Tell Me No More of Enchanted Days

  She's my morning companion, Comes out on sunny days; When it rains, she hides  In dark, unreachable places. She watches me as I stretch and move, I watch her as she lazes and cleans. We both have our routines. I acknowledge her with cat meows, She accepts my presence, comes close And moves back around when I ask her to. We are both solitary creatures. If we hear someone coming, We startle and are on alert. We like our corner, our space, Our time of the day, it's only for us. Katy stares into emptiness sometimes. I know nothing of her thoughts. I only know mine. She cares not What I'm thinking of, sometimes Even I get lost in these countless sensations, So many smells and sounds, so many People come into my head and fade out. Does Katy dream at night? Does she Also wake up with adventures, so tired Of all the experiences in the other dimension? Does she know that I know what others don't? Mine are in colour, hers must be black & white. We both long for warmth, that

  I usually don't ask anything  For myself, it's always for others. So no one really knows  If I have any hopes or dreams. I take the bullet for others, always. But for once Lord, heed my words, And grant me in your own sweet time. Bless me with luck, for only you know How it has escaped my grasp each time. Bless me with strength, for I have been Like a rock each time you asked me to. Bless me with serenity, for it evades me Still; I try each day to be better. Bless me with acknowledgement, I never ask for it, but I do need it. Bless me with a never ending passion, I had enough once, but my days have become dull, And I'm struggling to keep the fire alive. Bless me with kindness, even though, It makes me weak to give away everything. Bless me with abundance, it is not a sin To want more, I need to learn  That I deserve it as much as anyone else. Bless me with purpose, so I may forge My path ahead and never look behind. Put your hand on my head and bless me. For I too need it

  How would it feel, To fly out of a window? Not that I'm going to experiment. But I did think about it today. I've heard the brain is heavy, So it's most likely to squash Itself on hard, scratched concrete. Like lemon bits and seeds, Leaving that gorgeous mess You don't expect from lemons at all. Perfectly shiny and brimming with exuberance. What if you get the luck of a cat, And land feet down? Would God save you  For going on your knees for him? Or would you become like a straw, Seeming whole but broken and gone? Maybe one lands in a tree, Death by hanging on a branch so eco friendly, Amazonian primordial back to our roots shit. In my fantasy world though, I grow wings And fly upwards, flapping to escape far away. In any case, I'm not trying. There are easier ways to die. I know because I've thought of them too. But I won't, I'm not. Going to die. I will just live  Like I don't care about any one  Or any thing. And stay away from windows.

(The Heart of the Rose, Sir Edward Coley Burne Jones) I need to soften my heart. It has crawled in dark, damp places, And coloured its house with fortitude, Vowing to never let the enemy in. It has been beaten out of shape, And gathered its purple pulp, Zorba tall and cruel, standing Stealthily at the gates of hell, Born again, strong again. I need to harden my heart. It has opened its counter each time, Only to check tallies and realise, The coffers are empty again, and the  Gallant soldiers celebrating their victory, Left nothing at all, except used glasses And peanut strewn tables, Carelessly sullied with egos and scores. I need to ask my heart, Do you prefer the gun or the guillotine? Just pick a side my precious. Because you can not endure both. Do you want to break or be broken, Be the master or the slave? Or just gallop alone in solitude, Till the rest of your days?

  If I could catch a cloud, I would rub it on my face, Take the water and bury my soul, In its cool accepting embrace. That way I would never lose my temper, And learn to melt my hardened ways. If I could fly to a cloud, I would jump right inside, Ask it to love me as I am, Tell it to stop running away. That way I would never be too far, And become one with it in a soft place. If I could talk to a cloud, I would have a million conversations, Ask it how it holds so much inside, Tell it to just open its heart, That way I would never be misunderstood, And my hands would gather its tears of rain.

Windows have a soul too. They talk to me about their owners. Whether they prefer the light to the dark, Or the sun to the moon. Whether the people inside are scared, Or recklessly brave, or if they sing Loudly or hide in the shade. If they sit still or move aimlessly, Looking for adventures outside. If there is laughter or strife. Love in the bedroom or  Sitting side by side, typing away. I look at windows and the people inside. Sometimes I see their soul, Restless, tired and on the verge of escape. Sometimes only the window, And the hollow sound of air.

 "Home is where the heart is", " First you roam, then you're home". I've been thinking about what finding home means. Is it a physical place, a mental place or an emotional place? Since I was young, I always wanted a place of my own. Sharing a room with my sister, meant the usual fights over who gets what study table, who makes the bed, don't touch my side, you're stepping on my shoes. I hated sharing my space with anyone. I used to dream of having my own room one day, how I would decorate it, what posters I would put up. Finally at 21, I set out on my own, away from home, to a new city, my own 1 room kitchen on the first floor of a bungalow. It wasn't easy living alone. I was sick a lot with some medical issues and nights lying in bed in pain alone wasn't fun. I missed my family but was too proud to admit it.  For a long time after that (except for a year in between), I kept moving houses till I finally bought my own place. The sheer joy of