Or is it the takeover by the bright crimson
Of the white of my ghostly pale skin
Till the memory of anything monochrome
Is just a faded image, as if it never were?

Could it be the sound of the blade
As it elegantly swishes past its enemy
Could it be the ecstasy in my heart
At the inevitability of what’s in store?

Could it be happy anticipation
Of the pain that will give me my pleasure
Could it be the pleasure of control
Of inviting death, at one’s own accord?

Could it be this moment, and nothing else
That I had spent my whole life waiting for?
Born perhaps to live, but certainly to die
If the destination is so near, why travel so far?

Defying life, defying all,
I give up my life, in happy delirium
For in pleasure, we seek pain,
And in pain, we find our pleasure.

Bluffmaster, I was called
Placing the cards, that’s all it took
An ace when it should be a king
A queen for a nine
An eight for a ten
A puny two for the regal prince.

The trip to the police ticked off
Groceries bought, laundry picked up
Next on my to-do list –
Empty the basement freezer
Clean it of any human stench
Bury Harry in the garden
And then off to play another round of Bluff.

A meandering river,
that knows not where its headed.
It twists and turns
at every little rock and rift,
headed somewhere,
no one knows where
Not even me,
though I hold the pen.

A gentle wind
that whispers.
Thoughts that were
always there, but never
heard before
Caresses with love
and wonder, all
who care to listen.

A burning fire,
fueled by ardor or amour.
Often writing in anger,
protest or fury
Annihilating all
who dared to glance
Till nothing is left but
heaps of grey ash.

A tear that trickles
down my melancholic face.
As I write, perhaps
of home faraway
The seven seas
that stand between us,
condense into a salty droplet
born in my wistful eyes.

A yellow bird
as he twitters in joy.
When my heart is full,
and happy words tumble out
Words are my window
to the rare world of bliss
That makes heaven
seem an unwanted place.

The solid ground
that supports my being.
The solace that keeps
my soul from dying,
A friend in need,
a savior in distress,
With a pen in hand, I
have all that and more.

A prayer,
a worship,
a submission to
a sublime power
An offering at her altar,
a bliss,
a destiny
A journey
to be made
as I search for her,
The elusive divine,
who guides
my every word,
and will lead me
someday,
to her.

Inspired by Pablo Neruda’s “Poetry“. It is a beautiful poem, do read it if you have the time.

If fall be a lady,
she would be fair;
With flaming red hair
And beauty beyond compare.

If fall be a lady,
She would have class;
Past her spring and summer
No more a little lass.

If fall be a lady,
She has had a full life;
Youthful games and merry days
Not to forget, many a strife.

If fall be a lady,
She would be strong;
She has fought and conquered
Troubles that came along.

If fall be a lady,
She would know herself;
A woman of substance
Not moved nor swayed by pelf.

If fall be a lady,
She would sit by the fire;
With a hot cup of chocolate
And memories that inspire.

If fall be a lady,
She would be content;
As winter draws near
With another year well spent.

I glance pensively at my long lived life
I see a pure white sheet with a lone dark stain;
And I can’t help but reminisce on that sordid spot.

Many a years have passed since that eventful day
Yet how could I ever forget the guilt of a misdeed done?
An escape from my usual self, an adventure to remember.

All around me are the good deeds done, praises sung,
Yet, etched forever in my mind, is none but the infernal one;
It never ceases to amaze, the power, of my flight from perfection.

Call it not guilt, call it not shame, for it deserves a better name
A journey to lands hitherto unseen, a search for the last missing slice,
Do I delude myself, or could it be that a tarnish is really the art of life?