Sonnet 2,511


image.jpgIf I could tell the beauty of his eyes
I might describe the way they look at me;
Perhaps I’d write of how they paralyse;
I see his eyes and neither move nor speak.
If I could tell the story of his lips
I might go overboard and lose my thread;
Perhaps I’d write of love so true and this:
They kiss my own and melt me into bed.
If I could tell the way his soul inspires
I might then speak of how he has me soar;
Perhaps I’d write of burning, love on fire;
Our souls, they are the same – for evermore.

If I could write our future in one line,
It’s this: now I be his, and he be mine.




Sonnet 2,411


imageNow as I go to sleep I write in rhyme:
This evening’s thoughts be thunk and written down;
For I am his and know that he be mine;
The things of which we spoke tonight be ours.
I read and write our love and feed his soul;
He feeds mine too, of that I am aware;
For he is me – and I am he, one whole;
Completed hearts be here as they be there.
I cannot write in words that do not flow;
For he has graced my life with art and song;
My beats and metered ways be his to know;
Two minds that think as one cannot be wrong.

I am the darkest tunnel – he’s the light:
Hence poetry forms everything I write.




This is how it went down:
There was love.

On her part, at least, there was love.
It wasn’t returned.

She hoped it might be, one day.
Contact was full-on…until it wasn’t.

Until she was no longer in his thoughts.

Until she awoke.

Once again, she’d been manipulated and kept around like a fail-safe, idiot-proof, back-up plan. She could imagine his intentions as he played her like the afterthought she’d always been, “she’ll just be there, waiting for me as always.”

But no.
No, she wasn’t.
She wasn’t waiting.

She had already lived her life thus far in an unrequited state and wasn’t about to continue lovelessly.

In the beginning, he had spoken of his desire that one day she would know her worth. He would make her see it. He would make her realise that she should never value herself based on that which she meant to others. It was all in HER, he said.

She is finally aware of her worth. She also knows her value to him – which is insignificantly minimal.

But she f i n a l l y knows her own worth.

And still, love is there. But this time, it’s the love she has for herself.


I have a hunch


The questioning, exclaiming marks show sentiment – reflective; but one’s a little bent to gain a new and fresh perspective.

The Hunchback looks down at his feet, asks questions of the earth; The Soldier stands all tall and proud, with confidence since birth.

But both of ’em are balancing, each standing on their ball; you kick that ball away they’d be identically corpsed.

For one is one and one the other in this little game; in falling to their origins, they’d crumple just the same.




You didn’t want me
Even though
I wanted you
As well you know
You didn’t love me – never could
And even though
I hoped you would
Or dreamed you might…
…I had no fight.
I could not stay
Unloved again
And could not say
I loved you when
You didn’t wish to hear it…
…Because you always feared it.
But this I know: Our letting go
Might hurt our hearts hereafter
But living without love?
We just averted a disaster.