He sat beneath a Banyan tree

He sat beneath a Banyan tree; absolutely mum,
Closing his eyes to this grim reality, his penance is done.
Up on his feet, he begins his lonely walk home,
It’s been 40 years; this landscape to him is rather unknown.


He notices that every house is clean but roads outside – foul,
No sound of laughter anywhere but on every face – a frown.
They must carry birds in their pockets, for he can hear them tweet,
Mouths never seem to close but no one ever says anything sweet.


They stare into mirrors and make faces that surprise,
Nothing is valuable here but everything has a price.
Inviting temples on every corner but there’s no one inside praying,
Everyone nods and listens but with only the intention of saying.


He decides to turn back, there’s nothing here he needs,
Too much effort is required here in order to buy peace.
Back under the Banyan tree, he sits down to pray,
Maybe in another 40 years, he will try again.

Is this the same nation that I grew up in?

If I fell asleep in the 90’s and woke up today,
I wouldn’t know where to start or what to say.
Back then they called me funny but now I’m called offensive,
Even if I say – I’m Fine, they tell me I’m being passive aggressive.


Damn, things have changed; the margins have thinned,
Is this the same nation that I grew up in?


Back then having an opinion was considered being smart,
Now I’m being labeled a rebellion – a disgruntled upstart.
I didn’t know we had to get high each time we were low,
Now I’m not even invited to a party if I don’t smoke!


Gosh things are weird; my head’s up in a spin,
Is this the same nation that I grew up in?


Talking Politics was boring back then; no one had a clue,
Now that’s all that people do, they’d prefer it over you.
Sport was just a physical game, there was not much being said.
Now I’m in bar fight because I like some team in red!


Be careful what you say or they’ll throw you in the bin,
Jeez, Is this the same nation that I grew up in?

Just one chair on this table meant for two

You once stared into my eyes like you now stare into your phone,
We would love, share and comment; but now you can do that alone.
I remember waiting hours for a corner table and now anything will do,
It seems like there’s just one chair on this table meant for two.

Our arch nemesis – the waiter, was always seen as an interruption,
Today he waltzes by and serves us a welcome distraction.
When did your Instagram replace me with pictures of gyrating food?
How long have I been sitting here on this table meant for two?

You once called me your mystery novel but I feel more like this menu card,
Exciting me with slight indulgence – only to be quickly discard.
So, here we wait in a sit down restaurant for our fast food meal to cook,
How we wish there was just one chair on this table meant for two.

As our cutlery speak, we silently wait for this tryst to be over,
Out comes the cheque, and I read the price of being alone and sober.
My love is like this candle light, at some point it will be through,
Stains of neglected wax will grace this table – that was once meant for two.

When you’re not here

A dusty front camera, so bored – it’s sick,

It has no use, no purpose – for my eyes can click.

I scroll through my mind’s eye and admire every picture,

You probably miss the best of me when you’re not here.

The Master pets me for he knows I’ve been a good boy,

I stare up at Him expectantly as he dangles a new toy.

He asks me to chase and play but I don’t even go near,

I can live without temptation when you’re not here.

I walk down the red carpet and revise the speech in my head,

My decisions warrant an award; with praise I should be fed.

I won’t survive long if this audience fills me with regret and fear,

Alone in this burning spotlight I stand – when you’re not here.

A Poet in the dark

Imagine every morning without a sunrise,

Every delicacy without salt.

Imagine every evening without a sunset,

Every mistake being your fault.

You would think there’s something worse but this one leaves a mark,

There’s nothing worse when you lose your spark and end up a poet in the dark.

Imagine a week without a weekend,

Every day being just the same.

Imagine a party with no one there, and

Everyone’s glad you came.

You would think there’s something worse but this one leaves a mark,

There’s nothing worse when you lose your spark and end up a poet in the dark.

 

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