Oct 9, 2014

one cup too many

One, two, three, fifty!
I lose count sooner than planned.
Churning inside me,
The ajwain, goat milk, and ginger honey reside.
A strange concoction, I must admit,
Brewing quietly inside me.
I cannot, for the life of me,
Pick up another cup.

(No sooner did I write this that I included a chai budget for my trip.)

cold feet

Outside my damp room
A mystic sits.
Tunes from the heart afloat.
I cannot but be in awe.

In the distance there is laughter-
Amidst the ongoing silence of the hills.

Like the city girl who left her home-
Below, another wordsmith sits,
Taking in the sights and sounds.

Like me, he doesn't know
What he's here to find.

A place where forlorn lovers loved,
A shelter for my soul.
She strums away her restlessness,
The voices take me home.

Fluffy visitors

The clouds have arrived
At my doorstep.
The incessant knocking sends shivers down my spine.
Knock, knock, knock, they go.
"Come on in," I say.
They fill me with delight.
The guitar brings me little warmth,
As my hair takes on the smell of damp clothes.
The drenched walk up long and unknown paths-
Don't spell out happiness at all.

Too soon did we leave the spot,
There would be rainbows where we lay,
Between the tides and gentle breeze,
So many more conversations were to flow.

Yet the undeniable comfort of this monkey cap-
Soft against the cold, stone wall;
It sends me back to my happy place
Merely by sitting atop my head.

To the wonders of synesthesia

My dreams shall smell of black magic tonight
Fragrant memories of a not-so-distant past,

Between garbled talk and confessions,
I swim towards the shore.
No shark fins chasing after me.
It's just how dreams ought to work.