What life is without death

Death is a pretty little liar,

a selfish coward with intents of fire

to life it's jealous of.

Like from a cough to a coffin,

often a stranger to familiarity,

an orphan to strength and credibility.,

adopted to stress and vulnerability..

he knows nothing but wants everything.

He's blind to happiness,

for all he sees is darkness..

Grief. Misery. Affliction.

Devoid of affection, full of imperfections,

a complexion reflection of ingratitude,

an unfair measure to lives lived,

good or bad,

untimely and annoyingly full of grudges,

from the past. Blasts of no hard feelings

turned into yes hard feelings.

It's a gift undeserved to many,

not earned, not fought for.

Why would death be so cheap?

Get some class, mate.. 

Life is a million steps ahead.

Why?

Because Life, to start with, is expensive.

Classy not trashy.. She's beautiful and

bereft of blemish. She is flawless.

Like a tigress, as vicious as she is,

can never eat her own cubs.

She's magnificent. 

Green of the shrubs,

Queen of the lands she treads on,

gracefully. 

She has learnt to speak peace

and love is her mother tongue.

Her smile is heart-warming 

and her tongue conveys no ill.

She is adored for her dealings,

with people from all walks,

because she's a gift not a curse,

she heals, she cares, she's there.

Always there when you need her.

Her presence ignites joy profound,

and her ability to exist anywhere,

makes this world a better place!

Seriously, what would the world be,

without her? Her-less? Life-less?

Yes. I knew you'd see it that way too!

The world would be lifeless.

But then again,

as beautiful as she is, often at times,

she's taken for granted.

Used, abused and misused.

She's gone through a lot. 

Different people treat her different.

But her value still remains.

she's priceless!

And what she is without death is a marvel.

A novel with a happy ever after tale,

a stream that never stops flowing,

a well that never runs dry,

a road that leads to fulfillment.

Yet.. All good things must come to an end.

The end justifies the means for her,

if she was well lived,

or undeserved.

Fantasy it would be: What life is without death.

Tomorrow is another day

One day today,
one day tomorrow;
The essence of tomorrow,
is in the presence of today.
Yes. Tomorrow is another day.
No. Today is not another day.
Today is the day tomorrow is born,
for yesterday is weary, worn out and gone.
Its fire is burnt out, the smoke is lost,
the heat of today, should be worrying you most,
that'll be better than yesterday's ghost,
even hotter tomorrow at any given cost..
You light it, don't fight it.
Live by it.
Breathe through it.
Heck. Even breathe it out,
through your nostrils,
because you mean business.
Business today, pleasure tomorrow.
Yes, tomorrow is another day.

One Night Stand

It was a one night stand,
a one night stand with destiny.
It sure is not what she wanted it to look like,
but it is now, all she ever wanted.

Because tonight the sun will shine

Draw the curtains, raise the blinds,
like the morning light has touched the dew,
for it might be night but the day is new,
and few will see,
this light tonight I call magnificent.

Draw the curtains, raise the blinds,
the stars tonight won't shine,
bright enough, or, sparkle enough,
for the blind to see,
for the little children to wish upon.

Draw the curtains, raise the blinds,
the moon tonight will cower behind,
the calm emotionless clouds of the sky,
and the calmness of the sea,
will reflect not its rays.

Draw the curtains, raise the blinds,
blow out the candles and switch off the lights,
the rays of sunshine should well enough spread the life,
for this beauty I foresee,
will last a lifetime.

Draw the curtains, raise the blinds,
because tonight the sun will shine.

Echoes from the deep

Echo.. Echo.. Echo.. Echo..

So a thought, I have..
Of the reflection, I have..
This reflection of soundwaves.,
everytime I shout down into this,
deep, almost empty - but fills me up - well.
This well of promises and wellness.
Me on this end and you on the other.
Sun scorching my back,
the cold wind of the night slapping against it.
I'll bend it all down for you, my back,
just to talk to you.,
actually, with..
just to talk with you.
And it's beautiful, it's just amazing!
Because, everytime
I say something,
you say something.
You even hear my whispers,
and whisper back to me,
the pebbles I drop down there,
I hope, really, that none ever hits you,
it's the echoes I fish for,
to know you still care,
to know you're still there.
The voices that come back.

I have had nights I cried down to you,
hoping my tears would rise,
the levels, for me, to see your eyes,
but only the sobs keep coming back.
Does it mean you cry when I cry?
Laugh when I laugh?
See, I just smiled.
Did you smile as well?
Did your lips curve, not upwards,
but downwards, just as mine did?
Tell me you did, am listening.
The voices that come back.

I know you listen,
because you answer.
I know you feel almost the same as I do.
Because every single time,
I say "I love you",
the voice that comes back says
"I love you" too.
- "I miss you"
- "I miss you" too.
The voices that come back.

And when it rains, I hope, it pours.
I hope the water will fill up the well,
and you will rise to the surface..
and hug me, hug me tight and everything,
everything will be alright.
I have your towel ready,
to dry you up immediately you come through.
I have a change of clothes too,
all ready, and fitted for you.
I promise you,
I won't mind the rain,
I'll let the drops sooth my back,
from the sun-scorching and wind-slapping,
I'll soak and it won't be enough,
to pay back for the soaking you have.
I want to be your hero,
when the waters reach a hundred from zero.
I long to see you, and am excited!
Why?
Because the clouds are forming.
The voices that come back.

The first drop from the sky, and into the well..
and am here waiting to hear its sound come back,
among all these other
echoes from the deep.

Sitting on the pavement

Sitting on the pavement,

and it's like 3 a.m., in the morning.

The party is over, the one with the reduced cover.

Dude still sober, but dude won't budge.

He's been outchea, sitting on the pavement.

Clean-shaven, and clothes well adorned,

browsing through his phone,

while thinking to himself.

Too many books on his shelf,

too many movies on his Netflix.

He thinks to fix,

he seeks to clarify.

Nothing to glorify.

The dots he joins,

the paths he chose,

led him to this pavement,

he is sitting on,

he is thinking on,

he is thriving on.

The cars speed by, 

occasionally stopping for the lights.

It's dark, he reckons,

the street lamp above flickers.

Then, the occasional hiccup,

like the path he treads on has had.

Hiccups.. His cup wouldn't be any fuller.

At least, it's not half-empty,

it's half-full.

For being her fool.

Her run-to tool.

But still manages sanity.

He stays sane insane,

all in vain.

See the blood flow in his veins?

It's anger he can live with,

and excitement he's been deceived with.

Drunk couples walk out from the clubs,

passing by him, staggering.

Some say hi, others say bye.

Hand in hand, if they're done puking,

on each other, he hopes.

Pleasures he sees but can't feel,

leisure he stumbles upon but can't enjoy.

The world is crooked and twisted,

in his own opinion.

He's entitled to it, so to fit in straight,

he must, 

to live with his decisions,

would be just.

And fair.. That the friends he made,

20 years ago in high school,

live the life of their dreams,

with the spouse of their dreams.

Him? Haha 2nd divorce, and counting,

2 litres of alcohol in his system,

plus the 2 he had the night before.

It's true, 2 wrongs do not make a right,

but it's wrong to say, 

2 lies do not make the truth..

less what it is.

He needs two lives.

The one with the mistakes and,

the one he would be careful with.

His bus arrives. The doors swing open.

He raises up from the pavement,

a little bit of stagger in his stance,

glad he didn't have to drink and drive,

no, not tonight,

dusts off his new pants,

reaches for the token he'd saved for the ride,

in his pocket,

it's torn. It fell off somewhere. He groans.

And goes back to his earlier position;

Sitting on the pavement.

That bright flower

That bright flower, you are.

You are, that bright flower, just,
that bright flower in the middle of a desert,
that bright flower floating on the surface of the ocean,
that bright flower in the middle of a snowstorm,
that bright flower floating in air, in the middle of a hurricane.

You're far from an oasis in the desert you live in,
your roots so short to anchor you to the bottom of the ocean,
your endurance to cold is wanting, to storms, inexistent,
your weight cannot hold you down, you're helpless in the air..

Yet no petals dry and fall off of you,
yet no wave comes and tears you apart,
yet no cold shrivels your existence,
yet no wind blows any pollen from your anthers.

You are that bright flower!
That bright flower that gives moisture to that which is dry,
that bright flower that calms the waves and slows the currents,
that bright flower that melts the snow and stills the storms,
that bright flower that makes the winds weak by its attractiveness.

You brighten up your environs and illuminate that which is dark,
you are that bright flower.
You irradiate beauty and magnify perfection,
appeasing all the aesthetic senses,
you are that bright flower.

& as the dust in the desert worships your beauty,
& as the waves of the ocean shower you with praises,
& as the flakes of snow kiss you with admiration,
& as the winds embrace you with love and affection,
so does my heart beat for your attention.

You are, after all, that bright flower.