Blind Man

I don’t know where I’m going,
I wonder what I’m doing,
Maybe I’m growing
But someone steers a boat I’m rowing.
I don’t know what to believe,
Words and intentions belie belive,
My chest is dense with grief;
My joys are brief.
When i think I’ve found an antidote
Worse makes respite another anecdote…
My sockets are hollow,
If only any more hallowed.
I keep hitting something hard and rime,
You’ll wonder why I bothered with a darn rhyme.

~Bardkobik #Blueprint ’14


Vissicitudes of Silence

SilenceWithin the four walls of the world of love
Words are all a soul needs not to suffocate.
The eyes get to dialogue in some noisy silence
When the birds, wind and everyone is silent,
And the sun sits on the flat lake observing its reflection
In the fluid mirror as you and I do.
The colours of the sky comingle
To display confusion in beauty;
It is so beautiful and blissful,
And there, the eyes have a lot to say.
That is a wakeful moment
The tongue can go to sleep in.
Horror sets in a foot of cold chaos
When in a vortex of silence and agony
One is landed by the retired
Hands of the tongue of another,
When the eyes have run dry
Of beautiful things to say.
A smile is gifted solitude
And life becomes a stay in a bottle.
A poisoning plight,
More horrifying than being buried with life,
Leaving trees nearer to the lake bare
So they doubt their closeness to the lake.


Only strong belts of endurance
Can hold back this fluid; maybe magical,
From pouring down one’s countenance.

It is the wheel barrowTears
That carries out the wreckage circumstance leaves
After shaking a life in its moments of dominance.
It is the silent words
That turn around dispositions
By showing blinded people
The different colours of sunlight.
It is the rain that sometimes keeps a waif company
And crowns some bar-raisers.

I am jealous
Because everyone sees it in oodles
When season wearing the right circumstance comes.
I don’t,
Because my well of tears
Is arid with nothingness.

The Shadow

DeathYesterday, I bowed out of my hat,
I could hear the birds herald the day,
I could also see the glorious sun rays
Piercing the clouds
And around me were beautiful nectar flowers

At dusk, the sun was on the other side of the earth
Slowly walking down to sleep.
The lake was calm,
The breeze was warm and still,
And the cloak of darkness thickened.

It was very late in hour.
The weak light from the old moon betrayed the night
But in the peace of the night,
The sneaky stealthy shadow prowled.

Today, I bowed out of my hat
And I could hear only rain whispers
But the bird singers.
I could see rain drops from the face of the sky.
Because a beautiful nectar flower was gone.

Ergo, even at noon it was so cold
And the lake’s face looked pale
Still clinging to the chills of dawn.
And that was when I realized
The herald of woe; the shadow last night
In the quietness of the faded day
Came and lingered in the garden.

What Men Don’t See

The neat white fluffy clouds

Are scattered in the face of

The growing sun’s dazzling light.

Higher in the sky the crescent moon

Hangs faint and ever disappearing

To descend the hour ladder later.

Below, under the shades,

The nocturnal survivors

Have round up their night prowling.

While the day’s light grows unabated,

The cock wakes from his

Meagre sleep and climbs his favourite fence

To wake the lazy.

In midair the dew still hangs

With holes from bat-flights last night.

Drops of converged dew

Struggle desperately to hold on to

The green leaves at the tip.

But man possessed of the visual curse

Of the delusory glamour of the world

Fails to notice

What even the recuperating owls see.