The Thin Red Line

1st October, '09





Silhouettes of reason,
shimmering,
next to sun-scorched
melodies of life.
One minute,
a bask in the sun,
and
the next,
the smell of searing skin.
A thin red line,
traversing its way
through
infinite darkness,
with only,
the wretched hope of life
for company,
writhing
wriggling
bleeding
to make it redder.
Who stepped over the line?
I wonder.
Was it me,
or my
wakefulness?
The greed for another
short-lived breath?
A mesmerized moment of
strangled survival?
Or my choice
of choosing
the charade,
over
the
chiseled sculpture of ashes?






This picture by Thomas Hawk was Nathan's prompt last week.While many people saw the picture as two separate individuals, I saw them as two identities of the same person, exactly the same except for their colour, the difference between them brought about by crossing over just a thin red line. What do you think? Does the idea come across? What do you think about the way I've used breaks and words in the poem? Please do leave your comments under the comments section. Thank you.

Midnight Meanderings

28th September, '09

Clickety-clack
clickety-clack
slippers on cold marble.
Midnight meanderings.
A stomach gone hungry again.
Twisting-turning
Twisting-turning
a psyche about to boil over.
Eyes searching for some warm company.
Unceremoniously picked-up
Unceremoniously dumped
a ball of white fur
Curled up at my cold feet
Sleep visits me again.

The Death of A Pop Star

My response to prompt #93 by Deb Scott- Deb wanted us to wallow in the depths of our fantasy and make poetry out of the experience. Though she wanted us to begin with free-writing, I must admit, I cheated and went directly to the poem bit. This wasn't the first idea I got, but the only one that clicked.

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23rd September, '09

The death of a pop star
just limelight gone sour;
Or so I thought,
underneath
sheets so blue,
while the media raged
and the fans engaged
in
a semi-fantastical
boohoo.
I slept a normal
sleepy night
dreamt my dreams,
one or two,
and woke up
fresh-faced
and non-teary-eyed
to take
on the world
anew.

I walked the walk and
talked
the talk
since I had not much else to do
there was a vacuum
in the air
everywhere
from all the handkerchiefs blown into.

I resolved
to make not much of it
to try and keep it
an impersonal issue
but little did I know
and little did I think
that 'Billie Jean'
wouldn't
so easily
say adieu.

Sunset came
with a lolling gait
and a face
less orange than blue
it seems
he happened to know the guy
and really cared for him too.
I sheltered under
the indifferent lamp
whose light was never new.
He cared not who stood
he cared not who fell
so today
he shone
with no less ado.

Feet stretched out
my cat
cuddled by my side
my warm
dependable rescue,
I held on to his tail
hoping to float
if the oceans of tears
anymore grew.
I knew when he smiled
his Cheshire cat smile
flicking his pink tongue,
that he was going to
mew;
the sweetest,
lovable-est sound in the world,
and I hugged him tight,
as if on cue.

But Lord of Sanity,
what do I get
but a pop star's voice,
and the
jerking
sliding
dance moves too,
and a steely lecture
for all my disdain
and a few words about his own virtue.

I feel down on my knees,
and cried
and cried
I finally gave the pop star
his due.

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Please do let me know what you think of my attempt at telling tall tales. All comments on the idea and form are very welcome. Thank you.

Something In Between my Matresses feels like a Word

14th September, '09

WORD JEMS by Jessica Fox-Wilson- This week Jessica scattered some fine word jems around for us to play with. It was fun trying to use as many of them as possible to create poetry. I started off with blanking out, but eventually, put together what came to my mind's eye. So here goes; some disparate images, truths and sniggers of life- inspired by words.

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Red ripe succulent plum
crushed between your rice-grain teeth

Sleep,
lifting my lids and strolling
into my midnight musings

Whisking white cotton tail,
and paws and ears and some spots,
disappear into the green-ness of clover

The death of a pop star,
limelight gone sour

To conform and yet to condemn
to spit in the mud you roll in.

Bumbling within the bars of a self-scripted cell,
coke powdered wrists, opium drenched nerves,
drowning in the foggy ecstasy of nothingness
a pittance of an offering to the deity of life.

A multitude of words,
heaped up,
like sugar on a tablespoon.

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Please feel free to comment on the ideas as well as the form of the poem/poems. Thanks.

Rain Rush

7th September, '09

The whoosh of the rain,
slowing down,
to a pitter-patter;
A tap-dancer on an asbestos roof;

Rustling old notebook sheets,
torn, folded,
engineered into hasty creations;

Rubber chappals on wet, washed earth,
the crunchiness of wet mud,
laughter bubbling at the seams of my soul;

Sucking in the smell of freshly-soaked mud;
The skies have just unburdened themselves.
The whiff of their countless secrets.

Excitement floating through the air,
mingled with the rain and laughter;
Three fine visitors on a boring afternoon;

Sunlight streaming through peepholes in the rain,
specks of gold and grey and nothingness;

Boats bobbing on rain-water rivulets,
drawing imaginary boundaries of joy,
floating images of serenity on water.

A Fine Night For Dying, Again

7th September, '09

A fine night for dying,
again.

Spinning in speckled spools of time,
a blur, a flash, a searing flame,
closer closer closer closer,
until the cobwebs all melt away.
Drops of memory,
spilling onto the ground,
a bottomless pool of pain,
the soundless screech of loss.

Feet bumbling towards forgotten places,
arms all awry in a corpse-like gait;
the walk towards that cold dark spot begins,
again.
In the corner of my sightless eyes,
a vision explodes into life.
A creature mirthful and young,
drinking from the waters of the forests of old,
flying with the eagles of the forever skies,
seeping into my pores, filling me with the new.

The tree people come visiting my door again.
a lights shines into the cold, wet cave.
A fine night for dying, again,
a fine night for soaring the skies.

Ablaze

28th August, '09

My breath is warm,
warming me,
from the cold gaze of survival;
Each day, a fire I'm walking through,
each applause, an ode to my life.

Underneath a starry sky,
behind a wall of fireworks,
I become the lone edifice,
I become the burnt deity,
revered for my burning skin,
loved for my teary eyes.

My nerves they slowly turn to steel,
hardened by the fires of time,
breathing a breath of lifelessness,
burning in flames of approval,
I become the fire of a million souls,
to burn and be burnt with joy,
until this night turns to dawn.

Take-off

26th August, '09

Splash-splash
wings dripping
with droplets of sun,
feet like lead
a weary heart
whither do you seek to fly?

Flap-flap
warm sunlight
wind and feathers
dancing a ballet of their own
a triumphant soul
why do you seek to rest?

The Omen

31st July, '09

A winding- binding path this,
A bouncy feather in the gale,
Nothing astir or running amiss,
no breadcrumbs on this trail.

Shooting stars lie in watery pools,
An image of fire gone sour,
Butterflies turning into toadstools,
there's unrest near and far.

The window opens, a match is struck,
frightened faces on a wind-swept night,
was it destined or is it just luck,
two screech-owls get into a fight.

A whirlpool of trouble, a storm of pain,
swirling, forcing its way within,
the wind and the scent before a rain,
and the forest throbbing to a muted din.

Suddenly with a clap, the wind falls flat,
the clouds break open in a mighty roar,
swish-swash come the drops so fat,
and it rains and rains like never before.

The earth is full, the skies are drenched,
swimming in their own wretched dreams,
And try as hard as you may wrench,
they don't give way at the seams.

A winding-binding path this,
a watery trail to nothingness,
an omen was cast, a moment conquered,
It's part of the trail, no more, no less.

Mirth

5th July, '09

I wish to laugh.
Light, twittering,
with my head thrown up in the air.
My laughter rising into the morning,
soaking up the sunbeams in its path,
and falling back into my life.

I wish to laugh,
Gay, chirpy,
like a child enjoying a mindless joke,
invisible to every mind but its own.

I wish to laugh,
Happy, satisfied,
like two lovers entwined in their love,
floating in their bubble,
of unconditional adoration.
With no tomorrows or yesterdays to be bothered with.

There It Stands

14th June, '09

There it stands,
an inch away,
a destiny waiting to unfold;
underneath the spanless, testing skies,
underneath a vengeful watchful eye,
it quivers, yet stays so bold.

There it lies,
an inch away,
peace for eternal time;
lazy, languid in its place,
staring at my teary face,
calm in its knowledge sublime.

There it quivers,
an inch away,
the streak of searing, sparkling light;
gloating in its own embrace,
confident in its power to efface,
darkness from my inner sight.

And here I sit,
with waiting eyes,
twitching arms and a weary smile,
waiting, waiting forever more,
to hear the sound of fate's galore.

Picture-Perfect

5th May, '09

Limbs ache with no change,
the mind is frozen with expectation,
days roll into one another,
a warm blanket of submission.
Jagged scars find a way to heal,
Far-fetched dreams crawl out of the door,
the paintbrush slips, our fates are sealed,
this painting will never be perfect again.

Crossing Over

30th April, '09

I lie at the bottom,
of a sparkling stream,
the sunlight streaking upto me.
Pebbles lay smooth,
like mounds of butter,
layered with golden honey.
Hyacinths floating above my face,
stop to touch and tickle my nose,
the water gurgling at the surface,
peeps at me while it flows.
Driftwood pillows my heavy head,
its branches gently rocking me,
I lay there calm and peaceful now,
a picture of serenity.
Fishes swim into my palms,
between my fingers, through my hair,
nibbling at my throat and arms,
welcoming me into their lair.
I lie under the gurgling stream,
looking up at the trees and the skies,
the clouds are lolling,
the rain comes falling,
but I just lie on by.

This's where I'll lie,
until they come,
the ones from yonder above,
I hear they're crying,
pained and glum,
morose at their lost love.
But I'm in no hurry,
to leave so soon,
this watery new home of mine,
I feel no ties, no bonds, no pain,
or even the passage of time.
A lifetime spent in an absurd search,
lying at the bottom,
of a gurgling stream,
Sometimes, death is sweeter,
than is thought,
and life more futile than it may seem.

Homecoming

28th April, '09

Familiar streets, warm with knowing,
my memories infinite, secret;
my womb of struggling years,
my confidante ethereal.
Buried with stories at each curve,
buried with the knowledge of my being,
fragrant, elusive, yesterdays,
the delusive and the real.
I wait to be one with you again,
I wait for the reunion of our spirits once more,
I wait to be under your watch again,
My chaperon of unseen dreams.

Reminiscing

27th April, '09

Sunlight caught in the cobwebs of time,
shimmering, dazzling,
catches my eye,
forming infinite untraceable patterns,
lost in the infiniteness of eternity.
But somewhere suddenly,
a chord is struck,
a memory awakened,
a sliver of silver salvaged,
and history,
clear as a pool,
heavy as dew,
floats into my palms again.

Forgiveness

25th April, '09

A searing hole burning through crystal pools,
the heat of it traversing each droplet within,
deeper and deeper till it finds home,
till eventually one turns to stone,
the mind is filled with cackling din,
and insanity is all that rules.

Reason is not in sight anymore,
wrapped up in the hatred of prejudice,
coils and coils of sticky thought,
large swirling pools with presumption fraught,
I blink to see the ghastly edifice,
towering at my mind's door.

There's a snap and a clink, a tear and a blink,
and clouds start clearing one at a time,
the edifice is disappearing each minute,
crumbling into nothing bit by bit,
trickles of water clearing up the slime,
the mind stretches and begins to think.

Slowly creeps in a ray of light,
the load is less heavy, the shackles break free,
the passages are cleared to move ahead again,
there's space for two once more in this den,
a song breaks through all the cacophony,
and two minds move to a new height.

Flying in a Gas Balloon

Flying in a gas balloon-

At first, there was freshness,
of the whistling spring gale,
with it came beauty,
in the miniscule details.
The fluttering in the stomach,
of a million butterflies,
the cosiness of a shell,
the vastness of the skies,
The hope of things to come,
the confidence in the flight,
Dreams and togetherness,
the only things in sight.

Then the blurring of senses,
the timelessness of time,
the weight of extra baggage,
interfering with the climb.
Shoulders brush in discomfort,
space not enough any more,
what used to keep me cosy,
is now leaving me sore.
We threw the dreams over,
to make space for life,
Where passion overflowed once,
reason is now rife.

The gas balloon takes me higher each day,
for I know what to keep and what to throw.

Images of Fate

21st April, '09

The words have been squeezed out of my tiny, little fate,
expression has left me in the lurch again,
It's only pain, pain and more pain,
that are colouring the walls of time once more.

An ice dome with icicles, shooting upwards like trees,
sticky, slippery cauldrons of gurgling time,
a body almost formed, floating face downwards,
hands stretched out towards the greenish slime.

A war field, with scorched, black trees,
plastered with the skin of a countless men,
roots uprooted, heads in the ground,
fingers scattered, a million times ten.

Purplish grey skies, with muddy contours,
dripping down to earth with the sarcasm of the Gods,
poetry sits waiting in a runny, black hole,
around it sits pain in self-righteous clods.

Circles

19th April, '09

My mind is moving in circles,
circles of thought, circles of din,
circles definitely closing me in.

Safety and comfort, words of the world,
round and round in circles I am whirled.

Practical is good, practical is real,
practical is all you should feel.
Well, I don't want practical anymore,
I just want my wings, unfurled.

I prefer semi-(circle)s, with open doors,
circles that are not, circles any more,
I prefer a life that which is me,
to a life that is dripping with ease.

I threw all the circles,
into the wind,
They turned into balloons,
and I grinned.

The Monsoon Has Begun

18th April, '09

I got drenched in the rain tonight.
My every pore soaked in water,
until water was part of my every pore.
I sang, I danced, I screamed aloud,
for no one watched me but the unjudging skies.
I filled myself with the joy of the monsoon,
the scent of the freshness of the wet, soggy mud,
the close familiarity of the heavy, lazy skies,
the overpowering sound of the rain on my roof,
pouring down to the rhythm of my unrestrained dance.

I melted into the droplets of the rain,
and trickled onto the chocolatey earth.
I delved deeper and deeper,
the particles of mud,
finding space in my each pore,
until I was them and they were me,
wet, rain-drenched, mud-covered, entities,
completely one with both the skies and the earth.

Hide and Seek

17th April, '09

Find me a muse,
and I can fall asleep,
tonight is not mine, it seems;
The dreams are too real,
the words are too slow,
even my thoughts do just as they deem.
The wind is too silent,
the moon has the blues,
the trees are all acting too secretive and still,
they've left me to sort out,
my thoughts on my own,
while they take a vacation,
over the hill.

The flowers are asleep,
and the night is a lover,
to some other wistful poet today,
I curl up on my pillow,
with a quill and a parchment,
and there's nothing really left to say.

So, I say, find me a muse,
to find me some peace,
before dawn lifts its eager, bright head,
my words are in hiding,
but my sleep is done biding,
and I really really must go to bed.

Spring

16th April, '09

Birds lined up, yellow and blue,
like springtime,
on a barbed wire.

A toddler cooing, in his mother's lap,
like a soft breeze,
blowing through tall pine trees.

Steamy coffee, in my front porch,
like the scent,
of early dewy mornings.

Wild flowers, on a green countryside,
like a rainbow,
scattered in my backyard.

Seeking

15th April, '09

I try to clear the cobwebs,
on that which is called integrity.
I try to gauge the depth of the waters,
of the sparkling pools of my innermost truths.
But both prove to be rather delusive.

Where will I find them, I wonder?

Will I find them in the tranquility,
that sometimes creeps into my blanket with me,
and in whose company,
I drift into the softness of a dream-like state?
Or, is that just the tiresomeness,
of another routine day?

Will I find them in the warmth that traverses,
through my entire being,
when I have casually tossed a few gestures of kindness,
in no direction in particular,
and been granted with a grateful smile in return?
Or, is that just me drowning in my self-indulgence?

Will I find them in my those flashes,
which dance to the beat of my conscience,
ignoring the murky yet sweet-scented pathways,
promising me a little more than a moment's gratification?
Or, is that just my reckless being?

Reaching Out

14th April, '09

Those blasted words disappear again;
Again I wriggle my way through,
through vast alleys of garbled thoughts,
thoughts from which my poem will brew.

Brewing a mixture so very sweet-smelling,
sweet-smelling vapours in many a hue,
hues to kindle the countless senses,
senses of a scattered, pervious few.

Few minds can hear the music of words,
words that can add a meaning new,
new understandings of old matters,
matters from which new lives ensue.

Ensues a new hope and beginning,
beginnings that one loves to jump into,
into deep waters of promise and dreams,
dreams from which reality's imbued.

Imbued by this strange magic,
magic created by words askew,
askew, yet clear in their final purpose,
the purpose of creating an unusual commune.

An Encounter

13th April, '09

The day was crashing down on me,
and purpose was melting away,
frustration was clawing at my skin,
and my wits were all astray.

An old woman with chattering teeth,
walked into my path,
she hobbled to a mysterious beat,
that calmed my inner wrath.

Her eyes shone with orange fires,
her hair was the frozen streams,
her necklace was made of countless charms,
pebbles, dew, and moon beams.

She wore a garment made of the sky,
and her slippers embraced the earth,
she smiled a smile beginning in her eyes,
and my soul filled with mirth.

''Who are you?'', I asked,
my curiosity unrestrained,
and she took my hand in both of hers,
and suddenly began a monstrous rain.

We stood a soaking pair of strangers,
hands clasped in the heavy downpour,
and as she began to speak her truth,
the lightning danced and the thunder roared.

''I am you and you are me,
together through eternity.
I am the wind that rocks your boat,
I am the waves that make you float,
I am the Sun, shining in your eyes,
and I am your soul, when lifeless you lie.
I am the yesterdays stretching beyond your own,
I am the tomorrows for you children to atone.
I am the dream, the hope, the love,
I am the falcon and also the dove.
I was there before you, and will remain after,
yet my being contains your tears and laughter.
My wounds are your wounds, ten billion times more,
You shape my existence, and I define your core.
I am all of time, the universe, the skies,
and you are, the twinkle in my eyes.''


The skies had stopped their jaunty uproar,
a murmur lay where there had been a din,
puddles of water showing pieces of the world,
rain-drenched breezes, tingling my skin.

A calm had descended on my entire being,
when I snapped out of a strange reverie,
I turned around to see a hobbling blur,
and I suddenly felt strangely free.

The Icicle

12th April, '09

It hangs like an icicle,
in the thick air of memories,
unmelting, suffocating,
yet never dimming with time.
Unchangeable, like a rhythm,
come back to haunt me;
The beat of the tomorrows,
all shrouded by the yesterdays.
It hangs like an icicle,
chilling me to the bone,
a sparkling icicle,
that will not quench my thirst,
its rays, all dripping of regret,
and unfathomable despair.

The Truth

11th April, '09

I don't believe in the truth,
the truth is not true any more,
the truth, it changes every day,
the truth is what is leaving me sore.
Life is not what it seems to be,
the beginning and the end in the middle,
I seem to be the heroine of the story,
dancing to some unknown fiddle.
They said I would find my truth some day,
they said that it would come my way,
but I see a delusive reality,
a dream floating further away from me.

What is the truth, I ask myself?
Is it just what I feel,
what I know, what I see,
but that's like a movie reel.
What is the truth, I ponder?
something changing every day,
something going its own way,
even though in its path I lay.

Each day is something new,
yet some truths are forever,
some truths change never,
but those of course, are the very few.
My life has become a jigsaw puzzle,
of some truths old and some truths new,
I sift and clear through my baggage old,
and in the process new truths unfold,
And such is life, I think to myself,
throw out the old to clear the shelf,
and the new truths will emerge on their very own,
and of them my new self is borne.

Monsoon

10th April, '09

Lightning blazes through cloudy skies,
inky black with longing,
the grasses dance a dance of love,
and the expectant cuckoo-birds sing.
The heat has filled our very souls,
we pray for rapid respite,
let it shower down on our bodies,
and our souls with all its might.
There will be a rippling madness,
ecstatic satisfied smiles,
the booming clouds know all of this,
and yet the monsoon beguiles.
We wait with bated breath each minute,
with sweaty, eager palms,
give us your water, oh bursting clouds!
smother us in your arms.

Confessions of a Modern Woman

9th April, '09

The taste of new smells and sounds,
the sight of new odours,
can't wait to get on my wagon again,
before I'm a minute older.
The feel of the wind on my face,
as I roll down my glass window,
the bumps and the jumps on the road,
the ever-changing show.
Home is moving with me,
a destination transient,
It's a super life to live,
an adventure, in any event.

Yet I have my roots intact,
every place I go,
to be a daughter, a wife, a mother,
if that's all I ever know.
To live within these walls,
and yet find my innermost peace,
to discover in routine
both wisdom and release.

To see and to experience,
the world with its every wonder,
and yet create my own home,
two dreams so very asunder.
Everyday I balance,
everyday is new,
women who afford both,
are fortunate and few.

Familiarity

9th April, '09

Harsh words flying around the room,
like sparks from an blacksmith's fire,
like ripples on clear soft puddles,
like a blood-stain on a white handkerchief.
Splattering the walls,
entering the spaces between us,
forming entities on their own,
entities that clutch at our limbs,
and drag us further apart each minute.
The walls ooze conclusions,
the ground stinks of bitterness,
the tomorrows disappear like trees in the fog.

A bright clear morning,
eyes awaken to dreams gone hazy,
an effort to reassemble the puzzle,
to make it fit better.
A hollowness follows me around,
like my beloved child,
sounds from the other room,
boom across the walls,
sending my thoughts helter-skelter each time.
Life has to go on,
clothes get ironed,
breakfast is made,
like the termites oblivious to the sinking ship,
the little details are unaffected.
Our paths cross,
space is shared, unwillingly willing,
my mind can only sense you,
in all the chaos.
An instant, the instant,
our skins touch, ever so briefly,
a mundane question,
a crack in the glass,
the wall shattered by the smile in your eyes.
The metal is only stronger,
The puddle is calm once more,
The blood-stain on the handkerchief,
is where its beauty lies.

Unknotted

7th April, '09

Peace, oh delusive peace!
cleanse my mirror once more,
no holes left to bore,
give me my due release.

Untie my mind's eye,
unhook my hindsight,
I'm ready for my flight,
take me ever so high.

Of passion there's no dearth,
with reason, I could do more,
I hear your enchanting lure,
so what's left to unearth.

Whisper to me tonight,
dream my dreams for me,
teach me how to be,
a bird in mid-flight.

April

A poem a day,
what a dead giveaway!!

Coming Alive

5th April, '09

Drops of silver moonlight,
swishing-swashing in my brain,
heady winds in tall black trees,
dancing to a strange refrain.
Clothes hanging on the wash-line,
seem to take a life of their own,
whispering voices of spirits long gone,
sailing over grass and stone.
Leaves are fluttering in the wind,
the flowers send out a scent so sweet,
something is calling out to my soul,
and it answers to that faraway beat.
Shattering through my glass window,
lightened soul and spellbound mind,
I come alive to fly with them,
Leaving all of the world behind.

I'm your Pet

4th April, '09

There he is all paws and claws,
all purrs and romps to fill my day,
biting and scratching the dullness out of life,
as playful as a kitten, like they say.

My body becomes his vast playground,
to climb and scratch and bite at will,
but when he takes his little cat naps,
time just comes to a standstill.

My days are spanned with beady eyes,
a swishing tail and gentle mews,
curtains moving of their own accord,
every move the start of a ruse.

It's an illusion, this ownership,
do you need me, or do I need you?
My little friend, from out of nowhere,
my little cottony bolt from the blue.

Brilliant Blue

3rd April, '09

Brilliant bits of blue glass,
flying into my face,
blinding my eyes and my soul,
leaving me scathed for life.
Funny, I always thought blue was my colour.

Dreamy Me

3rd April, '09

A fistful of dreams,
punched into my face,
a sparkle in my eyes,
a mouth filled
with broken teeth,
a life of pathless roads,
a sky outlined
with rainbows,
that turn into clouds
as I shut my eyes.
Funny, I thought life was a tune,
funny, I thought dreams were meant to be lived.

If I Stop

25th January, '08

If I stop,
I will drop,
I will drop off the sky, I will fly.
If I stop, I will fly,
If I fly, I will die,
I will drop off the sky and die,
I will drop and lie-die,
If I stop, I will die...

Sing the Song Right

25th January, '08

Life is definitely about rights and wrongs,
rights and wrongs, wrights and rongs,
how dare you sing the wrong song,
sing the song right,
stay up all night,
but sing the song right,
get into a fight, but sing the song right,
fear and take flight,
but sing the song right,
sing the song right...

Flight of the Phoenix

17th March, '09

Words on an empty summer's day,
Words of an empty, waveless bay,
Words they form just voiceless sound,
by the definition of my words, I seem bound.
Fear is sitting like a ticking time bomb,
waiting for the instant to burst into song,
Immortal I lay, for death is not new,
my hopes are not high, but my dreams are not few.
But the bomb ticks on, a soundless word,
a rhythm recurring, by my fear incurred,
Yet I walk on, my head held high,
Yet my neck stretches beyond the sky,
A wordless silence, by words it is drawn,
A courage, of fear, of courage, is born,
Undying love and love undone,
A life of regret and a life of fun,
I carry on, on a bed of words,
the freedom of a wave, the flight of a bird,
I carry on, my footsteps noiseless,
Dissolving into the Sun, each day I am less.