Window

Sittin by this window,
on a blu chair, head droopin,
content in this moment,
far away from last nite
wen d tears rolled down
dusty cheeks, I wonder again
at d transience of emotions
n resolutions;

d mind returns 2
familiar crevices n curves,
happy to find momentary

joy in camaraderie

shared only in limitedness
for now; I will
return 2 known pitfalls
of anger n unnecessary hurt

in d morning - wen dawn floods
dis window, perhaps
I will greet it wid a smile
rather than hide bhind d
bed - like d time it seeped in
thru tinted glass on darkness
n sad hands reaching, n
findin nothingness.

2 seek out company is
more important than
bein there in dark hours,
it’s an art I cannot aspire to.
I remain in d dark, choosin it over
d dawn sketchin d horizon.
n so I neither find widout
seekin nor hear without my askin:

waitin in silence wen
I kno ears don c unspoken
words in d nite sky,
my sunrise is alwez
cloudy n gray…
or windy n dust laden,
creatin forest fires of
golden sparks in d dark.

From Reading Frost

Plagiarising

Figure words

in icy love.

It melts, rides

on its own melting:

a Frosty figure. 

The ice, watery

illusion, tho necessary,

flows away… while

lingering vapour, Memory

decides to stay.

These palpable n

ethereal realms

of poems ( n love)…

give you the illusion of

havin given so much

u melt in the substance,

flow with it n realize:

wat wz given,

said, n understood, has

transcended u.

U go back to the

start, cover the distance

to an august morn

after a rainy nite

outside the window pane:

only to find the poem

is done with the ride;

no preplanned end. Its

start foretold omega.

There’s ur epiphany.

 The Strangled Cry

My ivory tower is half a room,

a bed, a table n chair, a rack,

a closet. Not much.

Yet I try creatin’ spaces

— not coz I want ‘em filled up

but bcoz I need them there—

even wen I know

vaccums don xist…

My silences r measured

4 reasons my own, no one else’s.

I like keepin’ ‘em dat way.

My lines r drawn

@ d bginnin’. In blood.

Not peed on.

My few possessions

I guard wid muted rage

n yet, I need not lessons

in giving. I have given much,

know wen n how 2 giv

wen it matters.

My heart ain’t as barbed

as it may appear; do not presume

I need 2 be taught 2 share

wat is not urs 4 d taking.

On occasion, I do bite off

more than I can chew…

there’s a flip side 2 every hi,

this is mine: sooner

than later, I spit it out.

It ain’t a pretty site, I know.

Sumtimes, I think myself

stronger than I am—

only 2 remember, I am not Atlas

nor want to be.

I do not understand

unwanted help. I’m learning

2 giv only wen asked.

I do not want 2 understand

wat does not want understandin’.

I do not get reachin’ out

wen one does not want

a heart strung 2 pryin’ knowledge.

Sumtimes, I do break d walls

I build—only 2 raise them

again—stronger than they were.

Don’t try breakin them 4 me.

Sumthin’ there is, that does want a wall:

‘at mending time they R bac’ u see,

elves mite break ‘em down, but

we build ‘em again—

even wen we don kno y

‘gud fences’ make gud neighbours.

 I stand wid his old man on dat.