Fruit Ripening in Stillness

i.

You cannot trust the sky, nor speak
Of unkept promises at that
When an exceedingly fine week
Is followed by a gloomy streak
And clouds blot out the sunny peak.

So how expect of this bright brat
One ever-constant climate? There
Must be some weather change ahead
Throughout one’s life, mundanity
Is all, poor chap, and all the fad.


ii.

 Overstretched life span, back to start again
Spoon-fed with Gerber, every now and then
Sporting a blind and toothless newborn’s grin –
All better than the grave. Why not. But when?

Mere questioning, some callow conscience may
Respond. Go poll them tots, it’s a survey
As good as asking death in her delay;
Just skip the meantime for it has no say.


iii.

Got some life still ahead of me
And some behind.
Know more about the second kind –
Am I half blind?

In comes the term of destiny:
It’s hid, now find.
Ignoring back and forth combined
Should clear my mind.


October 22, 2016

A Way Back Home

I’m average, it is the eye
That tells me where to head, no sound
Nor scent, nor heart, could explain why
I’m keen to get my butt around.

At dark, headlights a little weak
I’d come back on a winding road
Almost a game of hide and seek
A groping home in blindfold mode.

Oncoming loners lead my way
This way no mortal soul save me
The night keeps hedge and holt away
Into their somber destiny

But luckily no inner light
Relumes that halo of remorse
That strips a meager wordly sight
Of its dim rest of driving force.

October 15, 2016