Looking at Life like a Chagall painting

In the sugar-coated motion of everyday life,

The crystallized lips--they do not speak.

Passers-by look distorted through the looking glass.

A little like: Looking at Life like a Chagall painting.

Stripping life down to the mere basics,

Letting the old spirits float around you.

The sound of the rain hitting the window pane,

And the wind howling with the wish to enter.

Remind you how Life is in its actuality.

Ready to take you up on a moment's notice.

And not let go of you: Till the eyes are sunken,

And the smiles are gone, the bones jutting through.

Till the dreams die and the soul fades.

Life takes the twinkle of eyes and the dimples.

And promises nothing, but the precious gift of Death.

For Death is reality and Life a mere illusion,

However ghastly she may be!

Nothings spells I'm fine better than coffee

The white cup balances itself so neatly on the edge of my bed,like a beautiful ballerina about to take off into a graceful leap.

I wonder if I notice because my emotions are stacked the same way?

I have managed to surprise myself so many times.I laugh a giggle and wonder if that's even possible!The heat from the coffee makes my hands warm.

These little things make me smile; I am happy. 

The old gray tree outside stretches its fingers, nodding its head in time to the much older wind. Words keep poking around inside my head. Asking me questions, prodding my heart.And I can smother laughter to say: "I'm fine"

I really am.

Spread-eagled on regulation white sheets,a marbled blanket for company.The phones give off a eerie white glow in the background. I stare at the unfamiliar ceiling and think that the smoke detector looks like an alien spying machine. My imagination had always been iffy. I thought of all the boring classes it had saved me from. Of all the things I could be grateful for, I wonder why my imagination had never featured quite on top of the list. The coffee is still warm, it wont stay that way forever!

Wet Eyes

Shove all the booze aside,
Today all I want is to get drunk..
On life, the stupid stubborn witch.
She entices with a few moments,
Only to drag me down with tears.
But still like the best of friends,
We meet and crib from time to time.
I reach out for him in the middle of the night,
And then I realise I've forgotten...
His smell, touch, the roughness of his beard.
Only memories of scratches line my cheek.
And the tears that had followed,
But they were kind, they left no mark.
I want to drink on life's mirthless frivolity.
When it takes my breath away, in shock..
And just sometimes, in surprise!
In its stupor, I want to dream.
Of endless tommorows, survival, and existence.
How I exist just by breathing, just by being.
But mostly of my dreams, the soggy ones.
The ones I'd shoved under the carpet.
Like dirty litter, thinking it'd be forgotten.
I want to cut my hands in picking those broken shreds,
And lovingly put them to sleep on my pillow.
Next to my drunken head and wet eyes.

Bamboo Shoots and Flights of fantasies

My aim is to be like the bamboo shoot
So strong in its roots, and so flexible above;
When a Strong wind blows, it bends,
But never breaks.

It gives the strength to wild grass to grow,
Carefree on its roots; around it, enmeshing it.
Little pins and needles seem stuck in my heart;
Bleeding it at inappropriate moments.

The more they push themselves in,
Like a bamboo tree, I shall grow higher;
Reach towards the skies, touch the stars,
WIth stars on each of my fingertips.

I shall see dreams of fairies and love.
Somwhere beyond the horizon,
My dreams will take flight, like birds.
Then this simple rooted thing,
Would have taken flight.
No sudden pangs of heartache,
Will then caress that dream's heart.

Smoke

She looks on the passing traffic.
The whizz and the busy honking.
People in their normal pursuits,
Going noisily about their business.
She looked at the milieu,
With mildly curious eyes.
Drawing smoke into her lungs,
Closes her eyes against the sun.
Not feeling its warmth, nor the noise.
For one sublime moment...
As the smoke curls inside her.
She keeps her words locked inside,
Too precious to be shared...
Treasured inside, away from sight.

Hey stranger!
Wont you ask her what they are?

Happiness

I read and see so much that it bleaches my insides,

there is just too much theory and too little soul.

All I want is now lost in the ashes of time.

Grey with ages, floating away like dust,

they crumble on the tips of my fingers,

As I shut the old book with a firm thud.

Only you can hear me through the silence.

In your eyes, I see the reflection of brilliance.

The dipping orange glow of the setting sun,

against your profile, the happy twinkle.

Strange as it seems, I'd find comfort in darkness,

but now you make sunshine so mellow.

And now that I have found you again Happiness,

I promise to never let you go, till death do us part.