We and I or I and We

Before I become we
and we become I
let us stop for a moment
let us feel the void
and then
fill the void.

Do you feel me
or do you feel us
like you always say
sweetheart
it's not I anymore
it's now just us.

So
before we meet
to mate
before
we become I
let us feel the moment
and then fill the void

I smile

once in a while
I drop by,
and I look for you.

sometimes I find you
as a tear drop
waiting to roll down
from my eye
in happiness,
in love,
in pain
and
I smile.


sometimes I find you
free flowing,
rippling,
dancing,
then I know
you are in a happy mood
I wash my feet
as you flow by
and I
smile

sometimes I find you
on the tip of the grass,
that wets my feet
as i walk by
in the early morn
to watch the sunrise
and
I smile.

sometimes I find you
dropping from the sky,
slowly drizzling,
and I walk through you
to feel you
and
I smile.

many seasons have passed
before,
and I have grown,
not the same old child anymore,
but
I do pray
let the innocence stay,
and
I smile always
the way I used to.

blue skies and seven hues

once
i wanted to write
about blue skies
and seven hued rainbows,
but
my pen depicted
a cloudy sky
and smoky fog.

I don't know why
my friend used to tell,
blue or grey
it doesn't matter
as long as you
have a sky overhead.

I don't know why
he said so,
I never asked,
all I wanted was blue skies
and seven hues.

but
now I know
to get the
blue skies and seven hues,
you must have
the grey skies first,
and some rain
all around.

The muse speaks aloud

am in a edgy mood today,
the poet is not by my side,
he found a lover of his own choice,
but
I am in love,
with the poet,
may be,
but he is a snob,
he talks like a commoner
and thinks his poem are
for people like him...

well
i am different,
yet I love the poet,
his smile make my knees weak,
and he bloody knows it,
a kind of passive seduction
it seems,
but he want to stay clean,
'for God's sake I am a commoner he says.'

infidelity
that's a harsh word
yet he is in love with me,
but
shhhhh
he can't speak out loud,
he read his poems aloud though
taking my name in between.

don't ask me who
I am
by this time you must know,
I am his muse
but shhhhh
he can't take my name.
he is a commoner after all.

The poet and his thoughts.

the poet
is in a thoughtful mood today,
well
he is thoughtful always
but a little more today,
he is thinking about his writings,
does he understands what he writes,
or he just scribbles whatever comes in mind,
and then everything takes a form,
and there within comes out a new meaning.

but
that is not what he wanted to write,
sometimes a idea comes from within
and he starts writing,
jargons he seldom use
his poetry is for commoners,
not difficult to understand,
but commoners hardly read him,
they have better things to do.

the critics
well they are never in love with him,
after all he misses the rhyming scheme,
no, rhetoric words,
sometimes not even meledious,
sometimes they even lack a flow,
yet
the poet writes.

he knows
he has few readers,
sometimes nobody at all,
publishers has already turned their nose,
they look for a poet
who speaks well,
not somebody like him.

the poet
has no friends,
for they find him boring
he
is not frustated,
he will write on,
for thats the way he speaks his heart,
he is a common man after all.

today the poet is in a
thoughtful mood
may be he has something to share,
on the table lies
a pen
but there isn't a piece paper anywhere...