Dream Life

  In the rush of daily life, it's easy to love sight of the present moment. Pause, take a breath, and ground yourself in the now. The present is where life unfolds, where joy resides, and where peace is found. Appreciate the simple pleasures: a smile, a gentle breeze, the warmth of the sun. These moments, though small, are the threads that weave a life of meaning and fulfillment. Let go of the past, release the future, and embrace the beauty of presence. You are here and that is enough.

                                       The sound of two people ignoring each other The sound of no one being there for another The sound of eerie nothingness engulfing the air The sound of no one even bothering to care The sound of wind blowing everything away The sound of the pain you go through everyday The sound of everything that is unknown The sound of being completely alone The sound of thinking quietly inside The sound of being left behind The sound of trying not to cry The sound of wishing you could die The sound of silence can't be heard Just like the soft swift wings of a bird The sound of silence can seem unreal The sound of silence is something you feel The sound of silence Soft yet shril The sound of silence I think Can kill

                                                For what it's worth.....it's never too late, or in my case too  early, to be whoever you want to be. There's no time limit. Start whenever you want. You can change or stay the same. There are no rules to this thing. We can make the best or the worst of it. I hope you make the best of it. I hope you see things that startle you. I hope you feel things you've never felt before. I hope you meet people who have a different point of view. I hope you live a life you're proud of, and if you're not, I hope you have the courage to start over again.        

                                               "Hope" is the thing with feathers            That perches in the soul,      And sings the tune without the words,             And never stops at all.        And sweetest in the gale is heard;            And sore must be the storm        That could abash the little bird             That kept so many warm.            I've heard it in the chilliest land            And on the strangest sea;             yet, never, in extremity,             It asked a crumb of me.

                                            She had a language of her own, Her own way to show her love and care, She would meet people as if It has been years to the bond they share. Her eyes can touch the scars You've been hiding for long, She would cares the flaws, As that made one strong. She is a gorgeous mess, Composed of the pieces broken down, Her smile is starlit, And there's beauty even in her frown. Some people started to envy her, And tried to bring her to their size, As it isn't easy to appreciate someone When you're made up of endless lies. They tried to compress her sky, And condense her inner starlight, But they couldn't make her universe shrink, And she shined brighter every night. Soo she realized her own World was enough strong And she has been looking for beauty everywhere, But it lies right where she belongs.

                                                  I'm in love with you and your entire being. Your hands and the way they hold mine. Your eyes and the way they smile at mine. Your lips and the way they fit with mine. Everything about you. And it's all mine.

                                            'It's okay' She whispers to herself. 'It's okay' But is it? She gave everything she had to others. She carved her own soul for the people around her. But now, when she needs the same, she has no one to turn to. No one will rescue them. So she sits on the floor, telling herself 'it's okay' knowing it'd not, knowing it will never be. Didn't I tell you, my love? You're all alone.

                                       Her eyes are blue Yours are brown Hers represents the ocean Yours represents the ground You've always hated your eyes And wished that they were blue But your eyes have a tint of gold So rare it must not be true So yes her eyes are blue And yes your eyes are brown But your eyes hold the riches That are buried in the ground Her eyes carry storms And rage like the sea Your eyes carry earthquakes That bring mountains to their knees Maybe her eyes are blue But your eyes reign queen Because they hold the purest riches The world has ever seen

                                       I think I'm dead Or maybe I'm not But I feel like a flower Shriveling in its pot Like the gleaming stars That disappear in the day I'm dissolving bit by bit While losing my way My fingertips are snapping Like the icicles at the pole I cannot see any footsteps I can never feel whole I'm number thirteen on the clock I've been thrown out of existence The time has killed my passion Along with my persistence Destroy me one the battlefield For my years are running low In this belligerent world I'm like a fire in the snow

                                        Learn how to truly be yourself; go to lunch, get coffee, go and watch a movie, alone and understand that there is no need to feel lonely . Take it as an opportunity to learn more about yourself. Fall in love with yourself and romanticise everything you do. The way your voice changes when you ask a shopkeeper, cinema attendant, waiter  or any other person of vague authority for something. The way you bite the inside of your cheek when you are nervous. They way you feel the heat in your cheeks rising with the cool sides of your hands. Become enamoured with the little habits and idiosyncrasies that are only noticed by someone who loves you.

                                     To you, love was about multitudes. To me, love was inordinate.        I love you, I would say.        How much? You would ask. I couldn't find the words to answer you then. But they have found their way to me since. And this is what I would tell you. I would blanket the world in utter darkness; I would pull back the veil of light and reveal to you, a blinding crescendo of stars. I would drain all the seas and ask you to count-  one by one- every grain of sand that clings to the ocean floor. I would tally the beat of every human heart that has echoed since the dawn of our becoming. And as you look in awe at the sheer magnitude of my admission, I would take your hand in mine and tell you; if only you had let me, this is how much I could have loved you.

                                           Smiling is infectious You catch it like the flu When someone smiled at me today I started smiling too I walked around the corner And someone saw me grin When he smiled I realized I had passed it on to him I thought about the smile And then realized its worth A single smile like mine Could travel round the earth So if you feel a smile begin Don't leave it undetected Start an epidemic And get the world infected

                                       Dreams are the only afterlife we know; the place where the children we were rock in the arms of the children we have become. They are as many as leaves in their migrations, as birds whose deaths we learn of by the single feather left behind: a clue, a particle of sleep caught in the eye. They are as irretrievable as sand when the sea creeps up its long knife glittering in its teeth to claim its patrimony. Sometimes my father in knickers and cap waits on that shore the dream of him a wound not even morning can heal. The dog's legs pump in his sleep; your closed eyelids flicker as the reel unwinds: watcher and watched, archer and bull's eye. Last night I dreamed a lover in my arms and woke innocent. The sky was starry to the very rind, his smile still burning there like the rail of comet that has just blazed by.

                                               Either peace or happiness, let it enfold you When I was a young girl I felt these things were dumb, unsophisticated. I had bad blood, a twisted mind, a precarious upbringing I was hard as granite, I  leered at the sun. I trusted no woman and especially no man. I was living a hell in amm rooms, I broke things, smashed things, walked through glass, cursed. I challenged evrything, was continually being evicted , jailed , in and  out of fights, in and out of my mind. men were something to screw and rail at , I had no female friends. I changed jobs and cities, I hated holidays, babies, history, newspapers, museums, grandmothers, marriage, movies, spiders, garbagemen, english accents, spain, france, italy, walnuts and the colos orange. algebra angred me, opera sickened me, charlie chaplin was a fake and flowers were fo...

                                                        The pain will hold on gently As you move throughout your day You'll try to shake it softly But quickly learn it wants to stay It lingers in the corner  It follows you around Juts when you think you've lost it You learn no solace can be found So here's a trick, I've learned a few For me and pain, we're good old friends And pain's afraid of love, you see Because love, it always mends So openup your eyes a bit Inhale deep and strong Look for the twinkle of loves presence That surrounds you all day long It could be here, it could be there A thought, a mile, a gift Look for the love in every moment And your pain will start to shift Just start small, and whynot now Find something good to think of Pain will shy away, you'll see When what you focus on is love And bit by bit , you'll chip away At t...

                                             I wish I wrote the way I thought; Obsessively, Incessantly, With maddening hunger. I'd write to the point of suffocation. I'd write myself into nervous breakdowns. Manuscripts spiraling out like tentacles into abysmal nothing. And I'd write about you a lot more than I should.

                                You try hard to catch your shadow but it moves much too fast. it jumps on the walls and ceilings, begging you to revisit your past. nostalgia is a powerful state and your memories give you fight. you remember the instruction--- " second star to the right..." here nothing is lost, you still have every single friend and on the morning horizon, you see your innocence suspend. but oh, remember now you have far different dreams and it's okay for life to not be the same because we're growing up, it seems. i hope your life is still an adventure--- one that's wild and grand. but i think it's time to live it here, i think it's time to leave neverland.

                                 You can write for hours on hours, Of all the things that you wish you could be, But the truth of the matter is simple, People are not poetry, And I know that you wish you weren't awkward, That sweet words could roll right off your tongue, But your time here's too short just to worry, How each single sentence is strung, It's okay to be rough round the edges, To be bruised up and broken and scarred, But it's not okay to let people tell you, That it's a reason to change who you are, You hair doesn't always sit neatly, The way a poem sits so neatly in lines, And sometimes you might feel like a word, That nobody has learnt to define, You might not be a star that lights darkness, Or a bird that can teach us to soar, But it's okay, because you are too complex, To be crammed into one metaphor, It's okay not to know what you're doing, Since your feelings don't have to all rhyme T...

                                          Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, And sorry I could not travel both And be one traveler, long I stodd And looked down one as far as I could To where it bent in the undergrowth; Then took the other, as just as fair, And having perhaps the better claim Because it was grassy and wanted wear, Though as for that the passing there Had worn them really about the same, And both that morning equally lay In leaves no step had trodden black. Oh, I kept the first for another day! I doubted if I should ever come back. I shall be telling this with a sigh Somewhere ages and ages hence: Two roads diverged in a wood  and I, I took the one less traveled by, And that has made all the difference.

                                               Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness, Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun; Conspiring with him how to load and bless With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eves run; To bend with apples the moss'd cottage-trees, And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core; To swell the gourd, and plum the hazel shells with a sweet kernel; to set budding more, And still more, later flowers for the bees, Until they think warm days will never cease, For Summer has O'er-brimm'd their dammy cells. Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store? Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find Thee sitting careless on a granary floor, Thy hair soft -lifted by the winnowing wind; Or on a half-reap'd furrow sond asleep, Drow'd with the fume of poppies, while thy hook Spares the next swath and all its twined flowers: And sometimes like a gleaner thou ...