Thoughts from my mind
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Through you, I stumbled onto a pot of gold
Through you, I saw the wood from the trees
Through you, I removed my blindfold
Through you, I could recognise my achilles
Through you, I rid myself of these curses
You’ve fulfilled your purpose
Now go fulfill someone else’s
by
Kind enough for the whole world to see
Altruistic like a shade giving tree
Nobility, the essence of you a sight to behold
Zen, what your voice gives to the soul
All of these, make you who you are
They say the night is young
This one forever young
Your remembrance fuels the midnight oil
by
Stepped on a lego
Pain entered momentarily
Where though?
Inside, heavily
by
Craved a smoke for a month
Refrained from touching it, holding it
Just to make it last
But the cigarette burnt out
As soon as it touched my lips
The man in the mirror, I can’t see
My purpose not getting any clearer
My destination not getting any nearer
Do I belong in the motherland or do I belong here?
The motherland fills my soul, yet never enough
Here fills my desires, yet my heart it engulfs
Not fitting in either place, boon or bane
The soil there, monsoon and rain
A spring afternoon enough to stop me from going insane
The rain here causing disdain, not good for my brain
Should I leave or should I stay?
A question I ask myself every time it’s grey
But a coin has two sides, and mine I must flip to stop me from going astray
A change of perspective is what’s needed
A perspective to avoid being conceited
Like counting coins, I must count my luck
Increase in gratitude to become unstuck
The best of both worlds
The veil across my eyes stops being unfurled
It flies across the sky as it’s hurled
Vision clearer, my purpose I begin to make out
Destination nearer, I know how to get about
I belong in both as both belong in me
The man in the mirror, I now see
One gloomy day, I found a rose
Who’s rose was it, I wondered. Who knows?
I put my hand out to grab it, naive
But it had an energy that me believe
The rose seemed so bright and red
It had the cure for night and dead
Upon a closer look, I saw another’s name etched
Suddenly, the idea of the rose being mine seemed farfetched
Now, I’m more careful the next time I have my hand outstretched..
A Collection of Poems 