"I must, I will, I do"

Days are counting
One, three, five
The transformation, I believe
Is 'Dead' to 'Alive'.

The hype and mayhem
Envelopes the air,
It's hard to keep up
And match every stare.

Folks scamper around
Wanting to lead, not be led,
Like a cat on a chase,
With the mouse up ahead.

Advice and arguments,
Put that training to test,
My grandma chuckles
'You'll be the best.'

Music that changes
Faster than the vows,
Jumps and twists
Right there, right now.

Pink, orange, red
Strewn with glittery lace,
The more the better, they say
Just paint up that face.

Move on, stop
Bend and greet,
Once in a lifetime
The unknown you meet.

The incense, aroma
Something pristine around,
Time stands to greet
The life fresh found.

It all comes together
Worth the while,
When each worry, concern
Turns into a smile.

Noise welcomes cheer
And anxiety, fun,
For this time, my friends
I am the hitched one.

Help...

...I think I have a problem. I like to help people. But that is not the issue here. I like to help them even when they don't want it. That, my dear, is my headache.

Just the other day somebody on the subway asked me for directions. Being next to clueless about the less frequented (and not so happening) corners of NYC, I cringed, felt myself curl up, and with a profoundly apologetic voice said the 3 golden words- "I don't know".

I don't think she cared. She asked another, got her directions and moved on with life. I, on the other hand, felt myself muse over it for a while. I almost felt accountable for not being able to help her right away. Strange? Psychotic even I'd say. And I felt the urge to help someone, anyone, to make up for that failed endeavour.

After a few precious and baffled minutes spent on this thought, I shelved it with the belief that I find true gratitude in being able to assist people. Perhaps I like to collect "Thank you"s  or if I were in the UK, the "Thank you darling"s, and store them in my appreciation chest. In time I can re-vist these treasures and feel smug about my unique collection. Perhaps I have a thing for content looking faces or slightly grateful smiles. Perhaps it's my attempt at a good-deed-a-day lifestyle. Perhaps it is my way of searching for acceptance in the world. Perhaps, there is no philosophy to it and I am simply crazy.

But I do it unfailingly. I am not a saint, I do have my evil streaks. But those immoral moments are laced with a pressing need to do some good. Do anything, anywhere. Help someone cross a road although they may be fully capable of doing so on their own. Tell someone the time only to notice they are wearing a watch. Answer someone's question and then hide the blushed face of an eavesdropper. Pick up something one dropped only to realize they were littering.

Queer hobby, I admit.

I am a terrorists' nightmare.
I am a social workers' stash.
If you see me extend my hand,
Get up and dash!

"Moving"

I sit, I watch, the looks on their faces,
Some tired, some tried, some been through phases.

A story deep, or simple even, a lesson learned for some,
Perhaps true, perhaps not, perhaps a facade put on for fun.

I shuffle in my seat, I stare, as another eye meets mine,
Deciphering me and my life, who knows, there is never a sign.

A rainbow of feelings, simple smiles, fuchsia to amber rose
They come, they go, our meet is short as prose.

I learn, I experience, something and yet nothing everyday,
A place of silence, people talk, yet no one has their say.

I hear my cue, I leave, the wheels halt a while,
The closest I come to know them, is know they too travel with time.

"Flipside"

It's a strange theory
This pretentious life,
While you to live it
You just survive.

Escaping mishaps,
And horrid horrid death,
We measure quality
By abundance of health.

Why must it be morbid
Grey, of tears and strife,
Maybe we are born dead
Waiting to experience life.

Life begins, they say
When a man gets his wife,
But ask the husband
And he may tell you otherwise.

Whilst we live
We are 'dying' for things,
And even relationships begin
Killing an old fling.

Prayers for a happy future
A million people say,
But tomorrow only comes
With the death of today.

In the end, a picture it is
Blue,black, or perhaps red,
Of death and it's ways
Living in your head.

So the poet in me
Will die the very day,
Words leave me
And I have nothing left to say.

For when someone asks
How did she live? Cry or laugh,
I want to raise my hand
And recite my own epitaph.

"Little boys are bullies"

"You're a boy, she said
You can't be afraid of anything."
And with that she gave her baseball bat,
A hard, meaningful swing.

Off he ran, the little boy,
To prove his name and might,
But came running from the bushes,
Screaming, holding his head tight.

"There are bees in there, and bugs too,
Why must you throw so far?"
The girl giggled, ignoring his cries,
And continued to enjoy her candy bar.

"I think i'll rest a bit", she said
"Girls aren't as strong as boys you see"
With that she swung her head back
And settled underneath a shady tree.

He waited, shuffling his feet
Wondering what he should say,
And just as he grew tired and dull,
She once again was ready to play!

"Should I ask that man over there,
To squirt you with his water gun?"
No! he pleaded, I'm not a sissy,
And I can definitely bear the sun.

Red ribbons and summer prints
Circled her aura running about,
She smiled the devil's smile
Underneath a woeful pout.

His shirt soiled, once was white
As he chased her flying curls,
A boy he was, devoid of feelings,
Except one of awe for the girl!

And so they played, as equals,
While she kept calling the shots,
Of course, little boys are bullies
You just have to join the dots.

"Giving Up"

"Give me away Dad", I said
Even if only in play,
And pretend to feel the moment
I want it that way.

He looked at me surprised
"Aren't you too young to play this game?"
I said I was practicing,
In case the day never came.

Mum chuckled in the corner
Her endearment soaked eyes at me,
How can her darling little angel
Even dream such a catastrophe.

"Give me away Dad", I said
As though I was winning a prize,
My feet were that of a 15 year old
But what's in a size.

He laughed out loud
"When the time is right I will",
And just like that all the clocks around
Came to a sudden standstill.

Mum noticed the tears
Her touch promised me a chance,
Time, love and patience
Can conquer any opposing stance.

"Give me away Dad", I said
I no longer play a role,
The aisle awaits, bells chime
And my hand he is ready to hold.

He ignored my words
"No more games, stop this din!",
And with that he walked away
Taking my life's leash with him.

Mum was gone, leaving behind
A one member team,
All I heard were tears
Feeding my self esteem.

"Give me away Dad", I said
This is the real deal,
The flowers wither, whites fade
And I no longer feel.

He stood where I left him last
"You are blind, you see no flaws"
Hands folded, eyes a water bed
It was his last attempt at a pause.

Optimistically broken
I stepped onto the aisle,
And imagined Mum whispering
Smile, smile, smile.

"God Bless", he said
I turned, and finally said no more,
For Mum had already
Given me away years ago.

"A Stab in Time"

Two years hence
I stand and wonder,
At the whirlwind of pain
And another's blunder.

The time that was to heal
Checked itself, curbed it's advice,
Making it even harder
To forgive the vice.

One by one
They dropped, slowly,
The string only snapped once
And set all the pearls free.

Things around me stir
Slow, as a classic movie fight,
Broken, incoherent and disjoint
The color robbed by black & white.

Sedated I watch
As life speaks my thoughts,
There is no space to love
But enough to regret what's lost.

One by one
They spread out, scattered
I grappled to collect them
But it no longer mattered...