Sing again

Dawn as simple yea moist muses seep,
Who can resist a sad cure by the dawn?
If they would sing, could it be just
The art, or mine eyes be sunk by sound?
Nay, a window here invites hapsad music!
Tear me in half, may one of me weep,
Tear me apart, till one half shall dance!
Sing, sweet nightingale, invite your chores!
Could it be simply be better than my bore?
Those dainty legs, swing from branch to twig,
What weight you must have to not snap one!
The breeze is cool, yet the air is warm;
Alike are those in thy inviting silk,
Till morning drew its first morning milk,
Nor are the ages gone, till muses write,
Now free! The wings flap. Oh, how I wish!
Till you invite those windows open,
The doors would not open, yet our hearts shall!
Give leave for one more day this blessed night!
The evening strokes, we cheer the silence,
The sound of silence as free your chirping unites,
Till we sound a charm then all pride’s a gain!
That we see, till all pride is well again!

On Bees

I give leave, if not wishes in green,
Now are they spoilt, the brown flickers,
As bruised a leaf on drugged field enclose,
Now are their stems and petals it woes,
I then ask, why then are bees yea sicker?
Who then, if not my honey, is but sweet,
That golden sap, not from maple procured,
Delights those round the table come is tea,
How then the comb soaks slow till ere fed
Then excites sense till all ignorance led;
This much whilst yond wall and floor laid,
Lies dormant enslaved, a colony, it wept:
Is pollen then just a pollen to accept?
Why, my senses dull; my wings so numb,
Yet continue my work, like reeling pain,
Till one of mine will drop,
Till more are dropped,
Then I too am a drop
On lidless field,
The pollen call.


Within a mountain blue poured below,
A trickle of snow rolls from hence,
Breaths of ice form at base yea low,
He did not see himself at all then.
Like clockwork, each gear at work,
Care naught for same sans its move,
What shall we spell? His feet went.
Then his hands. Then his head.
Didn’t care much about an avalanche,
What better disaster than his gain?
“So, I’m before a lonely hill,
There’s not much here. I’ll follow.”
Working away and soon he’ll live away,
Now there’s a cause for freedom!
This danger does not become him,
This fear he knows yet he resists,
So walk, nay climb, up this snow:
Look down. See your past down there?
How shrunk you were, swallowed by snow.


Fly aghast, succumb to joy;
Nor fetter those waxen feathers,
Nor below look at fires spit in yore,
Nor chisel away at bark long so dead,
Lay gaze at few and turn head to none,
A breath is tolled on whose wings ye fall,
Now better spent by nests in hourly call,
Upon the tree nor solitude is yet to spell,
Now burns a hatred for the Man to pass,
So his essence wane, that all trees fade,
Lest his fire is come, ere us all be swept,
Though a bird’s cry is ill-heard in cities far,
A wave of change is spent and cast aside,
For politics alone shrieks even bears away,
And calls a siren to the nearest fire lay,
Though time nor time lost is gotten free,
That these caves of glow on sides of Earth
Ring even Moon’s light deny in dark forsake,
Now fly free and let smoke in us imprison;
When one man walks, he walks in memory.

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.

Muse of Dodona

I am the Muse who sings not of no other,
I am the difference between light and night:
The art of spelt wind to carve my bark,
An empire of leaves thus adorn my shape,
A whisper through the grass sings me wake,
Steps of travellers dance to my trembling,
Nor it be not music mine ears to breath of yours,
Nor is it shaking lest my lonely state is bore.
I am the smoke; the one that is lifted from naught,
‘Tis the burning of the seen that now is more fraught,
Make no mistake that my smould’ring choke you here,
Make no mistake that it is the end of my heroic end,
Ere the birds shall sing their last and leave me here,
Now the ashes fall from me to ground in utmost pour,
And tears of amber shall lift my roots in motion soar,
At last it becomes me not the endless to bitter end,
When once I ask of ye: why so this I ought to rend?
Then twice more you respond with fine eyes cast away,
To the next; ere the next, here perplexed; all is hexed,
Nor is fixed, the air is thick, my tree a wick,
And knick my space, and kick my face, so all is waste!
Uproot myself, in muse I call, so here I fall,
When more I try, so luck I find, is rare behind,
And soon I cry, ere ground I bind, so fair and kind.
Though he and love these guests I cannot plea,
Nor my slow’st motion, stoic notion I cannot flee,
Here I sing of what love I once had from pot to soil,
Who saw me grow and visited me here to never foil,
To he, I was but just a tree with no love to give,
For I perish with no leaves to offer so he can live
In knowing my presence. Oh, but now no more to seep,
And as he leaves, it is for all but mine to weep.

Running from the Sun

Whilst running from the Sun,
The fields a silhouette cloak,
The trees felled from the step,
Ere the nightingales weep
An eager passing through the fold,
Let the moon collide with the Sun,
Emit every rock and dust sky high,
Scatter all for starladen daylight,
So that as you run towards the shade,
You can look back and observe Her rise
Sans fear of sight of yours be blind.
See the bold Sun handcraft life anew,
For whatever passing this day we mourn
Shall rise forth the Sun the next morn.

Out There

Yond. The heart that meets the bay,
Long had they walked in spite of fear,
In bliss they sang and hopes ere rang,
The ears rung through sounds and hope,
Their lives relished the taste of Earth
For which no sea could never wash away,
And there stood this sight of great joy
Who knew which pill they ought to take.
Bitter nor sweet, nor salt and gruel
Could fuel the motion on mountain cliff,
For within this group one had heart to go
Beyond their group’s measure before the Sun. Read More

Light’s Escape

But light escaping
Nor is she cheating;
Footsteps long before
Ere looked, ere looked for
The shores so distant
Now left are nascent,
Woe more for more allowed,
These waves tremble loud,
Cool thine head so fair,
Hide within thy lair
And never, n’er shine,
Let all dark grow divine.
In spite of this day,
Shall beckon your ray,
Again shall it peer through,
Ere love in dark is through.

A mountain

Within a horizon I found myself in awe,
As much I found is lest but not foresaw,
Who beheld the sun eclipsed by long before,
Is not the rock that sound by light furore,
Though peaked in angles ne rays never betray,
Though fought through night for never to say;
Ere silence brought was more reason thought,
Whose winds cast not though breathed to taught,
As fire would burn chokes the mountain,
Nor the mount to fall on high from the rain,
Hither and thither a cold brew sore to see,
Is not the mount on Earth for all to see,
But then as I stood in hearth come watched, Read More