To be redeemed;

In sundry rhymes,

In virtual streams,

In chatting man,

In divine dreams…

The Daily Fret; Stanza 6

Walking Shadows

Walking shadows,

I often liked;

To take them out,

On darkish nights.

With shimmering shards,

To quiet guide,

In darkened hours,

When night is nigh.

And sculpted thus,

With twinkling light,

That burned afar,

Yet never lied.

And myriad shades,

In angles slight;

Made them more,

With longing lights.

For blooming caught,

In darkened eyes,

The blackest hopes,

See bluest skies.

And hope that clay,

That flesh of night,

Would mark their love,

And shine just bright.

In a world that lives,

So halved by sight,

With dark do fill,

We empty light.

To search then most,

A hope that might,

To see form fulfilled,

In shadows slight...

The Daily Fret; Stanza 5

Points of View
 

Words running,

Did often slip,

And in chasms,

Did endless get;

Lost some say,

But rather glib,

i found their jeer,

And grin with it.

And smugly too,

Like polished nibs,

Gleamed the ink,

Of life they writ;

With blood so blue,

That once dipped,

All seas and skies,

Immersed in it.

But some said,

Were troubled bits;

For eyes weak,

Were bound to flit-

To horizons lines,

To quickly fit,

The points of views,

That came to sit;

That blurry sight,

In half jest and wit,

Said twinkled stars,

By just being lit…