The Swing

to and fro it swayed
they stopped pushing it
but I never fell down.

Advertisements

En route 


My hands are on the wheel as  
countless images go by  
I keep moving forward 
while my eyes linger behind  

My hands are still on the wheel as  
as I wipe the tears off my cheek  
I keep looking at the mirror until  
the reddest of signals turns green  

My hands are dancing on the wheel 
for a new song has just begun 
I played it over and over again  
until I was ready to move on  

My hands are trembling on the wheel through  
all the twists and turns 
every stop looks the same 
and so does every burn  

My hands will be on the wheel  
My eyes will be on the road  
As long as there is fuel left in my tank 
And until my eyes close. 

Cease The Day

throw away all the watches 
light the clocks on fire 
shred all the schedules 
time is a bloody liar 

needles and numbers on the wall
show anything but the truth 
right on time – never so
what ought to happen – never would 

resenting those who breathe 
it befriends the lifeless,
Ozymandias became history
urns embellish the present. 


A comment on ‘Ozymandias’ by P.B Shelly and ‘Ode on a Grecian Urn’ by John Keats. 

Dammed

alpine forests on the hills
speckled with lights-
face a river

the stars have gone
leaving her alone 
bulbs now mock her
for she is dammed-
slave of a master
who was her son

a reservoir of grief
of not the many but one
the greed of some
starts with a flood
devouring those who love too much

alpine forests on the hills
speckled with lights-
face a river

the power from her pain 
has torched the valley 
the light has come 
but darkness abounds 
the peace of yesterday 
will never be found

change is ordered 
it never belongs 
a way of life 
modelled by concrete 
moulded by wrongs 

alpine forests on the hills
speckled with lights-
face a river.