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.