dear noah,
you beautiful boy. you were the youngest,
and you were so bright.
you're a star now, sweet boy, above everything and
so bright.
your sisters and your mother will remember you,
your smile,
and your left-behind half, she'll have parts of you with her her whole life.
you're not forgotten, you beautiful boy,
gone as you are.
you're a star now, sweet boy, and we wish for you to be back.
your blood and your body are
still
and stopped
but your spirit?
eternal
and your forever-smile
is what they'll all see when they close their eyes.
your mother and your sisters will love you,
like we do -
all we strangers
who feel like we know you
just from looking into your shining photograph-eyes.
dear noah,
you beautiful boy,
you've left the world so soon after you came into it.
you beautiful boy,
how it will remember you.

I wasn't sure what to make
of this intergalactic space war.
With flying soldiers in old tobacco tins
and bullets made out of fingers.
I took it upon myself, I suppose
to conscript to this chaos,
upon the fluffy terrain.
Some sort of tyrannous Tyrannosaurus,
with a purple top hat
had taken over the bunk bed fort.

I'd made up my mind.
The only thing for it was a straight "Neeeeee-owwwwwwww"
into the back of the villainous lizard.

My comrade in arms however,
felt I wasn't quite suited for this rampant combat.
Although, his reason I didn't quite agree with;

"You're doing it wrong" he said, rather patronisingly.

I guess my little cousin is less of the kamikaze type and more of the tactical warfare nature.

At the busy traffic junction,
lone woman,
                     in red track suit,
astride a motorcycle,
drenched wet in a sudden rain,
                          wait;
                           ­        *thousand eyed desire,
                                        court her in a hurry,
                                              before the red signal light
                                                           ­   turns green.

A smile
resembles a flower
sometimes, drawn on a paper,
or on a memory wall.Freshly painted.
Imagine me sitting
limbs akimbo, easy, relaxed,
free from all kinds of travel anxiety,
looking high,
at the far end of the transit lounge,
smiling,
looking back at a memory
of a girl/ incident/landscape
I now don't exactly remember,
when,
a girl, sitting across me
in a sort of airport fatigue
looking unreasonably perplexed,
asked, "Are you smiling at me?"
Was I? If only she was my memory!
She wasn't smiling, I noticed.

She makes the sand,
the sand seep away.
Little locket on her chest,
with her steps a gentle sway.
Though her eyes cast
a tender gaze,
her fiery heart sets the sky ablaze.

Dry rain and dry puddles,
never will she stop.
'Til she stumbles to her knees,
the dusty ground, fiercely hot.
She cries out in pain
and laughs through tears,
a withered smile
of withered years.

She sees me.

Her faces relaxes,
her lungs give out,
her limbs betray her
and with one final strain she says:
*I can't hate.

Sometimes I look at you,
and you seem to be looking back at me.
But sometimes you look away
as if you're afraid of what might happen
if you look just a second longer.

The way you keep looking back at me,
as if there was something in me worth seeing.
I wish I could envision the world
the same way you do.

Where everything is beautiful and new
and innocent.
Your world is untouched.
Immaculate.
Like a little kid.

But in some way, that's exactly what you are.

Every time
I start anew,
or decide
to leave,
without fail I arrive
at a new beginning.
                           Every start
                           is an end-
                           of something.
                          Each arrival,
                          culminates in a departure,
                                                 fallen in to  the cycle of
                                                 'samsara'
                                                 vagrant mind, plays
                                                creates illusions;
                                                ends and beginnings.
When the karma wheel completes its circles,
without thinking, consciousness merges with 
 the ocean of                                                       eternal being
arrivals and departures mean nothing,
If  
consciousness  is still and unmoving,  in the point between
birth                                       and                                       death.

Don't walk,
protected
by shadows
wearing masks,  
                         when streaming light,
                         gleaming sword drawn,
                         comes to annihilate,
                                                     ­     evil shadows
                                                         ­ with vengeance;
                                                      ­                               *where would you hide?

She was eating fish, evidently relishing every bit,
         but with some haste.
  He sat with a bottle of wine
              so relaxed,
         seemed exploring
     something lost in mind.



                                             Now, her plate is full of bones,
                                                   artistically placed,
                                             his conversations with wine,
                                                     goes unabated,
                                                 *he is certainly marooned in an island.