an old incomplete poem..... found in drafts..

you tell me stars have a language,
mountains grow taller,
Bukowski still writes
Neruda doesn't know love.

You tell me Italy is the place,
mirror is an occasional lier,
silence means counting infinity.
Earth, sometimes, abhors spinning.

You tell me clouds hold our secrets

angels live in flowers

butterflies are little girls

raindrops are like prayers

You tell me the different meanings

of seasons

how buds gradually unfurl

how leaves change their colors

how flowers lose their fragrance

how we live our lives in circles

Y'know sometimes I feel

there is a meaning to it all

there is a meaning to what you say

there is a meaning to what you do not say,

but convey.

I am tiny. I am little.

I was mad. Now perhaps sane.

But I still connect the dots

to draw

the paths

you have planned for me.

Stars are spilling light.

Night is cold.

It is December, again.

You tell me you are close by.

Too close that I am afraid to touch.

You whisper the secrets

I fail to hear.


written in december, 2010!!