The Black Stiletto

Walking by the swimming pool
Clad in a white bathrobe, which,
Resting over the frail shoulders,
Hangs down to the fair knees.
The stilettos: black right, left white.

White image of her robe clad form
Appears black; in the blue.
The memoirs
of the black dressed romance
Haunt him
even as he cherishes them.

The jet tresses bounce a lot
making a mess of themselves.
The crutches let go of her
even as she dives into the pool.
He sees but cannot hear the splash.
The pool exalted, hair floating.

The landlubber's apprehensive instincts
Push him towards the vintage flame
That flame long diminished.
Motions her to crawl
towards the pool's edge.

Out of the water; the pool despondent
Even as the flannel
clings to the subtle form.
The bright silhouette;
Revealing the intact left foot
And the void black stiletto

He laps up the sweet beads
strewn over her brow
and restores to her,
the fallen crutches.

Those Days will never grow old

It was a real good place
As far as I was told
And as I remember them
Those days will never grow old.

Then I came face to face
With bullies just gone bold
And as I remember them
Those days will never grow old.

When I first fell from grace
Cheap rum and sizzlers cold
Assignments were a gone case
The grades were falling two fold
And as I remember them
Those days will never grow old.

And then as I saw that face
I was like - Lo and behold!
My heart set itself in a race
And I kissed her as her eyes rolled
And as I remember them
Those days will never grow old.

Got a job to save my face
My life got into a mould
There ain't much one can praise
Save this song that is sung and told
Still as I remember them
Those days will never grow old.

FAILURE

The study where she dwelt
A dark dingy room
The phrases & the words spelt
a stark clingy gloom.

The desk, the pencil, the notebook
The naked countenance
The brow crossed, giving a look
of subtle arrogance.

The spell half pronounced
The cup of potion spent
The battle-cat pounced
on bottles of milk & scent.

The broken cup & bottles
The hung weeping face
She lights a smoke & throttles
The lung keeping pace.

Where in the Middle?

I walk down the road
With my head full of memories
Much time is lost remembering
But then I think its worth it.

When I commenced my pilgrimage
The shrine was visible in the distance; Not far off
But the steep valleys hidden in the contours
Delayed me in bits, every now and then.

But I hoped that someday
I'd climb a hill to find
That it was the last one
And the worshipper in me will be redeemed.

That hope lives still
While I climb the longest ascent I've encountered till now
I've heard the longest one is the last hurdle
And I'm grateful I'm able to hope.