I Die

Like Byron said -
'I regret my youth'
or the follies should I say
bizzare, stupid and uncouth.
So - to atone the follies I cry,
to ease the pain, I die.

Let's leave this here then.
There's no other regret though
The world is nice
barring a few
The wounds left open, for vultures to pry
And to ease this pain, I die.

Mired Mirages

It's not that we never met,
the past cannot be undone
The mired mirages hurt me more,
then why from the past you run.

Is this the way with you,
the many tales that you spun
Love and lust with betrayal sprayed,
and so from your past you run.

On John Keats

For Keats my pen flows,
This is for them who say
Little imagery the poet shows
His verses near the nature sway.

If only Endymion they read
There are doubts they did that ever
Cause hath not they then realised
That a thing of beauty is a joy forever.

His myriad verses flow and say
of Greek gods and goddesses great
And the earthly trifles that came his way
With profound wisdom in imagination's spate.

Melancholy, solitude and beauty taut,
On diverse fancies his poetry dwelled
Odes he wrote on many a thought
For many a cause, his emotions swelled.

He had his doubts though,
Fears that he may cease to be
Before he could pen his thought flow
Wish his glory he could foresee!

A Footloose Tear

A footloose tear
for the unshared thoughts
left untold
for many a fear.

Wayward tear,
tumbling on its own
straight from the heart
honest and pure.

A footloose tear
for the days gone by
lost bit by bit
seeing love disappear.

Restless tear
can feel it moving
on its own, mindless
of memories held dear.

A footloose tear
for the lost innocence
connivingly taken
with farcical care.

Love is Something Else

Love is something else,
Well now I'd say
One gets the picture
as the cobwebs clear away.

Love is something else,
undefined, they all say
and not just the gush displayed
every ten days.

Love is something else,
when both laugh away
not proving every second
see, I had my way!

Love is something else,
As the great pens portray
unconditional devotion
and commitment all the way.

Yes love is something else
Now I'll say
And not some lousy tea
sipped with masked dismay.

Vagrant

The vagrant at my door
sits, lying low
taking in bread and taunts,
in a skin very sallow.

The vagrant in me
takes this and some more
when waiting for love,
at my lover's door.

For love, a few hugs

For love, a few hugs
and a little kiss,
I let him
Like me.

Heart rose to the occasion, indeed,
And so I liked him,
For love, a few hugs
And a little kiss.