Your Sleeves and Mine

The poem to the left 

Roll up my sleeves again
so our palms cross paths
as they did
and when its far enough
take my hand
and walk me into time memorial
far enough;
til my hand grows smaller than yours.

walk me past innocence
and please stay a while,
remember to make me forget
painful reason that we left behind

towards moon river
just round the bend
show me, all my friends
before I knew the differences

before skin knew deformity
born of pain
make it yesterday once more
yeah, those old songs
written before I knew
weighted words, and wrongs
so intimately well

and take me just there
past calculation
that smelt of insanity,
and cold seclusion.
before bold delusion
I hold confusion
in contempt,
leave it in the bushes
of my old back garden
amongst the leaves
and forgotten tennis balls
we couldn't find,
some sunny day.

where and when
we'd watch the races together
I'd support whoever you did.
and don't forget a meal
on our travels
in a time where
I can't even consider paying
and i might be shy,
to tell you all I want through timid lips
though you can share my chips.

blissful, wouldn't you concur?
khala* roll up my sleeves
and take me to where we were





*Khala, the urdu word for maternal aunt

Moments

Moments lost
fleeting fascination
cherished droplets of time
vanished from everywhere
but memory.
Our source too
that great well
of joy, sorrow
ink and courage.
Where lie forsaken tales,
forlorn walks but compassion too
warfare and love made
vultures and dove tails
sculptures and weathering
firmness eroded
by acid tears further
sour ones who tower
and sweet nothings so down to earth
building and destroying
we choose where we come from
even as we come from both.

Here's to Hoping You Catch Some Heaven

I apologise
on behalf of them.
Those who chose
to throw hell
into hands they forcibly
thrust together.
who broke in
like a thief in the night
and took more
than just your innocence
as if it wasn't enough.

Who broke bones
let alone your delicate hearts
who left you in the dark, the rain
attach
any connotation you wish
it'll fit;
they were so terribly broad
with their strikes.

I apologise
on their behalf
nonsensically
but let me
for each tear they wrenched out
and never cared to wipe away
in a sweet caress,
for each infliction of horror
each hand they left dangling
each time they eroded your trust
with the world
hacked away in rage or lust

I apologise
on their behalf
whoever made you
question life itself,
I dare not call them men.
I can't tend to every hurt
every bruise
though my own hands
are here to be lent
joined together, at least
hoping you catch some heaven
after all,
its destined beneath your feet

Untitled

The consequence

of my self consciousness

may cause your smile

but it has made me cry

what you see

is not what I get.

Kindness;

I act well.

Poured from cups

of fear of guilt

or both

is kindness still the same?

will kindness kill the lame?

It's been said of me

I'd hand a dagger

to he who wants

to do the deed

complicit in my own demise

as I endeavour to show

a warm disguise

to those whom I say I love.

I think I do.

Now there's a surprise

I wish you

one whose warmth

comes not from friction inside

who's not so knowing

of his reasons

whose left hand sees not

the right's pennies drop

maybe someone not so

forceful in the lending of his palm

someone far more clueless really

with a quiet delightful charm

so after this arrogant show

of modesty

perhaps you may think i'm lesser

Beloved don't keep me too dear

You deserve so much better.

On Friends and Others (The Gift)

On each ear to ear gesture

that exhibited truth and delight

and unheard uttered words

that met the grapevine

to pleasant surprise

On each knowing look, smirk

unsaid explanation; a deferred laugh;

the banishment of worry

On each solemn exchange

to reach a crux

of matters that matter to both

mutual melancholy

shared shards to the heart

On firm handshakes

and greetings 

that told stories of old

and yearn for perpetuity 

through this fluidity 

of time's path

To each one who spoke an acceptance

unexpectedly filling a soul whole or

advice from years

they held in leverage

concern kept, shown time and again

thrice over 'til the night was over 

On the hilarity 

and the laughs rarely let out

repeated over

the morphing of frivolous to sublime

do you remember the time,

Michael Jackson played?

Dear every one

who belittled a broken heart

those who remind us of forgetfulness

who cure blindness

to a bounty of blessings

intentional or otherwise,

friend or other,

This, is for you.

 Homes reside in friends, 

 and sometimes in others too.

Bloke On The Train

www.carrentals.co.uk

Heaven forbid that we might
Meet eyes not strangely
That the bloke on the train,
Might just be okay.
That we may strike up conversation
With superior motives
That we may learn
Or feed a smile to famished souls
Or make the day of one
Who awoke from nightmares.
But no, its not the norm
Confinement is convention
Its what they use in prisons no?
The harshest of punishment
To sulk in solitariness,
Why imprison ourselves out here?!

Where I Live

I'm somewhere south of perfect
Here, in adequate
Its miles from enough
Far from ideal's city lights
Rural dwelling for now
Make no mistake though
Serenity doesn't sit calmly in these suburbs.
If he does pass by,
He's alien.
I worry for him.
Adequate deals in private moments a plenty
Come here to ponder
Or meet me.
Skies and tears pass through too
So stay near to wonder what a friend is
And other questions;
Oh, there'll be questions.
You'll find ample company to discuss those
In adequate's many halls of mirrors.
The acoustics you'll find
Are perfect for conversation there.
Perplexity and nostalgia
Walk here also, companions of dreams.
That are torn up inside
By visions of ''reality'',
And answered by ideals
That say calmly
''Which spectacular thing,
Ever came expectedly so?"
You'll go back and forth
With those two I tell you
If you ever come and visit;
I'm somewhere south of perfect,
Where are you?