Rince Wind

Still that empty feeling
impossible to live without
were you always by my side
or was that a dream last night
...

on a cloudy misty day
a little girl with big bright petal flowers
on her sleeveless frock
asked me what love was
...

I turn the pages of the album with pictures in matt and gloss
some stare at me in awe, while some look at me
like the long fallen leaves gawping at the tree
which now stands a foot tall
...

She lies there by the crumpled paper
among scattered words and a broken pen...
creases narrating the story
and blots of ink feigning its reality...
...

Just below the curtained window
where the sun bends down to get a glimpse of you
and the smell of hot coffee
mixes with the warmth of your steady breath
...

a mind ago
I took the stones for clay
thought love to be a commodity
as long as I had a price to pay...
...

Someone lived a life... a few moments ago
dewdrops were on a bark a few moments ago

saw and felt things ever wanted
...

She seems like a stranger
every time I see her in her eyes
but it’s only in her looking away
that I know her
...

On a waning summer noon
weathered by a drifting consciousness
a dry dusty swirl rises lowly in a corner
and in its stride lifts everything
...

She rises from a feeling
sinking itself in a pregnant hope
of an eluding pain which she labours to own
leaving scars on a heart left unto itself
...

why did you come into my life...
or were you always there...
why do we stumble upon things...
or do we knowingly walk the way they lay...
...

Freckled with inconsistencies I am
looking for a love so perfect
...

withered in love and a breathing pain
hoping for a summers rain

to dissolve all that was once constrained
...

I don’t know what’s more killing…
to live or to die at the hands of living…

These days I have been trying to find refuge…
...

Is it something in me that I fear
Or is it your aloof'ness that steers me more near
...

Have you ever had dreams...
Of a bright yellow plastic bench in a dark-green forest
...

thy thoughts, my soul
like summer baked clay, I hold
for cracks are many, but few visible
in this cockled mold
...

In the pond of drowning time
I am an unformed pebble dropped
by a fumbling hand creating ripples
which don't travel far or last long
...

I collected thoughts even when the words weren’t around
and to convince them to myself I had feelings
which never turned me down
then she came around and I filled her with figments
...

Like a white flower found
on the bed of a deep blue sea
I lay awake as my body sleeps
lost in thoughts and in its own fascination
...