Word island

Words break with waves
On a distant shore.

A stream drowned in the sea...

The mountains had cried.

And a thousand stories 

Slept in a water grave. 

I was retrieved from the ocean
Hidden in a shell with a hermit crab.
Longing for days when moonlight
Traced it's fingers across my lonely back.

This is a lost island
Refuge for drifting souls
Sailors, without a map...

The amphibious me
Crawled up the sky;
And the birds flew upside down...

I see skyscrapers on the ocean bed.
Order that shames civilisations...
And an old woman sits at the bottom
Carving shells and colouring corals.

How do the fishes know
They're not swimming upside down?
How do they separate
Depths from heights?
Or is it the sky that is inverted...

Clamps in pockets
Salt on the face
In a dream that won't last forever
Nor would leave any trace...

Who would believe in my island
We are past the age for fiction;
I burnt my fingers and my net
When I tried to salvage the sun.

Saba

A poet's confession

A thousand voices shout
Inside my head
Like a Scrabble board
All words jumbled.

I live many lives
And watch my own
As a nonchalant bystander.

I'm a parasite
That feeds on the joys and pains
Of others.
I call myself a poet...
But all I do is steal
And fiddle.

From morning, I stole dew
And spinned the earth
A full circle
To steal a night.

I borrowed dreams
Created nightmares
But never slept.

Sometimes, I flow with the breeze
But mostly, I'm that stagnant stale city
That recycles itself
Through cheap marketing gimmicks.

Set the parchments on fire.

Saba