Sentiments of a HeArt

I'm seated wondering how to fill up the gap in my portrait,
                          but the thoughts are condescending into errors.
I can’t quite have my portrait without my other half;
                         it’s like monalisa without her queer smile…
I could add tear drops down the skin of my cheek bones,
                         but am not sure I want my portrait full of sorrow.
I've been contemplating thoughts of complete eras-al ,
                         but like the thoughts, it’s a dying proposal.
I once had the perfect portrait, tatted in a beautiful hue.
                          Its beauty was the non-fading paint conjoined.
Love is like a cluster of artistically mixed colours.
                          The permanent colours never fade away…

My heart, it grows weary.
for I can’t understand the feelings brought forth by the missing piece.
I remember each part that was bright;
from her glowing smile, to the shine of her bright beautiful body.
She was my better half;
more like the half that was missing for my completion.
It’s now clear about my missing rib;
for with her, I felt pieced together, a whole of sorts.
I would surely like to tear,
ayeh, sometimes tears are a waving sign of an awful goodbye.
My heart pushed her away,
but I hope my undying sentiments keep her on our canvas. 

A morning in India

Today, I battled the morning yawn
and feasted my eyes on the ambience
of the morning sun. It's amazing all the
things I have missed in my layers and layers
of sleep. But today, I witnessed something different;
It's rather good to know how many people
battle with sleep in the morning. At least
now I know we make a team. From the multiples of
stray dogs to the man that drove passed us
attempting to yawn and brush each single tooth
in his mouth with a stick for a tooth brush,
the dozing driver that almost knocked the edge
of my scooter. Then, the prize winner; You would
never believe it, but, as I drove passed through the
service road with an MRP wine shop to its side.
I happened to see two fellows, patiently waiting
for the keeper to open and bless them with their dew.
At least, the morning service was packed to the bream
as I dropped off another special entry... 
A morning in India. 

Blue :(

A colour of the sky,

a colour of the sea.

It's beautiful you see,

but wonder befalls

the tranquillity within...

For man lives-

encapsulated by blue sky  

sans serenity at heart, 

and the breed that

lives beneath sea, 

is also at war like we.

Nature survives off nature,

for that reason I wonder... 

was man born to be blue? 

The Artist

  If I were a florist,
the problems that prick and distress you,
I'd clip and nip them,.

  If I were a painter,
I'd 3-D paint your worries,
so all you'd have to do is look at them.

 If I were a photographer,
I'd go through hell to get you,
a Polaroid picture of the Pearly gates God abreast.

  If I were an astronaut,
I'd bring you the moon, defy the norms
so we'd never have to go there for me to prove my love

  If I were a Librarian,
you'd be my favourite book,
I'd read only you in a room full of jealous books

  If I were engineer,
I'd build you a locomotive to take you to the Bermuda-
triangle, so like Columbus you would "discover"

  If i were God,
I would give you my magic wand,
and the whole world would be in your hand

Ayeh, I am only a poet,
a medley of the above;
An artist; a replica of the creator.

Lovers' warfare

Two lovers exchange x's and O's...

What starts off peaceful,
erupts into a dispute,
cuddles gets burned,
arm-locks waned,

Back to back,
it's now time to stretch sheets,
and as she pulls on the edges,
he ends up in the cold,

Reaches out for the duvet,
a kitchen he'd rather abscond-
so he reaches in for a kiss,
to persuade his enemy,

She loosens the sheet,
his strategy successful.
peace talks unravel,
apologies assemble,
pillows lock together.
safety lock is turned on.

Kisses fly though the air.
cuddles now warranted.
arm-locks on maybe.
the heat; unbearable.

Conversation opened;
words misused,
tempers unearthed.
Once again,
it's back to back;
in this a.m sack-

Where lovers war fare never seizes.