The Simple Life

‘Love all, trust a few, do wrong to none’,
yet little do they know, for some
To love all is too little,
to trust a few too many,
and to wrong to none, impossible.

Because life is like a box of chocolates,
you actually do know what you’re gonna get.
There can only be so many,
and they’re either good or bad.

And because people are like sunsets,
you don’t see their beauty everyday.
Sometimes you do sometimes you don’t,
and sometimes only from across the bay.

And because trust is like the sand,
you have to scoop it grain by grain.
Take too much and you’re left with a hole,
and from there there’s only pain.

And because strength is like the clouds,
you can only take so much.
A matter of time before you’re done,
and break at the slightest touch.

And because time is like the ocean,
you can only hold a little in your hands.
Before waves come crashing down,
and erase all your lofty plans.

And because the present is like a toy,
you get bored of it sooner or later.
So you seek someone to go it with,
and it doesn’t matter if she’s a keeper.

And because true love is like watching an orchestra,
and you looking for just one person,
and thinking that he or she plays the nicest song
just out of all the others.

Black or White

Either there is or there isn’t,
a yes or a no,
for innocent or cardiac treason,
a love or a hate,
it’s better to just have everything out in white and black;
it saves us the trouble, of questioning the lack.
and if no white, then let us end on a black.

There is no gray. There cannot be.

Bittersweet Candy

“Like candy: if I convince myself I don’t like it, I won’t enjoy it, and therefore won’t crave it. But lately, for whatever reason, I actually have come to enjoy it, and in turn have come to crave it with you.”

Fate is a non-sided thing

You see the numbers and colours before you, each hue
Are you waiting for a sign, a cue?
The spheres seem just to align in your mind,
one last shot for the mistakes left behind.

You think “Could this finally be your time?”
God’s Perfect Plan, without the mime?
You try to connect the dots,
carefully as you line your shots.

Is it Fate? Is it Luck?
Or did you pull yourself out of the muck?
Is it real? Meant to be?
Just as how your white collides into three.

You pray, you hope,
You lay, you mope.
You’re a solid lead ahead.
“Give up fool, I’m made.”

But just as you boldly claim premature victory,
Fate interrupts!
The foolish man.
Who ever dared own a plan.

In one fell stroke,
hope goes under the cloak.
What was in line goes awry,
as opponent gets try after try.

That’s when you realise,
oh what a fool you are!
For thinking Fate would sympathise,
let you win, by far?

No! In truth, Fate is the non-sided thing,
it takes no form, no sides, no stripes;
it gives no handicapping,
it pockets all, it snipes.

As His eight ball rolls into the abyss,
you blow out your hopes with a silent kiss.
You resign, your loss, (to Fate?) as the table clears,
and Fate takes up it’s next two lovers.

Didn’t you see me waving?

 Like oceans that tangle and play
that kiss the shore from night to day;
the unrequited waves return to stay,
each and every time it’s
sent away.

Like boats against the current,
that survive amidst the torrent;
meandering lakes that serpent,
with you there’s no time
like the present.

Like rain that falls down in my yard
at first soft and at times hard;
good and bad and avant-garde,
through all the times
we’d never part.

So let the stream run and flow,
and wither shall we go?
Underneath the undertow
or wherever there is snow?

Like the rising tide God drew,
to wash the Earth anew,
Crash into me with déjà vu,
sweep me off my feet.
Let me drown into you.




Left-handed cigarette

And then it hit me.
Something stirred, like a chilled heat,
a dead passion,
that shot and sickened
my entire body.

Contrary to what I would like to believe,
I found I was not important to you.
Like the stubbed out end of a used cigarette,
you would eventually toss me out
with the milieu of other cold and dead joints
that lay shriveled and limp, with hope
that they would one day re-ignite and be
found worthy of being
put to your lips again.

I was not going to let you
have your way again as you always did.
I am not going to let you
disintegrate me to ashes.

Like the scourge of a cigarette
that destroys, kills, slowly;
I will grip you by the throat,
intoxicatingly, bittersweetly.
Enter you.
Hold you.
And like a plague from the inside out.
Destroy you.
After and just as you have
destroyed me.