In Tune Notes

You may wish for a magical ring,
to grant you full invisibility
- at whim-
But you’re no Gyges.
You may even dream
You’ll get a golden touch,
Just like Midas.
you can be neither of these,
for more divine things
teaching the ghosts
about solace,
re-painting the night's scars
and taming the blood roars
so that
when a new morning comes,
the grass can grow greener
in silence
and live music
can be heard inside us.


Square Deal

My days are traded on a fixed timetable:
on Monday I give away my sorrow
to receive
raw blessings in return
on Tuesday I forget everything about my shame
on the doorstep, any doorstep,
sweep it all under the rug
(if I have to)
on Wednesday I give up my guilt
and take back the lost joys
from where we were to begin with
Trust erases confusion on Thursday
Fridays are for compassion only,
Saturday is an anger free ceremony
while Sundays 
no control, no anxiety, no remorse…
no fear - to cut down
this short story;
Everything costs something
You’ll say
I’m not the most honest trader I know
nor the most dishonest one either
One thing leads to another
A straight spine
will meet its deadline
wherever we draw it
but I'd never take anything I said back 
from a loved someone.


Heart Duet

                                                                         Motto: You see,
                                                                         she wasn’t made from his rib
                                                                         she’d been destined
                                                                         to share
                                                                         another one of his vitals.

One day
he ran out of marble.
He had his sculpting tools and all
but not a single block
of royal stone
for carving.
Needless to say,
that day
he was in really desperate need
to cut out a template
of her blazing presence,
and release
that long-burning effigy
inside his head;
So the flat straight chisel
went  for his chest
Also, having no time
for plaster models
no patience
for modelling clay
he had to find something
just the right height,
anything that reflected
the perfect shades of white
for the statue
he so much desired
to (be)hold.
pulling her out
with his bare hands only,
for the first time,
proved so hard
and much more harmful
than he’d ever imagined
so he strove roughly
against his upper trunk
only to kneel down
in sheer agony
which, ironically, served him right
to protect her pure eyes
- now wide open and staring-
from seeing the void
and the tearing damage
she’d left behind.
Not knowing
what he was doing,
Having no clue
about either self-carving
or human chests
he had ripped away
a part of his own pounding heart
thus adding
a pound of his own flesh
to the armless bust.
Once in a while,
whenever the good gods allow it,
he’d take her from her plinth
just to fold his arms around her,
slowly, and then,
in the blink of her teary eyes,
a whole heart, reunited,
would start pounding
inside him,
with the two chests,
now a complete one,
again, in the sweetest embrace.