21.

i'll tell you why poets are always awake at five o'clock.
it is because some words just won't let go.
a thought has seeped in, but it does not complete itself.
and so they travel through the universe,
trying to find the verses and piece them together,
but some words are elusive, and some thoughts are shy.
and so,
the poets stay awake. past midnight, so they may finish and forget.
it could take many moons, and many waves of the ocean
until they find just the right rhymes;
but by then, the thought is all grown up

i'll tell you why poets are awake at five o clock.
it is because they do not find unattractive
the pursuit of words;
even if the thoughts have left them, and the lovers gone.
and the heart has been broken,
again;
or even if the entire universe were to spin upon its head,
for the poet, it shall still be an upside down world,
where spines tingle and the eyes mist when happy
and laughter erupts when you get utterly lonely.

i'll tell you why poets are always awake at five o clock
it is because of love that doesn't let them go.
the love of the words for the poet himself, as they spill out of his pen.
a love that can never be relinquished; a love that is choosy;
some words discarded without hesitation, and some loved for eternity.

i'll tell you why poets are always awake at five o clock
it is punishment.
for the gift of the gab, to be rewarded with everything they could never have had.
it is a necessary evil; a feat they must accomplish, a curse they must bear,
to be the bearer of words.

i'll tell you poets are always awake at five o clock
because they have seen the beauty of the world, when everyone is asleep.
and have known a love so deep; it is because they are hopeful.

i'll tell you why I am always awake at five o clock
it is to energise the flowers, colour up the trees,
shine up the sun and retire the moon.
it is to stir the birds, and command the bees
to gather the honey before mine wakes up.

let me tell you why i am always awake at five o'clock.
it is to awaken the universe to witness
the glory of your smile.

Why

i tried to set you on fire today.
i struck a match to the heap of memories,
forgotten moments from long ago,
mixed with your last kiss, still lingering in my skin,
piled together, awaiting the sacrifice.
i watched how they came alive in an instant,
the flames scorching through my laughter,
the heat tasting all your kisses,
tearing through thoughts of you.
it took a long time, i was exhausted.
smoke rising slowly, sending signals.
i waited until the wind arrived,
claimed its part of the story, and scattered the ashes as a final duty.
i turned around, believing i was free.

i looked up to the sky,
and
the rain lashed down,
as if there were no more mercy left in the world,
i was soaked to the bone, in minutes,
and every minute we've ever spent together,
and apart,
rushed right back through me,
into my blood, into my heart, till the tips of my fingers.

that's where he belongs, said the rain.
and don't try returning it again.

mine

I love you
with an honesty beyond belief.
A faith that not even the trees can break.
Like an old man, born before the present times
climbs to the very top of the auditorium steps
straining his old knees, pleading with his heart,
to return to his assigned seat,
even though all the seats around him are empty.
For him, it may have been
a matter of life and death.
For me,
Only of love.
One that is so complete, it needs no name.
So true, it needs no dreams.
Like a child who knows not yet how to read,
writes poetry in the air.
So beautiful, that it needs only laughter.
So vain that it needs no promises.
A poetry so kind that it needs no moon.
Know this, beloved,
I am not the one you love,
merely the one who loves you.