Friday, 31 October 2014

Maze of Uncertainty

Whispering in small, invisible voices
Strange and mysterious
Opportunities pass me by
Like the scintillating snowflakes falling from the sky
That melt when they touch the skin
Leaving the sensation of regret and of guilt
As a chilly, deathly wind blows
These snowflakes fall into the soiled snow
Piled high, covering the entire street
This graveyard of opportunities
Ignored and unseen.
Upon this snow, stands a snowman
With a furry coat, a colourful hat
And a big, comical smile on his face
For a moment, light reflects off his surface
Sunlight,as it manages to briefly escape the clouds
All around,
A dazzling yellow glow
For me it my be a symbol of hope
Yet for the snowman it spells his death.
But still he got his chance in the end
To have lived, to be content and happy
Unlike me
And unlike the homeless man that shivers on the bench
Whose only protection is a tattered blanket.
The snowflakes fall down like his invisible tears
His face contorted, teeth clenched, in distress and fear
He stares at me through his blood-shot eyes
Warning me with a thousand, invisible cries
To not let these opportunities go away
Before they become my grave
Like the snow under which he slowly dies...
In a nearby house someone catches my eye
A man standing on his front porch
Which is spotless, like his clothes
In his hand, a mug of hot coffee
Which he sips on as he smiles at me
A smile without tension and worries.
As he returns to his house, full of comfort and luxuries
The steam from his mug intertwines into a hand
Luring me towards all that I could have
Which is hard to see
The fogged window making them invisible to me
The snowflakes that cling onto my body
Suddenly seem so heavy
Their weight slowly and steadily increases
'You're wasting opportunities.'
I make my way forward in the Maze of Uncertainty
So many voices, so many voices.

Its autumn time, the park is full of happiness
Children play around, full of merriment
But all this joy is unfamiliar to me
Instead my eyes are on the towering, oak tree
Under which stands a man
Whose worker clothes label him an outcast
Hardened face, frustrated frown
His aching arms removing sweat from his brow
Carrying not only an overflowing bag
But also his broken dreams on his stooped back
He slowly picks up his wasted opportunities
Trash and dead leaves
That are relentlessly thrown down
By the tree and children, to the ground
The wind mockingly scatters them about
Laughter from the children around
His difficulties and efforts ignored.
Suddenly, for a split-second, everything darkens
The colours of the sunset waver
And everyone disappears, but the tree and worker
And though everything else seems unchanged
It feels like a different place
The wind grows stronger
And swirls around the worker
Makes his stooped back rise
The twilight behind falling onto him like a spotlight
The uniform he wears transforms into one of power and authority
A man of importance, a man he could have been
His face beams with radiant confidence
The wind bows down to him
The leaves rustle feverishly in an applause.
Until the spotlight withdraws
As the twilight slowly begins to die
Heading towards the foreboding night.
The worker returns to what he was
A miserable ghost among us
The applause perishes to eerie warnings
Besides me, the wind brings in dead leaves
'Do not waste these opportunities.'
So many voices, so many voices.

Voices call out to me
Some belong to my friends and family
Others unknown to me
So many voices, what should I do?
Who do I listen to?
Some are tempting, some are seductive
But their sole purpose in my destruction
Some give me chances to follow my dreams
But these are too hard to seek.
I long to hear the chirping of birds
The sounds of nature and of the world
And the voice I want to hear most of all
Is my own
Which is lost in this Maze of Uncertainty...
So many voices, so many voices
I can't decide, I can't decide
Will I face them? Or will I hide? ... 

Saturday, 18 October 2014


Note: This poem is inspired by the 2004 song Vermilion by the band Slipknot.  The lyrics were written by bassist Paul Gray who passed away on May 24, 2010. I dedicate these verses to him

Note (2): The original track talked about a man who is in love with an illusory woman . But he cannot  make make her real. In this case I re-made the story; a man is sexually attracted to a woman but she wants him to adore her. So the composition deals with him trying to turn his lust into love.

She seems undressed in all the figments
Of past fantasies
So transparent yet so adorable
She continues to be it

Creamy soft hands that press
Against my thigh and my chest
Enter the night that I tried to become hers

Ohhh, she's the only one that makes me whole

She is everything and more
The antonym of satanic
My Cleopatra bathed in temptation
She is lust to me

I get nervous, my superficiality hinders
At the sight of her purity
It's now or never I'm becoming hers

Ohhh, she's the only one that makes me whole

Isn't hard to say what caught my attention
Fixed and crazy, animalistic attraction
Carve her name on my heart to simplify
Such an aloof wallflower, to romanticize

I won't let this love build up inside of me
I won't let this love build up inside of me

I'm a sadomasochist, and I am a Casanova
No chaste restraints and repeat solicitors
I exist through my need to be sexually satisfied
She is something in me, that can't be justified

I won't let this love build up inside of me
I wont let this love build up inside of me

I can't feel!
I can't make myself feel!

I can't feel
I can't make myself feel...

Saturday, 11 October 2014

My Mistress

Absenteeism was always in her to-do-list
Still I met her in my dreams
With a welcoming passionate kiss
Or so it seems

Hope my wife doesn't find out
Secrecy isn't sin
But one night I'm sure she'll ask
Where I've been

Been a long time
And I'm still lying for her sweet bliss
Just the sound of her heart beating makes me rhyme
Where art thou My Mistress?

I shouldn't hold another woman like this
But I'm tempted
Just wish that from all sins of adultery
I'm exempted

She's not only the fire
Also the breeze
That keeps the flames alive
Or so it seems...

The Raven-haired

She looks at me as if
As if she wants to get inside
Without even contemplating of what is
Inside her hazel eyes

Slowly I burn
In her craze
She just sits there without a word
I stand in her craze

My heart pounds
It is alive again
Making silly sounds
Readying me for heaven

And that Raven hair
So long and so sexy
With skin milky fair
I am obliged to let her drown me...