An Ending With a Broken Rhyme

My home is the ocean. The waves and the collapsing

of the bubbles without certain figures. Of nothing

but ever-changing, amidst the stillness of the vast emptiness

underneath the surface of these waters. The darkness

echoing below, surviving in itself as a form of necessity

to build and rebuild, to invade and succumb to the sanity

of searing shackles of my mind. After each cloud that fills

the sky leaving me transparent to the passing boats, still

unnoticed, provoked and left undiscovered, unknown and feared.

Refined and understood to be a place of calm yet closed and stirred,

sacrificing the depths to unbroken promises

placed under the dark of hidden spaces.

People are right only in one thing in this life

that monsters lurk in the veil of the unseen, inside

were the secret keepers of the truth leaving a stain of pain

to anyone who dares to catch a glimpse in the flame

hidden under this deep trench,

and fail to reach every feeling,

forever weeping

and the seas are

made up

of my

tears.

Because Angels Are In White…

The poem is on Doctors who were heroes to us in the time of Covid-19

The Book is Being Written

How we observe and how we reflect.

The Dreary Faceless

The observations and reflections of a traveller in a foreign land.

The Model House

The facades of a perfect home.

The Woman Who

This peom is about a woman in my life, who is suppose to be there for me but is not.