Day 301: My Ghost

In the inspired moments, the inspirations sometimes have a mind of their own. They are about not about being able to decide on what these writings are going to be but what they become as we start to write. These inspirations are similar to a concept called ghosts in machines where you can't explain an outcome entirely by something that is planned. There are moments of inspiration that guides these, they are whimsy and even surprise that you can't explain. I call them "my ghost", that are essentially thoughts that are set free, that travel and traverse these vast spaces even without me.

My Ghost
Days and nights that seem to disappear
Come together to count as a passing year
Some hours that I can feel as they flee
They are there invisible, for you and me

My Ghost seems to have a mind of its own
A reason to be out in the open & among the unknown
It doesn't even cast a shadow when it stands in the sun
You won't notice when and where it had begun

It is inspiration set free; chasing feats of its own
Moments that don't fit in an hour glass, they have outgrown
As the cold winter night puts me to sleep
In dreams and thoughts, my ghost finds memories to keep

People come and people go, they leave traces for now
That are found in writings & sketches on sides of walls somehow
My unplanned beginnings, as they come and go
It is in the inspired moment that the storyteller finds my ghost

Day 300: Marked as Read

As I neatly arranged my appointments for the day I kept wondering if we are in the habit of checking them as to do lists. Even without the appointments these are the few hours that pass like emails you have marked as read.  There are some things that leave impressions and some that have just faded. As I write the 300th piece today I keep wondering about counts and some that don't matter sometime. For much adds on to the human experience and as I keep writing I learn from all of these folds that forms something beautiful, I share this one with you in the hope that they are read just the same too.

Marked as Read
So I clicked select and had them all marked as read
I wondered if I had marked them as I wrote somewhere in my head
They are just number sometimes, just counts of things well kept
Dreams we don't remember or can't return even if we might have overslept

The to do list on the fridge or somewhere taped to your desk
The things that need attention , the thoughts that are never at rest
They have climbed onto paper and into poetry that I write
These paper swans that on some odd days seem to simply come alive

I am protecting these windows from the draft that blows
The sunshine or cold wind or whatever you need, for now I don't know
I am forging bridges that connect us, to warm places for now
I am sharing a park bench with you as my thoughts take a bow

Marked as read and neatly tucked safe and sound
These incompletes that don't seem to bother us for now
They will be dealt with as the tired ones, they head to bed
As I capture my hours that pass and mark them as read.

Day 299: Here we Are

Here we are looking at the last minutes of the day, these arbitrary 20 minutes, for now, will end too and for those who have a few hours left write again my friend, just write a few. We are homemade tonics of the heart, we are repair shops radio stations that play on full volume as you fix something. Whatever we need it to be, here we are with the very best of it. In the things that close ranks with the day, these last 4 minutes seemed to have something to say while I wrote to every single thought that passes by. So here we are, writing tonight.

Here we Are
Here we are till the heavens turn red
Writing our heart out laying wide awake in bed
Creating but from nothing but thin air
In a lonely world, we are looking for rhymes & pair

Quiet down as the night she sleeps, the lights they switch off
The burnt smell of candle wax but drips from the trough
The dreams are winning; for now, they are taking over the mind
Invisible, they are the hardest to keep; they leave no memory behind

Here we are, we are writing off and from one another
Unchanged pieces in time that we don't let this winter bother
And as we clutch to a warm cup of coffee or tea
We are reminded of warmth in bitter-sweet companies

These heavy doors of my room, they seal out the outside
So I can capture that which may escape while my thoughts I write
Some will say we are minutes of the day finding escape
So here we are piecing back puzzles we can't solve with duct tape