Literary, Poems

The Silent Symphony

Close your eyes,
There’s music to be heard.
It’s been playing for a while.
Hush now,
Don’t say a word.
Listen for it in the breeze,
And in the falling leaves,
Feel the pleasant chill,
Of this silent autumn eve.
Don’t hold your breath,
Ease that silly frown,
Set lose all inhibitions.
There’s a wave coming,
Just follow the rhythm,
Of playful tickles,
On the back of your neck,
And soon you’ll drown.
Rid yourself of all emotions,
And your mortal thoughts,
Let go of your pain,
Embrace your rightful place,
As a passing observer,
Of much bigger plots.

Your lips part,
Your eyes open wide,
You hear it… don’t you?
The magical ripples,
The everlasting beat,
The haunting pianissimo?

The silent symphony,
I’ve been listening for a while.

Literary, Poems

Random rhyme

“I used to be a naughty child”
That’s what they said to me,
So I left the wretched house,
Was as happy as I could ever be.
There were new people on the streets,
White eyes in black sockets,
That was when I met a boy,
He had picked a hundred pockets.
I was useless and a bit spoiled,
That’s what he said to me,
I gave him a punch or two,
Crippled for life, was he.
Those urchins under him cheered,
Claimed I was their king,
Never did I care for such bondage,
And I disappeared with the wind.

Ten years later when the sun rose,
A fine young man, I had become,
I had friends at the roadside diner,
Who supplied bottles of rum.
And one day I fell in love,
Thought I’d let her know,
But her parents were uptown bums,
So she calmly said “no”.
I should be feeling sad, I thought,
I tried to jump off a bank,
But my friends, they held me back,
Said she wasn’t worth a wank.

One day I decided to hit the road,
Just looking for a change,
I walked past twenty more years,
And came to a house rather strange.
There existed an old man there,
Not kind enough to live,
He had some money saved up,
Which he didn’t want to give.
So I went in with an ax and a knife,
Slit his arms and legs,
Took his coins and marched off,
Bought some ham and eggs.
Dunno why the police came to me,
I was sent to jail,
But they had neither witness nor proof,
So they released me on bail.

Several more years later,
The sun was shining again,
Science had improved and people laughed,
‘Sif they were the ones that gained.
I felt a soothing pain in my leg,
For which they gave me a crutch,
The doc said I had bla bla bla,
And it would cost me much.
But I was that old man now,
Not kind enough to live,
I had some money saved up,
Which I didn’t want to give.
Later one day I was down on the floor,
Blood dripping from my head,
The servant raised an alarm fast,
But I was already dead.

Journal, Literary, Poems

Feathered clouds

Once again they scatter; a whirlpool of randomness.
Lazy, searching eyes drift across and rest,
On a form akin to avian wings.

Concrete soothes my back, firm and still,
High, surrounding walls bind me to a world unreal,
A world of queens and kings.

Wings they were, no doubt; what use were wings to clouds?
I gazed and wondered from the highest part of my house,
Wondered at the subtle tease.

Somewhere deep inside, a promise was made,
That of great heights; a skyscraper built in a head,
One that won’t be ascended with ease.

Yet come down, I must, and so must those clouds,
But they will have had the gaze of a million crowds,
Gazes of awe, from people aroused.

Gentle panic sets in, dampened by thoughts of people,
The majority; who think they see,
But are yet to look beyond the concrete beneath me,
The highest concrete of the house.

Once again they scatter; a whirlpool of randomness,
Lazy eyes observe the mess, the wings were gone,
There I rested on the terrace, till the day was done.