As it rains

getting lost.
deepest thoughts.
sorrows of rivers,
channels of frost.
a blue-jay beats.
a heart sleeps.
diminished shivers.

To Sam Miller

Two children play,
in childish ways.
Laughing and grinning
till the world starts spinning.

Seasons fade away.
Years creep on up.
Now trying to keep in touch,
we share growing pains.

Just like yesterday,
just like the good old days.
A best friend always,
but an older friend nowadays.

All Spelled Out

Saying something and meaning what you say are far from the same.
On regretful thoughts I feel shame.
Re-directing the truth into indirect say, I will never say it.
Rightful you shall know, I will spell it out, this way... for I can not admit.
You knew what I meant. When I would not say. That we were unfit. Now forever, to be away.

Raindrops

The sky is crying, putting a dampness on my page.
I can barely write with the weather's new profound rage.
The wind is drying out my eyes
and pushing tears on my face.

Looking up
I yell with contempt,
"I won't cry as well".
Lightning strikes profusely
A quick reaction in response.

I have no choice but to remain.
Dwelling in the skies sadness.
Sadness of my own won't manifest today.
Rain drops fell from my eyes only to sympathize with the pain.

Nature And its Mysterious Ways

I yell at the wind for trying to push me over.
I kick at the trees and bushes for their settle attacks.
I glare at the sky for the clouds laugh at me with their subtle smiles.
But I end up laughing with them because nature teases me.
The wind tries to push me only to guide me.
And the trees just have too much personality.
And the bushes just want to tickle me.
And the clouds they're just happy that I can see.

Thoughts About Love

I once experienced love.
there is a difference, not infatuation.
Here I can describe it:
It's a burden.

Everyone holds the burden.
but once love is felt,
the burden will be lifted.
Lovers will be so free.
So free they will have no idea what to do with themselves.
That is why I write about love.

That Tree

Maybe one day a symphony will sing for me,
now-a-days no one really sings.
and surely, yes surely.
No one sings for me.

Not even the Blue-jay

who sits up in that tree.
We have something in common,
we are both blue.

And that tree knows all.
Swaying in the wind,
that tree laughs at us mockingly.
He shakes his branches to emphasize the humor.


He shouldn't laugh.
I am more free than he.
Grounded he stays.
Watching and growing wiser by the day.

At least I can walk. So I start walking.
Bye, bye Blue-jay. Off he goes. Making me stay.
He is more free in comparison to me.
he flies around piously.

I just don't get it.
His freedom means nothing.

And his beauty?Artificial.

Even that tree ponders he.

I ask that tree a question.
If I am more free compared to you,
and the blue-jay compared to me,
then why can he not sing?

But in a slight sway of the branches,
and a few worried glances,
I now figured out that I was talking to:
that tree.