a poem in a pot

The gentleman with the dark blue hat



I walk past danger as safety
Greet enemies as friends
And feel as if I’ll be living forever
When I nod to the tall gentleman with the
Dark blue hat who waits everyday on
The quiet benches of the park, for
His next visitor to come knocking on his door
It is then when I look in those eyes of
Blue darkness, that I realise, life was not
The whole journey, but merely a part, a fleeting bit

22. Journeys end in lovers' meeting
Based on a quote by William Shakespeare

I’ve never thought of my own
Philosophical self as a particular person
who’d find love lines coated in truth and
Strange unusual parts of wisdom
But here I am staring at one
Trying to figure out where it all
Went sideways

~ ~ ~

Ex’s may have left
Grieving could have commenced
And lifestyle’s maybe have been altered
But no journey ends ‘till both lovers have met
So goes the truth for plot twists and conflicts
And truly, no story ends, until the very end is the beginning
of something else

23. Can I ask?



I can’t say I’ve stood with my two feet
Long enough on this earth
With my toes in the dirt
To feel eternal as I live
But can I ask, just for a moment
To forget everything
That’s happened in chapters
Of past tales
So I can stand and feel
And live a life
I’ve never lived before

24. Knock, knock. Who’s there?



Knock, knock
Who’s there?
Time took
air away
I can’t
see you
standing there
now

Knock, knock
Who’s there?
I’d like
to feel
life bloom
again, but
It seems
to feel
not real
anymore

Knock, knock
Who’s there?
Will you
only just
appear, so
I can
smell flowers
bloom with
air, something
That was
there, just
a moment
ago

25. Melting Moments of Time



I think of time as the
First sight in the morning, colour of gold
Cream of sugar that melts through my cone
Poetry minutes that fly away freely
The kiss you blew, once there and disappeared
Weekend that knocks on the front door and exists through the other
Flaming red flower that did not seek its end
Melting moments and hours of gold
Such richness, that is just hard to hold

26. Bitter

Some of my characters would confess that life
Tastes like the dirt under the roots of the aloe plants
The leftovers in the fridge behind decorated tea cups
Housing the void of self-pity thrown towards a face
Like contaminating the small details of molecules in the atmosphere
To form buckets of rawness that feed ugly truths of life
It’s bitter, but it’s breakfast

27. Vertical and Horizontal

I live in a world of preferred vertical
geometric positions, with two perfectly fitting
angles of 90 degrees that stand up straight and alive.
With the physiological explanation of a certain
substance in the mind that leads to belief
that it is an angle more superior than others.

But I cannot deny the biological logic and points
of deductions of physics in my bones,
that lead me to be of the opinion that one can
be just as vertical as one wants to,
as much as one is bound to be in the position
of a perfectly calculated angle that resembles an
180 degrees horizontal in a decorated casket.

One can only live to eventually face mortality.

28. Moonlit Nights

At night I’ll be thinking of bananas and
Silly parts of movies too, I intend to be on my best behaviour
eating ice cream on the moon
Watching my neighbours slowly retreat into their little warm
Pieces of legos and their lazy grey cats sleeping on the porch
Beneath a blanket of stars, golden fries in my hand
I shall sing a song to the moon, soothing the stars to sleep
While I’ll be sitting there to recombobulate