Storm.

I sit and watch the tumble weed

Stampeding patiently across the street

The town used to be full

Children playing hide n seek

Cars inching across the tarmac

Sellers flaunting wares

Couples walking in pairs

Flowers and leaves dancing in the breeze to unheard music

But that was then

And this is now

Then the storm happened

It battered the town and shook the houses

Broke windows and fell trees

And there I was rushing home

Trying to beat the impending doom

Running and falling

Trying to reach home

And the storm raced before me

Battered and shook

Howling and stomping

And shattered our windows

The townspeople fled

All the same night

While I begged them to stay

The little child down the street was last

Wiping tears and dust

The thunder laughed

The lightning took a picture

All said, all done

Beside the house I sit

Watching for the storm

Praying you come back.

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The fine print

Funerals aren’t for the dead

They’re for the living to gather and break bread

To shed tears in solemn silence

While scheming relatives mark available property

Birthdays arent for the babies,

They’re for the friends to compare

Contrast and take notes

While the baby contemplates

The yearly reminder of their approaching death.

Weddings aren’t for the bride and groom

They’re for family and friends

Caught up in the minutiae

Sizing up the backgrounds of the other

While searching for probable mates

And an excuse to drink and ogle the bride

One last time.

Graduations arent for students

They’re for parents

Celebrating their validation at having successfully raised a human being

All the while struggling to make them not die

Showing off their offspring as successful

In a tandem bid to jealous-ify their friends and relatives

Elections arent for the voters

Theyre for politicians

Clawing for power and office

A peekaboo game

Here for campaigns

Gone for 5 years

Till next time.

Its Not What It Seems.

I’m watching the tap leak again, 

Crystalline drops drop

To be reborn anew at the mouth of the faucet

I really should get a plumber

But I’m more worried of what he’ll plunder

As his pretence gets him in

Only to raid and thieve off my closet

I’m watching the drops fall

Trying to recollect themselves at the mouth of the drain

These are not water drops

Just but tear drops

My eyes as my faucet betray me

Leaking

Spewing my emotions on my sink

Laying me bare to the audience of bath soaps and brushes
I should put my shoes on

But the gravity of the task weighs heavy

Like a sack of cement

Sinks me into my couch

My mental hands caressing my emotional back

Dammit!! Who cut onions there and to my eyes brought them here? 

I can see the scruff marks where I kicked the wall yesterday

Trying to recheck if my pulse was real

Or I’m a walking phantom

“It’s time.. “

Beware unfinished sentences and awkward silences

They hide daggers and bear traps in their cloaks

Mischievously witholding dreams and emotions

Fervently caressing the dogs of subtlety

I look to the mirror and smile

I cant be crying before the time is nigh

“Soon it will be appropriate…”

Out I walk, cologne in tow, 

Soon I shall wed her

Soon she shall be mine.