I believe death and love,
Have turned us all into poets.
When I think of, how a face,
Or a place, or a phrase, can set our minds
Into fire, an unrestrained one,
Blazing our hearts too.
And how, we know that we are vulnerable
Before these faces and places and phrases.
With all our thoughts and heartbeats
That will no longer stay ours,
But flow chainlessly , with a self willingness.
Sonnet 43
I Sat on the warm countless grains of sand,
I turned my back to the limitless blue,
Then took a part of the beach in my hand
And loosed my fingers to let it slip through.
The falling grains of yellow were windblown
And got scattered, some near, some far away
As if they saught to go each on its own
And I gave them the chance, and showed the way.
Then I turned my face to the resless sea
And as the grains of sand, my thoughts slipped out
Scattered, never willing to stay with me
Dissolving my heart in a foam of rout .
Tell me how, my quick thoughts can I withhold,
When freedom in your face do I behold?
