Innocent Eyes

Wandering around restlessly day and night, like nomads do, your innocent eyes never stop to amaze me. They monitor every move; they record every activity no matter how trivial it might be. Sometimes they smile in content for nothing; sometimes they cry out for everything; sometimes they just look for something. But there is one thing I dread the most, one stare so penetrating that makes me shudder to my core. Can anyone tell me, why do I feel guilt every time you fix your innocent little eyes on me?

The Rose

It is an unjust world
Chilly, sad, lonely
But every now and again
A rose blossoms through the snow
You may pass it by
Or you can reach it
If you learn how to hold it
You may keep it for a lifetime
Sometimes it may hurt you
A rose, no matter how pretty,
Has got thorns you see
Keep it
Love it genuinely
With your outmost strength
And smell the essence
If a rose ever crosses your road
Just consider yourself lucky.

Echoing Footsteps

First, it was my father’s.
Firm and confident
Vibrant and energetic
As he used to be.
Footsteps that I seldom heard
In my time of Fancy;
Footsteps that I often resent
In my time of Rebellion;
Footsteps that I always miss
In my time of Reason.

Then, it was my mother’s-in-law.
Uncertain and discrete
Remote yet present
As she used to be.
Footsteps that got heavier
In her time of Loneliness;
Footsteps that got difficult
In her time of Sickness;
Footsteps that got missed
In her time of Sleep.

And then, it was my boy’s.
Uncertain and unbalanced
Tiny yet energetic
As he used to be.
Footsteps that got firmer
In his time of Rise;
Footsteps that are getting remote
In his time of Independence;
Footsteps that will be missed
In his time of Glory.

The Pause

I haven’t written for long
Too many concerns
Too little time
You know how it goes.
I finally made a pause
How did I do it? Don’t know
But everything looks still now
So silently inspiring.
I took a pen out
Started writing on a slip of paper
Without paying attention to verse
Or any literary form whatsoever.
Happy to get back to old habits
To speak my mind freely, undisturbed
What! The phone is ringing!
“Sssh! You will wake the baby!”
Too late.
And… pause again.

My Fisherman

On a rusty boat
He is sailing free
Nothing is heard
But the seagulls.
The sea is calm now
Like an infinite mattress
Softly to lie down
And sleep.
His fishy clothes don’t matter
For the Sun is shining
Embracing everything
With an extraordinary warmth.
It’s about time he rested
No need to fight against waves,
Big sharks and bad weather
No need at all.
Nature is calling silently
“Peace be unto thy soul”
And he is falling asleep smiling
My fisherman.

This is Life

This isn’t the end
It’s only a dot in the circle
It goes on and on
And beyond.
This isn’t a loss
It’s only another long journey
To a better home
Though unknown.
This isn’t a drama
It’s only an act of the play
It goes on and beyond
The applause.

Time Flies

This is it.
Time flies.
It’s a sneaky trick, I tell you
Never to capture it
Always elusive, deceptive…
Only the marks on our body
Betray the existence of it.
Time.
What a phony thing
To depend on,
To wish for,
To exploit.
Time flies.
This is it.

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