venom for my veins

in benighted sleep,
incubus quickly hovers.
your memory, my venom
gushing down my throat,
like infernal fire,
burning arteries and veins
cripple them all, leave no traces--

my heart bled red,
into streams of passion and regret,
at there you would beat forever.
soon I was awakened again
by quiet screams, jumbled thoughts
that spoke-

I lost you due to my lack of spine,
and now through the years, for you I would pine.

Dark Hope

on mopey skies
the moon sails,
dangling november stars,
so dimly-lit.

soon, darkness would conquer,
wash them off
sea's reflection.

under weeping clouds
i stand alone,
counting hopes--
one...twain...still so faint.

Just your Silhouette

how many shadows brushed past,
how long was that,
since the last glimpse of light
which blinded my sight,
finely captured;
closely reminisced
in my memory bank-
i realized in the end,
it's a deceiving phantasm,
just your silhouette
unmoved,
stagnant in my heart woes-

blue rose for you

the sun sank beneath the horizon,
leaving the sky bathed in shades of marmalade,
fading into pink, grey
and...infinite midnightblue

we paced on soft velvety sands,
our intertwined hands
seeking warmth in the night breeze;
your aquamarine irises,
my serendipity-

your ruby lips pressed mine,
firing red rose ember of my soul;
snow satin that brushed against my skin
how pure the touch was-
like the white rose!

pledging undying love
my bonny lass,
by the navy blue sea
i held a blue rose
promising eternity...

9a.m. under an oak

In this delightful morning,
cozily laid on her back
above was copper laurel of ageing oak,
hosting a spread of dewy grass in the vast field;
its leaves fell like notes from piano
Pianissimo music played from nowhere.
or was it elsewhere?

Look at the angelic sky!
a parade of goddesses dressed in white
smooth flowing golden hair,
creating a phantom of delight
in the fathomless serenity--
the bliss of solitude she’d yearned for so long well,
finally came to dwell.

winter

my window-pane is starred with frost,

the world is bitter cold to-night,

the moon is cruel, and the wind

is like two-edged sword to smite.

God pity all the homeless ones,

the beggars pacing to and fro,

God pity all the poor to-night

who walk the lamp-lit streets of snow.

my room is a bit of June,

warm and close-curtained fold on fold,

but somewhere, like a homeless child,

my heart is crying in the cold.

another favourite piece of mine.it's been long and long since i last wrote anything...

the poet is one who is able to keep the fresh vision of the child alive--anais nin

billet-doux from california

so gently I disclosed your love,
in that sweet note
smelling pomegranate-
swiftly familiar sights gathered;
our abode stood on the flat ground
brown, shimmering in heat.
dry geraniums made the patches,
tinted by magenta blossoms;
the yard was a pleasant tangle of olives and oranges .
towering eucalyptus stood along driveway,
shedding bark on their smooth trunks,
how unreal but perfect memory I own!
how I miss Californian home!