I was sitting at my desk, gloomy,
I  had sent out my CV.
I wanted to be Santa's apprentice, you see;
's long as I remember, that's what I yearned to be,
And unintentionally, my words have come out all rhyme-y.

Suddenly there was a loud bang and a clang
And I toppled off my chair.
I  whipped around expecting to see
Father Christmas or at least his deputy
Come to take me up on my offer.

Instead of the gold, red and green glow,
I saw black and grey smoke curling
around my room; and out of it
Rose a sinister scythe and holding it
was the last person you'd want to see.

"Ah, the last person you'd want to see, eh?"
He said, reading my mind.
"For most I'm also the last person they would see."
He stood there, his head cocked
as if expecting me to get the joke.

"Am I going to die? Is it my time?"
I asked, all the things I've yet to do
rushing through my mind.
Especially all the swear words
left unsaid to some special people.

"Nope," he said in a dead tone,
"I'm here on official business.
North Pole is overstaffed,
So they forwarded your CV to me.
I've come to take you as my apprentice."

I stood gaping at him, my eyelid twitching.
He looked at me and I looked at him
And there was a grave silence.
"Well, giddy up," he said, "say your goodbyes,
Pack your things. Chop Chop!"

"But why you?" I asked morosely,
"Why not the Easter bunny?
Why not the Tooth Fairy?"
He snorted in derision
And looked around my room as he said,

"The Bunny doesn't take on help,
Doesn't want his precious eggs smashed.
And the Fairy has pixies to help her.
Cheer up, you'll see more action with me.
My previous helpers used to die for more."

He gave me an ominous smile.
Not entirely reassured, I packed my stuff,
Went down to bid adieu to my parents,
Left a letter to my friends,
And posted a spring punching fist to my ex.

He was sitting on my chair, one leg crossed,
his foot jangling to the death metal
blaring from my stereo,
smoking a cigar while
reading 'The Book Thief', when I returned.

"Alrighty then, let's leave," he said.
Thick smoke whirled around us
And the next thing I knew, there was another
Bang! and a curious Clang!
and we were standing in a town square.

"I get the bang, but what's with the clang?"
I asked, curious, following as he strode off.
"I pulled a prank on Santa once,
popped up behind him much as I did in your room.
Thought we'd have a laugh," he said sourly.

"The fat guy didn't like it at all,
And ever since then, every time I travel,
This bang and clang follow me.
Ruins my style, it does.
I'm usually all for silence and smoke."

"Where're we going?" I asked as we
turned into a deserted street.
"We're going to ***** out a tough old idiot.
He's escaped me for too long.
I'll have him this time for sure."

And from the folds of his robes he drew
A black saucepan and handed it to me.
I looked at him perplexed and he explained,
"We don't give out scythes to newbies.
This is the standard Reaper's 'pprentice's weapon."

Armed thus, he with the scythe and
I with the oddly reassuring saucepan,
We passed like vapour through a closed door
and floated to a bedroom upstairs.
Pretty impressed so far, I took a look at our prey.

He was a bald, thin, old man,
sleeping in this chintz armchair,
hands clasped around a rifle on his lap.
He was snoring, oblivious to the terror
that was us - the fearsome death dealers.

The Reaper's robes slithered over the carpet,
His step soft and graceful,
His eyes glinting with power.
And suddenly, the old man woke up
and started firing blindly.

I rushed for cover while the bullets
went straight through the Reaper
and got lodged in the wall.
I crept up behind the old guy
and banged him on the head with my weapon.

He crumpled, his body falling prone.
His spirit started floating up
and yet it tried to get back into its vessel.
The Reaper stepped forward and swung
the scythe, cleaving the spirit from the body.

He caught hold of that phantom
and brought out a large pouch.
Promptly stuffing the spirit into it,
he said, "A portal to Purgatory,
Hassle free way to deal with reluctant spirits."

We left the house and walked on.
We looked at each other and shared a smile.
Acknowledging with a nod the head rush,
the thrill, the coolness of our job,
We set off into the night for more.

Night : black, cold and still.
Screams of silence so shrill
Ringing in my ears,
I walk beneath a starless sky.
Nary a breeze, whiff, or sigh.

I walk alone unseeing,
A weariness upon my being;
Each step a leaden weight.
I stumble and *****
For a path and a hope.

I descry afar a faint shimmer.
On the black canvass a red glimmer.
I set off, falling and rising.
The light multiplies as I draw near
And soft, strange whispers reach my ear.

A sea of flowers? A sea of fire?
Both. A sea of flowers of fire.
And a path in their midst leading
To an unearthly glow
Whence come the whispers low.

Delicate and terrible is the Fire Blossom.
It is beauty made fearsome,
Death wrought into the hem of life.
I walk along the path with care
Lest I end up in a fiery snare.

The whispers turn into voices,
whoops and laughs as people seem to rejoice.
Starved for company, I go tearing down the path
And seeing what lay before as in a waking sleep
I fall to my knees to bless the night and weep.

It is a market, inimitable in its splendour
With golden winged angels as vendors.
Not selling but bestowing.
Miracles and wonders as their wares,
there's joy, hope and life to spare.

People dancing with glee all around,
singing and making a merry sound.
The healed, the resurrected and the rejoined.
Their happiness and radiance beckons me,
And radiant I want to be.

Yet something stops me entering.
An unyielding, invisible screen barring
my path to those heavenly promises.
I cannot move forth into that light;
Behind and beside me, the quietus of the night.

Tears streaming down my face
I stand there, removed from that grace.
And as I stand and my heart aches
An angel looks at me, his head cocked.
And I know, I understand; I raise my fist and I knock.

Never noticed Time fly
Beautiful springs and autumns passed me by,
Fooling and goofing around with naive eyes
I didn't know how to whistle at twenty-five.

Life greeted me in a suit and a tie
And introduced you with a hue and a cry.
As lightning struck my heart, I swear I died.
And you were me and I was you till thirty-five.

You used to be beautiful as the sky.
Your fount of allure has run dry.
Your nagging has sapped my strength to be nigh.
You smothered my song at forty-five.

To mourn your demise I did try.
To be happy, I learned to live and let die.
Not giving a **** about wives and wifis,
I started whistling at fifty-five.

A dream to be everlasting
A love for the stars.
To be seen as spectacular
Above the ground,high and far.

So people may say
With awe and wonder,
A mortal and a mere man
Now resides above clouds and thunder.

Impatiently I search for a way
To be off this pulling earth.
To fly away into the ether,
Far from the cloying dearth.

No elegant fire balloons for me,
Too cumbrous, too slow.
I will plummet up like a rocket
As trumpets blare and bugles blow.

But only so far, only so far
Never to reach the stars.
Spectacular as the fireworks
And then as failed embers falling apart.

The night descends
draping a blanket of calm
over the cares of the day.
I lounge amidst those earthly stars-
the deciduous,flickering fireflies.

The wind meekly blows,
the night lies silent,expectant
like a child for a story
before it sinks its head in the pillow.
And so I bring out my flute.

And no mere flute,this of mine.
Carved of the finest ivory,
enchanted in the ages bygone,
this flute that can sway the heavens
acquiesces to be touched by my lips.

Touched by a whiff of melancholy,
the flute guides me to play.
It lends me one of its memories.
As my fingers dance nimbly,
the flute and I bring back a forgotten lay.

The song floats higher
and the Moon leans in to hear.
Memories take shape,music takes forms
and the people long past
walk and sing and live once more.

Among them shines one the brightest-
A boy of low birth,
a boy loving and shy,
tender-hearted and frail
yet a boy who never cried.

Many sorrows he has known
and even more deaths seen.
His father killed,sisters ravaged,
his mother and home lifeless.
Yet never a tear did he shed.

No living soul knew his pain;
no pitying glance thrown his way,
this little boy of innocent age
carried his heavy heart
till his hope-bereft eyes fell upon a flute.

This very same that I now hold
had become a companion to him
and cried in his stead.
All his torments poured out
like a flood into a tune.

The boy went on playing
while his mother's life ebbed.
The flute went on singing
even when the little fingers went cold,
Lamenting;drawing air from his very last breath.

Memories dissolve into the night
The people walk back to the past.
The flute and I play the lament still.
Serenity prevails within me,notwithstanding.
A curious serenity,with a touch of sorrow.

The Moon starts weeping
and sheds tears of twinkling stars.
I catch them in a crystal phial
and stopper it with a dewdrop;
a talisman to dispel my nights.

******

I spill a few drops every now and then.
Where they touch the earth,flowers bloom
that are tender and white and star-like,
that shine their radiance in the night.
People call them Elinthé,'Tears of the Moon'.

You stand there
On the verge of the cliff,
Hands clasped in supplication,
Forever looking to the horizon.

The cool breeze from the sea,
The warmth of the sun,
The music of the waves
Mean nought to you, young maiden.

Not to you the ostentation of the sun
In the morn and the even.
To you only the emerald star
That guides him home;

The star beneath which you grew,
Which saw you blossoming,
Which looked upon your love,
Which saw him departing.

Which has now become your hope,
Your beacon to guide him back.
Fuelled by your ardent love,
It now burns for you.

Of all the worthy men,
You chose one destined to roam,
Whose fate is greater than you twain,
Whose path leads beyond this Age.

He has gone whence he mayn't return,
Cursing his doom and his heart for her pain.
Even the good that will come should he succeed,
Would be vain to him without her.

But you do not fathom his plight,flower!
You do not understand why he needs do what he must.
You only know that he must and that he does
And that he has left for the unknown.

Oh!to bear in that tender *****
A burden greater than her wisdom!!
But you,oh simple maiden of white faith,
You will keep vigil through the Ages akin to a star.