A Punctured Soul

What do you look for on those empty walls?
Why don’t you turn when you hear my call?
Why bygone happy days you fail to recall?
Tell me, what demons make you feel small?

Why do you look so lonesome and cold?
The grey streaks of hair make you seem old,
Your pent-up feelings throw you out of control,
That fine spirit within which you constantly withhold.

Don’t you see any meaning in your precious life?
Why can’t you forget your earlier strife?
Oh, looking at you makes me cry,
Coz’ you live through your days half alive.

And I sit next to you, trying to console,
But your stubborn yet beautiful mind is already closed,
All my words, they just keep draining down a hole,
Oh there’s nothing more painful than a punctured soul.

Share :FacebookTwitterGoogle+PinterestLinkedInStumbleUpon

A Sister’s Dreams

He fondly cuddles her when she’s still a baby,
Pampers her with boxful of candies,
Watching his every step when she’s in his arms,
Careful to protect her from any unmeaning harm.

As she blossoms out of her childish wonder,
It takes her sometime to muster,
Why he never looks her in the eye,
Why he is always so silent and shy.

She holds his hand when they go for a walk,
Describing aloud the things that they cross,
The bright sun and the clear blue sky,
The dancing trees and birds flying by.

She fakes the excitement in her words,
Watching his face for every jerk,
Inside her heart, there is playing a melody,
Trying to push away the pain and reality.

And she pores herself into his incomprehensible books,
Glad that he can’t make out the boredom from her looks,
Patiently running her fingers through the world atlas,
Listening to tales from history with astonishing aptness.

She watches him silently fumbling for the door,
Stumbling over something lying on the floor,
With the mickey-mouse radio tucked close to his ear,
Songs from a bygone era that bring him cheer.

As she strokes in her arms his broken guitar,
Her restless mind travels deep and far,
Searching for answers that hide away in disguise,
After endless hours she is still unsatisfied.

She draws the conclusion, feeling resigned,
That she must be the light to those eyes that are blind,
In her prayers everyday, she begs for a miracle,
That one day he would see her, fully able.

Share :FacebookTwitterGoogle+PinterestLinkedInStumbleUpon