Ruba'i

Across Life’s wind-toss'd Sea I blew, and swore,

“My Soul can bear these Crushing Whirls no more.”

And lo, from the foaming dimness, a Voice –

“Thou shalt take thy Lot, or else the Black Door!”

Unremembered Keepsakes

The empty seconds, pared of meaning,

Tick and slink like a thief in the night.

The days tiptoe facelessly into the void

Of moldy unremembered keepsakes,

And time, in artful artistry, tattoos 

The horrid nothingness on my face.   

Dear

The hard wintry gaze

Of granite in the moonlight

Could you be any colder?

Tomorrow

As the golden sky gives way to the night,

A mosquito lands on my arm and I let it –

Tomorrow I might not enjoy its sting.

The Night Dreams Too

The Night too has dreams

Of discarding her darkness

And donning the Day’s brightness

Sometimes she’ll linger into the Dawn

Or show up too early at Dusk

Tonight, spare a thought

For the Night’s futile dreams

For, in some form or other,

You too share her dreams

Return

Yes, this is the moon

surely, the moon will return

with the lunacy

that summoned you to me

in the night and light the darkness

that stains the beauty that was

you and i

Pessimism

My dreams are in shades of grey
and the occasional crimson flash

of bloody petals falling to the ground.

When in wakefulness I’m offered a trinket

I brace myself 

for the imminent highway robbery

that’ll nick the ground beneath my feet

and crush dewy hope into the mire

of life’s elegantly crafted cruelty.