The Finitude of Time (Poem)

we are haunted by the invisible hourglass,

a reminder that our time here on Earth is finite,

and Death is a certainty, no matter what form it takes

we are overfed with cliches like,
 'Life is fragile, so treat each day as a gift,'

yet, in the face of the mundane and repetitive,

it is far easier to forget our limited control

we assume the luxury to face Death on our own terms,

sweeping our fears under the rug

it is only when Death suddenly hits close to home, unexpected and tragic

that this knowledge gets thrown into sharp relief, cutting us quick to the heart,

leaving us to bleed our vulnerability in the midst of incomprehensible chaos

Snowglobe (Poem)

with minds locked away in dusty snowglobes

we’ve trapped ourselves in a self-operated utopia

where rigid law is the order of the day,

the typical follow the predictable,

and ignorance is the latest trend.

our lives are cloned variations,

grinding along the same clockwork gears

we're chained to a system trading in trust (-cloaked lies)

as prisoners in the guise of kings

while we occupy ourselves

looking out for falling bodies,

lest misery loves company

and misfortune ends our own.

Lost Light (Poem)

golden sparklers spinning in circles,
against the backdrop of hollow sky.

through half-hung eyelids,
I look on as rockets escape
to infinity and galaxies beyond,
colliding in one blinding cosmic explosion.

its brilliance ablaze,
burning black holes into longing eyes
and in spite of lost sight,

I swoon, I sigh,
at the beauty of fleeting light.

Heart's Silence (Poem)

all my life,
I’ve tried to capture the feeling of love,
pinned down in a prison of words.

then our souls met,
and I lost the ability to speak.
every last syllable had melted away,
lost in tender reverie.

(the true beauty of hearts' silence
lies hidden in gentle kisses
and gazes softened
in love unspoken)

Eternity (Poem)

when eternity lingers in the thoughts of men,
we learn to assume our immortality.
but our actions are a constant contradiction,
always on the look out for self-gratification,
while time slips through restless fingers like sand.

with attention spans short-circuited to seconds,
we traverse our goldfish bowls in endless circles,
remembering nothing but glass walls and empty space,
even though change has taken everything but memories' place.

tomorrow is the future past yet to come,
as routine ceaseless, fakes our living death.
to exist and never discover the purpose for life,
is a far greater tragedy than to live and die for a purpose.