Lost Lamb

Flutes play,
between my ears
and afar from a yonder
is a song heard
beyond bedlam voices

those tunes the heart knows
those lines the lips chant

Grows loud with the dying day
like the light in the night of full-moon, beam

She who plays doth never see

the one that yearns, among the grazing

that lifelessly would stray away

in the reminiscent of her love
every night to his shepherd's keep.

Gone!

May be
I'm still that lad
who walked the snake roads
under cerulean skies
with bunch of tunips
and a boyish smile

come equipped
to lock lips n make love
and live a small life
in minutes with you out there
like pilgrims
at the gates of
their Jerusalem
in their priestly flow
feeling good godly and gone!

Just so I cherish
what it is to be with you
to that when I am not
like the sweet nothings
that escape them lips
of those who sing hymns and pray,
moment their personal gods
come of life 'fore front of em for one.