Little birds

Everyday, every hour, through sun and rain,
But a duck would sit on eggs so few and small,
She can not find their father, nor do they know,
But still every moment the need arises, she comes.
With warmth and love despite all hardship faced,
No amount of shelter can take her from young away,
Nor memory of the times she flew the first to spring,
And all the silent tears bored diluted in meagre hope;
The eggs shall hatch one day, and this day shall come.
Hours will pass, like the shadow of cars nearby fade,
Into nothing somehow; they just keep coming and going,
It was all gone, and then no one knew who drove them,
Not even a smile, and not even a mention of this bird,
Though, she wouldn’t care, she cared solely for young.
Like, drops of water that fell, they have no purpose,
To fall and their previous drops slowly sink in water.

One day, they hatched and it was all still rain and wind,
Beneath all the grim and chill, the day envied warmth,
So soon she feeds with all she has, what braved a day,
It seemed nothing and everything fell from dread’s decay,
Like roses from the sunken soil in cool respite to bring
This subtle joy into those who gaze, and so they did.
She knew one day they’ll have to fly, and they too shall.
By which time, she shall move on to a path where they fly,
Now soon they will fly, and swim, and walk, and quack,
Their first words would drum her heart like drugs and wine,
And then life wouldn’t seem so bad after all, it was there;
All she ever wanted was always there, she simply had to plant
The hatchlings in the warmth and love she can spare from all,
So soon, once she passes into the next life, joined by her known,
She can at least observe from afar these birds for who they are.

I’m done

Ere no word of mention: I’m done,
All the words I said are all but gone,
And he said that I was all in awe,
I’m done. It was all for much this sore,
For heaven blind me this creased man,
So sing me tears from molten glass, an
Insight of this love once I foretold,
The months and years have my heart in fold,
So do what you must, and so leave me,
So give me nought, and now I am to be,
Is this it? Am I half the man I swore?
To disembark myself from skin I wore,
Now kill me here and all I am to sing,
So hearken my call; this love a fling,
‘Tis all but marred in mute task alight,
And won’t give life wanted without fight,
A shadow of angels now curses my own god,
And this god is the man of the inner dog.
Now I am whole again, I shall be better,
But when I see you again, I’ll think better,
Enough. All dreams I had with you. Enough.
It’s over now, and I have said how tough;
So muse me with silence, and all shall fade,
Close mine eyes; I’m done, and adieu I bade.

*

At the casting dawn, no star no bright,
Did see it through the turmoil peaked,
In pleasure fought but pain embraced,
Sleepless brought, no mind would cease,
In the brink of hollow, so much as horror,
Did see the light, these paths unchained,
Who moves with wheezing gasp to shed,
Now saw himself between shadow and shade,
In lidless hue the breath he can’t deny,
So soon he bode in wreaths come align,
The chest so red and lips so swollen,
With changed voice from tongue to swell,
And ere brought from here to deepened downs,
Nor south may make south heaven again,
Did cease to be, and all was slammed indeed,
Now he returned and himself brought asunder,
How yea lifeless and soon he walked away,
So once he returns now warns himself this peril,
This musing night, so life do your worst,
He’ll walk again and muster rain and heat,
So he shall rise again with no relent to pass,
This hour is the hour he is. Oh yes;
Nothing will make him stand at bay,
At the birth of light, his life stood anew.

A wandering stranger

Some time ago, it was almost a speck; a boy I knew, but he was a strange guy. I didn’t know exactly who he was, but I could relate to him somehow. He loved to wander around in streets, even parks, the bay, under the night, lidless sky could not bind him away. I’d see him from time to time, walking. To no end. He would pass through the canals, cross the bridge, delve below a tunnel, and keep walking. He didn’t exactly know where he was going I thought; he kept moving back and forth, even looking yond his shoulder back. Whether paranoid or no, he seemed cautious. A hint of anxiety kept him, but he still kept going, somehow.

Beside the fact: this was years ago. I can’t believe it – five years. It was that long for a man his age; but five years can be five minutes in a squared amount of time. Anyway, I followed him. I wanted to know what he was doing, where he was walking, where he was going, the air he breathed, the sights he saw, the cars he heard, the people who laughed, and all the swans that swum past the brewing glow. This glow nought I had, in bitter thought comes shaking sleep. ‘Tis sound alone he ought to keep, the rest is bark to sleep. In this space, in this hour, half his sight was cast in gaze, the rest is brought in dark ahead.

Some hour later, he stopped where I just knew where he would stop. This was it. I cried. This was it. It all happened here. The beginning of an evening; the end of the morning; the start of endless night eclipsed by sun under the farthing sun. Everything just fades; echoes – echoes, into the fold. A sound deep, be it consumed in dark. Within this realm, there were no street lights, no. It was all different, you see. A bridge was yond from here, and there were lights, with some not lit. It seemed like it dimmed a road, and this was where he followed through.

Step by step, breath from breath, reduced to congealed blood that soured his heart, soon he kept his pace. His heart boiled and kettled vapour through each lung that sunk cold breezy air and dispersed a new life into the air around him. Within this dark manifold of sempre solitude shook the break of his communal worship in the gait that forsook his brow that gestured at the slightest sound that cast him from here to worlds above, so far from he, and not so far from reach.

Beneath two towering blocks, whose fumes used to bring gaze from all the city at long lost thoughts of musing jeer, at fusing cloth brought freezing fear fraught with a demise of a lost city buried under nostalgic price in gaping memory of one so lost. He stood beneath the biggest tower, sat on the grass, breathed the air. Thus seeing five brilliants of the night, felt four fragments of memory, heard thrice a wolf, a distant footstep and a ripple wrung with stone; twice he smelt a cool air and the smell of distant trees bellowing before him. Once he breathed, he became whole again. Once he breathed, he became me again.