Uncertainty

There is an uncertainty
The lies in the people I met today,
Floats not just on the surface but clogs their soul
Eyes that aimlessly hover,
Never do they smile with a bright childlike vigour
It is looking for a shoe she may like to buy
or a woman she would like to ridicule,
for what she wears on the outside
Waiting to impress another of his kind

There is an uncertainty
I feel in the people I see

I cannot smile back at the day

It is like a haze of visual frames I do not understand
The circles of confusions aren't a surreal mystery
They are lies concocted on convenience
There is an uncertainty
I am certain.

Mustard flowers of winter

When the winter is still leaving
The afternoons are filled with a subtle sunlight
I sit on the cool bed sheet; the time of the those old winter days
When Ma was about to come home from work

But now as I go back in my memories to the partially curtained rooms
I cannot see Ma or feel her arrival
There is no young girl of twelve sitting on the bed
The home is empty
So silent that one can hear mustard flowers grow in a distant land
A land through which  I pass by alone
Without my Ma

Unabridged

The year has closed
the small things have given way to even smaller instances of happiness
The glimpse of a surreal delight
that is lost among
my need to please
to appear on other's minds
I am alone,
again

But the blurriness has cleared
I am among my own
The ones within whom
I cannot disappear like a lie
But remain like a breeze

Intriguing you with my endless wit
never retracted or limited
It is me that I give to you
In my whole ,
unabridged manner