Open the chambers of my mind,
Where memories are enshrined,
Some clear, some blurred, but all profound,
A tapestry of my lived life, unbound.

I watch them play, like reels on a screen,
A kaleidoscope of moments, unseen,
Some joyous, some sad, but all real,
The chapters of my life, they reveal.

From childhood days of carefree glee,
To teenage years of angst and spree,
To adulthood's trials and tribulations,
Each memory holds its own vibrations.

Though some may bring a tear to my eye,
I cherish them all, for they're a part of me.
For in the tapestry of my life,
Each memory plays a vital role, without strife

When you.                  cut off
a family.                       member
for.                                life
they will.                     never
tell.                              people
the full.                       story
Their side.                   Full glory
they will.                     only
tell                                Everyone
the part.                       that you did
that makes.                  you look bad,
Bitter.                            Mad
The great                      Divide
Separation.                   Festers the rot
All involved.                Distraught
Every member.            Must choose
In the end.                    They all lose.

You are not complete.
I have to fix the steps to climb.
The moral intensity has no choice.

Wealth of truth is
buried in me daily. Above all my
existence flies away like a torn Rupee note.

Where is the clarity
of the motif? The question is how to
cross the god in darkness?

I’m overwhelmed with gratitude
I am loved  
I love
I care and am cared for
I help and I am helped
This love is all the love I will ever need
I am they
And they are me

What’s this glaze
over my eyes…

A heavy mist
with fingers…
that lingers.
A cataract that
dives and claws
into the black
of irises.

A film,
a veil,
a canvas botched
and vandalised
with arguing paints.
And indelible black
that sings of sadness,
highlights the aches
of dejection
and screams
betrayal.

I will not trade
my serenity for
madness.
This sadness only
lasts a little while.
I don't want to be
in Wonderland anymore.
Everyone is crazy.
whichever way I
turn, left or right,
it's lunacy.

I deal in reality now.
I won't play croquet with
the queen, no matter
how much she smiles.
The game is fixed, and I
know it.
The deck is stacked.
The cards are laid,
and I see the
***** behind
her eyes.

Y'know if ever I was on a TV show
And the guy was gonna introduce me as 'a Poet'
I'd tell him No! **** No!! They'd all switch off... immediately
Or flee to another TV channel...quick!!!
You'd wanna introduce me instead as the person who was definitely 'not a Poet'
Call me a writer or somethin' else
Tell them, this guy he's OK, yea he's alright
Definitely 'not a Poet'.

'Cos I can remember being taught poetry at school as a kid
How it scarred a lot of us
You'd be given a poem to learn off by heart in one single night
And of course you'd never be able to do that
You'd need at least two nights
So you'd be up all night trying to learn the ****** thing
And you'd be thinking to yourself "surely this Poetry it's an Evil thing
Some strange grown up guy's peculiar words
That don't make any sense to me".

And so you'd go off to school the next day dreading it
And then you'd be called upon to recite the thing
You'd stand up and immediately be distracted by everyone's eyes fixed on you
And also by the teacher's withering look
You'd stumble through some of the words, then you'd lose your place, get stuck
You'd flounder about, look lost and panicky... Then you'd lower your eyes...you'd give up.
Then the teacher would humiliate you in front of the whole class.

Yea, Poetry was a ***** word to me as a kid
And to a lot of other kids besides (I bet)
It ought to have been hauled up before a Crimes against humanity Court.