The Leaf

Tender it sprouted,

Green and clean,

Swaying with the breeze

Or was calm in the still;

Bearing the sun,

Long as it could,

Till yellowed and shriveled

It fell from the sky;

Never hearing the call

Silent and far

From its guiding star.

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​Why does it pain so

Now that it’s lost?

It was so empty and meaningless

And its promises so vague

As the reason scoffed at,

And the world looked at it

As an amusing toy

To be given away in a garage sale.

And now it feels like

The end of eternity,

And I have no corner

Of refuge from the world.

For how can I fly

When my little piece of sky

Is lost forever?

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Why should I blame you for my hurts?

Is the Sun responsible for the loss of sight

When one gazes too fondly on its light?

Is the Moon to be charged with crime

If for it in sad song the nightingale pine?

Life has a contract to extract the rent of death

So will I return its joys when its lease endeth?

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Pack Light, Darling

​Pack light, darling.

The deep green of the leaves,

And the deep darkness they hold,

The crispness of the sunlight

(Without which it’s like limp dog-hairs),

The black bitterness of coffee,

The haunting of old Bollywood songs,

The spirit of the blood wine,

The vitality of lethal cigarette puffs,

The intensity of wasted moments,

The colors of my eyes,

The unbearable softness of my touch,

The calm of the snarling world –

Why pack all these things with you,

Whenever you go away from me?

Aren’t you worried that the airline will charge you extra,

The careful woman that you are?

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True Love

Well darling,

The chocolate has melted

Into ugly little smears,

The card from the little sidewalk shack

Has been mistakenly given to the trashman,

The lovely morn of our love

Has been covered with black curtains,

And the night in his unrelenting weight

Has descended upon us.

My hands have started to find,

The alloy in your golden skin,

And the surprising gentleness of my touch

(As you say), has become impatient like knife,

We’re ready to scratch each other, ever deeper

With the talons on our tongues,

Ready to admire the stunning artwork,

Of souls wounded for ever.

It’s inevitable, we can’t stop ourselves,

Inevitable as tissues that blend only to repulse,

Let’s see if at the end we can still kneel

Together at the dreadful altar of love.

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Ashes Don’t Burn

You know, I see

Hope floating like leaves on the breeze;

Smiles glinting like defiant stars,

In the unforgiving glare of the Sun;

The fat man who wants to swallow the world,

The little man who wants to grind it to dust,

The angel with wings that shred your heart,

The unshaven, ugly man with a toy in his coat.

And I see your desire spread like the sky,

Inviting me to spread my wings and fly,

To drift like the empty grey clouds,

Till your heart arches into a beautiful rainbow.

But darling, trees they grow big,

And their leaves hide a deep, dark mystery,

But they die, and their branches are burned,

And fire doesn’t ever grow on the ashes.

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Sweet Independence Day

Sweet Independence Day,

Why do you let the old wrinkled men

And young men with old shrivelled souls,

Adorn you with grim frowns?

Let them order the children stand

Rigid with chained limbs and frozen salutes,

Instead of dancing with joy

To the tinkling music of laughter?

Why let angry men with puffed up chests

And empty hearts, roar your triumph,

And not let thin poets with thrilling pens,

Whisper lovely sonnets to your sublime beauty?

Why let pompous heavy words

Pin down your airy, soaring wings,

And let soulless, proud tyrants,

Chain you to poles and exult in your fluttering?

Why let them command the plebeians

To dry their throats and parch their souls,

Rather than light up the clouds

With sparks of boisterous joy?

Isn’t that why three young men strung themselves

On the gallows – To uncage your flight,

For you to shed the light of joy and laughter

To the bright-eyed multitude below?

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