Thursday, November 28, 2013


They say, a strong mind
knows no yesterday.
It sees only tomorrow.
For bygones are bygones,
not the midwives of
weak, helpless sorrow.
It lives not survives,
they say, in the
secure knowledge
of its own strength.
No shadows on it
by cruel words are cast.
No scars remain,
no wounds last
And they say too,
that a strong mind
dwells not on
the follies, the losses,
the unfinished endings
of the forgettable past.
They say it moves forward.
Plays the part.
And they say a strong mind,
it turns around and calmly,
very calmly says - Be quiet
to the damned heart.

Monday, November 18, 2013

Evening Games

Could there
have been perhaps
a game of hopscotch
made of smiling circles
sitting together like guests
at a pretend party of toys
instead of these rigid
square blocks chalked out
and numbered and smudged
by skipping childish feet.
And could the swing perhaps
have sailed effortlessly
over the trees into
a star spangled sky
without a tiny body having
to rock backwards and
forward, straining bony arms
on metal chains hung on hooks
as the dusk gathered like
the rush of a hushed wind
gathering in wild unbraided hair
masquerading as a gentle ruffle.