It casts a glow deep, the streetlight at the corner Like an aura it extends, intruding upon the dark. Poking, prodding, subduing the dark into submission It impinges upon the shadows lurking at the rim.   Is it my imagination? Or does the aura extend? Gradually eating away at the …

Freedom is a wren singing on a golden morn It perches on hope, sings to the new day born. Freedom is a warbler, warbling a song of love It flits from bough to branch, like a silver dove. Freedom is a koel that coos in the wee hours It brings …

Hold my hand, if you must but let me walk alone. Walk beside me, hand in hand But, let me choose my own path, let me lead. My fortitude may not be evident, but I am strong Offer companionship, not a direction I know what I am doing and where …

By the shore we used to sit, wetting our feet, Our souls damp with love. Under the bejeweled skies, we would sit, Gazing at nothing, Just you and I, holding hands, souls entwined Love surging in our hearts.   Image – Joyce Huis via unsplash

  Halt thy ascent on the granite sky Stem thy hand shooing the sun Let the crimson of my wounds Bleed more on the far horizon Let it seep on into the sunset For my heart keens.   In the darkness of the eventide Leave me be, let me be …

In the bustling ado of my life, chaos reigns The ambling morn picks up pace, it trots by, Often meshing into a rushed afternoon. That too brings no respite, no succor; it spills Forth into the twilight of the dusky evening And then night descends, veiling my efforts. Try as …

The night lifts its veil and like a new bride The morning peeks from the horizon Holding promises of hope. Shy and timid, it decks itself up in hues of Red, gold and orange ochre, splashed With the merest of yellow. Image – Federico Respini via unsplash

A missive to you my love, from a shore far Let it travel on the water, under the lit star Ah! Be still my mourning heart, shush! Heal Even though time and fate did our love seal.   I pine evermore for you, in the long eventide I often seek, …

  he placed a single rose, a pink blossom, on the swing where they used to meet, hold hands back when the days were carefree, gay and filled with friendship and laughter. Their love was platonic, innocent just like the free wind and the butterflies but alas! what seemed was …

  I am done being who you want me to be I am done seeing what you want me to see I am done doing what you want me to do I am done with regrets so I no longer rue!   I am done agreeing to everything you say …