A Fallen Angel

After so long,

Like a piece of heaven

She falls right back to me.

A slip of fate,

That I, a mere Human,

Have to mend the broken wings,

Bestowed upon her to prove meager souls,

The inexistence of an invisible cage.

Others say, the wings are a misfit,

And I should not mend but rather remove them,

But who understands?

She can FLY!

I do mend them,

With kind words, soft touch,

Unconditional care and Passionate love.

Even though I know,

One day I will have to let her go,

For if she don’t fly away,

Wings would simply be a misfit,

And with me she will stay a Fallen Angel.

The Stranger in the Mirror

Psychopath behind a mask of sanity,

And intelligence, an eager excuse,

To escape the asylum.

The innocence of youth,

Eluded behind an unnaturally calm face.

The mirror is no liar,

The man has indeed changed.

Why the change?

Has he learnt so much?

Or has been hurt so much?

Where has he veiled the rage of the past,

That defined him, that destroyed him,

That deterred him, that defeated him?

A poor illustration,

For a shadow of the past,

For he is not me,

But, The stranger in the mirror.

An Extra Mile

What others seldom do,

Is walk an extra mile.

It consumes their time, their energy,

They hesitate, because, they are after all Others,

But not me, because, I am after all Yours.

Anyway, who are you to them,

And they to you,

To walk an extra mile, way off their path?

But, I shall passionately walk an extra mile with you,

Late at night, sleep at bay,

Because reality seems better than dreams.

An extra mile for the Loris call,

And little more ink from my quill to fall,

When we walk that extra mile,

Others opinion don’t matter.

Just know that, for you,

I will always walk that extra mile.

Maybe next time we walk an extra mile,

We will hold hands.

Why, Me?

Why are you with me,

When you could be with a thousand others?

Why do you prefer my company,

When you claim a thousand others enjoy yours?

Why sing songs to my deaf ear,

When a thousand others crave for that music?

Why seek my counsel,

When a thousand others die to offer you solace?

Why strive to be a slave in my world,

When a thousand others accept you queen of their universe?

Why try be in my words,

When you could be the life of a thousand others?

Why want me,

When you have a thousand others,

Even when you know I am preoccupied.

Maybe, Some Other Day

There are things, I wanna say to you,

There are things, I wanna ask you,

There are things, I wanna give you,

There are things, I wanna hear from you,

There are things I wanna do with you,

Maybe, Some other day.

I am a Psychopath

I am a psychopath,

My life would end more like Sylvia Plath,

I have got a very sick mind,

Maybe, just one of a kind.

My life’s been a great distress,

For over li’l things I obsess.

Like a symmetrical light wave from a lantern,

World for me is just a beautiful pattern.

Numbers make more sense,

Than, words ever did.

Every teacher since pre-school mention,

I never paid them any attention.

Like an element that is radioactive,

I was so hyperactive

That I end up in loads of trouble,

No matter how much the punishments double.

I know, I never meet eyes,

Makes ‘em think I am full of lies.

I never feared the paranormal,

As thoughts about death for me is normal.

You might wonder,

Where are the rhymes?

There are no rhymes,

But patterns, and only patterns

Look closely and you will see reality,

Of my pale mentality.

I am not a Poet,

I am not a Physicist,

I am not Creative,

I am not Original,

I am not your Friend,

I am not your Lover,

I am just a Psychopath.

The Empty Tray

Coffee’s grown cold,

I was wondering why?

The rocking chair no longer rocks,

I was curious why?

The raindrops on the ground,

Were without their aroma,

I was puzzled why?

Blotches of ink that dripped down my quill,

No longer made sense,

I was confused why?

Then came the screech of the Loris,

And with that,

The coffee started to steam,

The chair began to slowly sway,

The fragrance of rain wafted in the air,

And inklings were a beautiful piece of poetry.

And there we see a Loris,

As our eyes meet,

She smiles at the superstitions,

Holding an empty tray.