A broken Stallion

We found us in the sheds of the black city,
The battle was never fought,
Addiction was the only game known to us,
And death was all that we sought.

Sometimes in the morbid stained sheets
Or the murky corners of psychosomatic streets,
We crossed paths like strangers,
But everyone was aware of our common factors.

The birds refused to chirp in our forest,
And daylight was too glorious, to reach our breast.
Such was our destiny,
unknown even to us.

When everything was lost,
We found each other,
in a sub-conscious dilemma.

The photograph shows a smiling face,
Not because we were pleased,
But that’s what you do when asked to
Say cheese.

It was tough but we stuck together,
Fighting the rain and defeating pleasure,
In that bed we found each other.

With the company nothing felt old,
Not even our perpetual cold
Drugs stopped working on us,
As we were already high to the core

And that last race! What a tale it was,
We ran like a dream,
Piercing through our pasts,
towards a reality unreal before.

Rivers of my country

Water gains life, as it flows down a hill,
I sit by! trying to distinguish one rapid from another.
Have you ever done that?
It’s like telling one face from the other.

The rivers in my country don’t acknowledge the birth of Christ,
They travel from beyond time.
The flow of my rivers cannot be found in the boxes of your calendar,
They flow through me and you can’t even see.

As I sit beside him, she whispers me stories,
a hundred deaths and two ninety nine lives.
She lets me visit his deepest banks,
from creator to the destroyer, everything there lies.

You might hold me guilty for falsehood,
“how can you understand her tongue?
His language is long forgotten”
And I reply with nothing but defiance.

The river is driven by gravity, not your definition of clarity,
I don’t need to invent a language for her,
She is a part of me,
as I am of her.