Golden Autumn

Fall is here
Tingling of dew and winter air
The smell lingering in the breeze
That blows my thoughts round and round
Larks sing a tune of sadness
Chrysanthemums bloom gay
Green turns to orange
Then in turn, turns brown
Coldness brings freshness
The artist picks up his palette and dots
Explosions of gold and still brighter hues
Onto mother earth’s sleeping figure
He saves the brightest of them all
For the last rays of sun
That glare through the trees
For a second…
And disappears, silent as a ghost
And everything is still

Menial Ordeals

I’ve smelt it in the air,

I’ve seen it in the passing cars,

the mindless pigeons and the shapeless clouds in the sky

I have been looking for that originality.

It’s there, I’m sure of it. I see it show itself sometimes,

sticking out a tongue, poking round its head, lurking in the shadows.

It’s hidden in the depths of my brain, at the tip of my tongue, in the steady stream of ink that my pen exhausts gripped by my frustrated fingers with fruitless fervour.

I grew up with words, the kind of words that make you want to string together to form pretty bracelets that you can show off to your friends,

that sparkles iridescent when it catches the glare of sunlight and that mean beyond its simple letters.

I swallowed quotes and punch lines, adages and idioms in foreign languages. But what could I make of it all? I could only sit in front of a computer screen and try in vain to form a sentence, a paragraph, an essay for an English class.

Ideas float around like dandelion seeds that I couldn’t catch because the wind only and always carries it off to plant in some other lucky fellow’s head.

Like bubbles, sentences pop too quickly, are too delicate to hold and to be inspected further.

When everyday of your life passes the same way

You lose the excitement

Missing social cues

Missing deadlines

Missing the bus

Missing...home

You look towards the end of the river, over that mountain

And into your computer screen…

When will it ever end?

How did it begin?

Types of Candy: Metaphor Poetry Part 2

There’s a candy in this world

It’s not called Smarties or Aero

This candy takes a long time to chew-and just when you think it’s finished,

It surprises you with a new burst of flavour

One you’ve never tasted before

To some people this candy is soft

To some, it is hard

To some, it’s a sweet reminiscence, to some it’s a bitter reminder

But to all, there is only 1 such candy

No matter you wealth, no matter how hard you try

You can choose to spit it out early or to chew it through till the end

There will be those who will feed you false words of flattery, empty sighs of praise

But there are also those who will give you their courage, undying support and empathy

In the end, this candy is your own

So think wisely before you chew