24 Poems ~ 24 Hours
Sunset
The sky ablaze
Changing minute to minute
An orange inferno
Sinking towards the skyline
Brushing the surface
Full to half
Half to a slither
And too soon the last rays die
Leaving the land to the power of the moon
And the magic of another enchanted night
[Inspired by the view from my study looking out to sea and Max Richter – On the Nature of Daylight]
At times, I want to be alone, in a desert
full of sands and void of noise.
I want to hear my heart beat, the flow
of blood through my veins.
At times, I want to be alone.
To feel my breathing, my soft skins,
to smell the nothingness,
To realize what love means when
nobody is around,
to realize the pleasure of knowing
that nobody can hurt me.
At times, I want to be alone.
Doom stars are exploding
a mind-blowing distance away,
a luminous fast blue explosion fades
faster than a supernova.
One giant star
twenty times as big as the sun
exploding where a
massive star should not have been
and might be a portal to more
than can be accounted for in the universe,
a magnetic moment when blue light wobbles
and transports us
a mind-blowing distance away
to a place where a human
should never have been.
I step onto the train
Remember the first time he made me cry
Because he asked if I wanted him to sit with me
And I felt safe saying no
To ride alone with my own thoughts
It is the last scheduled tonight
I step onto the train
The conductor warns me not to miss my stop
I remember the time I missed it texting him
And had to walk from the next station
The last time I saw him in person
I wept, surprised and confused
I step onto the train
I said I didn’t understand, can you tell me more
And wasn’t prepared for the answer
I asked if we could meet up to chat
They said the timing would work
Its been over a month
I step onto the train
Of course the cancellation text comes after that
I see him on the station
And wish I hadn’t
I consider making a pit stop at the bar
And grieve the fact that I want to hide from him
I step onto the train
He met my mind one day while
perusing the dialogue of birds.
A chirp here, a cricket there.
Sometimes a growl.
Yes, a growl from a grumpster.
He almost broke us up!
Yes, almost! The jerk!
But we knew. How? I don’t know.
We knew. We just knew that the time would come
when men in the dragon’s pocket would lose their way.
That was, what, 20 years ago?
About that, yes.
Splashes of yellow on black
Frail wings fluttering away
Don’t try to catch it though
It will vanish and reappear somewhere out of reach
Somewhere out of fate’s sway.
One day I walked by the Garden Gate
so elaborate and grand
rising in the centre
in classical command
There seemed no reason for entering
as the gate was firmly locked
and there appeared so little beyond
the path so firmly blocked
One cold and rainy day
there seemed no reason to walk
but a strange urge propelled me
luring me in silent mock
So I went that day
the journey slippery and dank
I thought of turning back
considering it a silly prank
But then I arrived at the Gate
wide open in its stance
suggesting that I, before I pass
take a casual glance
Gilded by the rays of a sudden sun
glorious golden tresses drawn
it was you
rising like the morning dawn
black butterflies
dance on the wind
in a cerulean sky
a contrast of colors
two black spots
on a canvas of blue
Poem No. 8
I loved my mother with all my heart
When my father died, she lived with me.
She was happy, sang songs and said her prayers
But she did not like the cold winters.
My sister came and promised her
Eternal sunshine in India
But she was never happy with her
She had a stroke and I could not move her
Back with me though I wanted to.
One day in the month of November
I had a shock and woke up with a start
A lorry had run into my front wall
And caused an almighty crash
When I looked for him he drove away
So fast and it was two o’clock
Then I heard my phone ring
It was only four o clock
My sister said, “Your mother died.
She died peacefully in her sleep
And it was two o’ clock.
—
He slips on his favourite jacket
bending his elbow
at an awkward angle
to complete the look
Dancing in the street
a bucket-list item ticked off
he doesn’t care who sees
he never misses a beet
The root of his being
he was born to dance
to perform
the world his audience
The ground shakes
a bone-rattling tremor
he digs his feet into the ground
stands on his tip-toes
doing the thriller.