I am like the flute.....

I am like the flute.
With a thousand tunes, yet
To be touched, to be felt,
Waiting for music to be borne
By my soul, created by you
The wind. I wait, in lonesome
Patience, with sojourn causal,
In expectant, stymied arousal.
Is this the message of the wind?
In this long night, is this my
Mind’s empty key you send?
With every breeze to be irked?
With every wisp to be sulked?
With every moment to be longing?
With every emotion to be killed?

Why do I see so much?

In your sweet voice,
In your tilted stance,
In your dancing gait,
In your lingering laughter,
In your beautiful mind,
In your sculpted body,
Why do I see so much?

Like the canvas of a Master,
A new meaning every moment,
A new fragrance everyday.
Like the Truth of the God,
Mystical in meaning,
Enduring in relevance,
In you, my exotic Princess,
Why do I see so much?

In your gentle words,
In your caring touch,
In your fierce Pride,
I see the Mother of us.
Why do I see so much?

In your playful moods,
In your little demands,
In your heartfelt tears,
In your stubborn stands,
I see my wonderful daughter.
Why do I see so much?

In your fertile soul,
In your wise thoughts,
In your meaning words,
In your poetic verses,
I see my best friend.
Why do I see so much?

Like seeing myself, in an
Ornate carved mirror.
Why do I see so much?
Why do I see myself?

In my expression,
In my exasperation,
In my malice, I see a window,
With fire, its light and warmth.
Why do I see so much?

In the rustling breeze,
In the humming bees,
In the moment’s lightning,
In the voices around me,
I see your splendor.
Why do I see so much?

Why, I see so little ……

Castles of Sand.....

Rolling over in laughter,
Reeking with riotous joy,
Drooling with the jibes,
Swinging to the beat - flowing…
Children building our castles,
Of sand, of dreams, of myths,
Of notions, what piles we add,
To our endeavors? O’ what an
Invite to the big wave, our
Perceptions, impressions, to
Bomb it, to crumple it, to brush
It away, in a stormy froth, into
Nothingness, back to where we
Started building. The serene sands,
Open to the impressions, ready to
Be shaped again, by the hands and
The minds. To create the structures,
With deeper meanings this time,
Safer from the killer, but still infirm,
Still a speck in the scape. Learning
Our lessons, rising to build, to create,
We march in unison with the Piper, to
Our ends, with our means, for meanings,
Flowing with the tune, of His melody,
In a blind ritual, with its mysterious rites.