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!!

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