simple pleasures

a strong cup of coffee
that plain black
with nothing added into it

a shorter story
to explore the collapse
of my strong youthful dreams

and a simple seat
to consume the free providence
of the strong morning sun

these are what I seek
these days in the dusk
of my crumbling life

that missed
those many birds in hand
with its focus on one in bush

departure order

with a departure order in one hand
and hand-cuffed to the other
but in heart filled with an overflowing
of pure spirited spirit of joyous freedom

i boarded the aircraft to the land
i fled only a year ago with a vision
of that gospel of american prosperity
of easy green tabloid announcing

a hypocritical affirmation, a trend
empty of human compassion
that trust in an absent god, mistrusting
my story of pain caused by guns and jets

my dream now is to carefully blend
the lessons learnt in two prisons
and continue my struggles to gnaw
like the beaver until the falsehood fall

blank screen

the blank screen, a bigger bully
inveighs my emptiness constantly
until my soul submits, to yield
that song destined to become a poem

un-meaning, un-rhythmic lines
designed and botched in mind
sick and bloated with an empty ego
but like that lotus in shitty mud

can still bring fragrance
of greater perfection
and petals of majestic beauty
to seat an egoless Buddha

my mini-vacation

end of every three weeks
i take a break to take time
to sit in the airport lounge
to watch the young and old

to play with justin
to pull him closer
under my blanket
and later change his diaper

i ponder how best
to share the love that i am
and grace i can give
to unease another’s burden

i sit with questions
allowing answers to unfold
i think about my day
and my years gone

i wonder what will matter
a year from now
i recall what i am grateful for
and remain quiet to sip my doubts

second chance

is it easier, for me to tell my tale
of my leg, the left one, severed
nay, chopped suddenly, while I was
still in my deep slumber, under that

effects of anaesthesia to mend my heart
or, to dance with new grace
that bamboo crutch: hollow, stiff and strong
to play my second chance

on that culvert

at the corner of the street

i will sit on that culvert
until you, or your mother, return
on that path, earlier, together we roamed

if my death were to overtake my wait

i pray to passers-by to please leave me
alone, me mummified, now a pillar of salt
to warn other lovers like me so naïve to storms

weather in higher mountains is beautiful

but could be dangerous to way-farers
awe-stuck, but could be stuck in the avalanche
of love from a tiny heart with large potential

comfort of the status quo

my grandson has been crawling
for five months now, an exercise
in which he is quite versatile, and
often moving as a bullet on his knees

making him to prefer that crawling
when he has to quickly grab
the cat’s tail, or run behind his dog
slowing him to try that walking

he thus prefers the present status quo
to changing the mode of his mobility
with potentials for faster movement
and an exploration beyond a pet