Softly fell the rain that day,
Like kitten's fur and satin.
It stroked and brushed but never touched.
It was there, but not really.

She loved the Rain,
She'd always loved him.
He was the one she connected with
The soul she saw hers in.

The Rain loved her too,
But his words were mere sounds to her.
The patter of raindrops the rumble of thunder-
A language she couldn't comprehend.

The creeper of life needs a solid post.
Fluid torrents flowed away.
She pined for the Rain,
But he couldn't be there.Not really.

Harsh as the crack of a whip
It rained that day.
Like stones and needles.
Piercing and hurting- tangible distress.

She stood on the edge and welcomed Him
And the Rain shot out a silver finger
And carried her away with him.

Flighty Fancy

Take my love, take my land
Take me where I can't stand
I don't care, I'm still free
You can't take the sky from me.

- Firefly, title track.

Birds are lucky creatures.
Sure they are pretty much at the bottom rungs of the food chain, they are attributed less sense than what would fit in a teaspoon,and if they're are not eaten they are generally shot at and stuffed for no logical reason. Often they are cursed and pelted with expletives just for relieving themselves when they feel like it. And in recent history, their personal air space has been invaded by huge silver machines or idiotic human beings with a death wish jumping off these same machines (ungainly graceless things)with balloons furling out of their back.

But still, Birds are lucky creatures.
They can fly.

They don't need stupid parachutes,they don't have sit in stuffy,smelly,claustrophobic air planes or hang on to gliders like that tortoise in that folk story.They can experience the extreme freedom of breaking FREE.

The wind whips through their plumage, they have power that is purely theirs- not obtained through any transaction of pieces of paper. Even the crow, the ever irritating marauder of the canteen, in flight, is an admirable sight. There is more grace and abandon in the flight of a crow than in the rumbling,mechanical take off of a man made contraption. Man's effort is admirable yes, but he as in no way conquered flight.Because Man isn't really flying.There is no freedom in man's mechanical fliers. It is all control.There is none of that burst of euphoria as in the cheerful dip and rise of the sparrow. None of the soaring power of the eagles baiting with the wind. To watch a bird take flight is t watch a being break into harmonious freedom. They deliberately and successfully break the petty earthly bonds of gravity and leave behind inconsequential humanity for higher things. For the wind coursing over their bodies, for the power of total freedom, for the untamed abandon of full flight- which no human can ever truly have.

Birds are lucky creatures.

The Vagabond's Song

You sit near the milestone that marks the bend.
Your sore feet cry for the journey's end.
You get a cup of coffee for the open road,
Relaxing your hold on the memories stored.

The past sticks on like chewing gum.
The more you struggle,the messier it becomes.
Better by far to let it hang on.
Some extra baggage, like the rose's thorn.

You break and you form,like mercury drops.
Your feelings are only dispensable props
But all that's left when the play is cleared,
Are the discarded props- the feelings you feared.

Prayer consoles, but what is prayer?
Begging to something we don't know is there.
The litany drugs us into fevered sleep,
A dream of destiny in delirious deeps.

The core is suspended in eternal strife.
Existence or living on the edge of a knife?
Where do you go? Who waits for you there?
Is there a Destiny? Or just hot air?

The paper cup is tossed away,
You've drunk some life, and what's there to say.
The coffee was good the service was sad,
But altogether it wasn't so bad.

You stand near the milestone that marks the bend,
Your eyes seeking the journeys end.
But not just yet, there's more to go.
More bets to place, more oats to sow.

Invisible

I look down at my hands,
The are flesh and blood.
I look in the mirror,
Yes there is a reflection there.
I touch the wall-no I am not a ghost.

But something must be wrong..
Something unnatural with me.
How else can you not see
Even when I stand
Right in front of you?

Am I invisible?

The power of invisibility-
A good one I'd thought...
But now that I'm invisible
I don't know how I'll make you see.

Maybe I'm a leaf lost in the trees
But even when I fall into your hands
You don't see me.I'm tossed away crushed,
To float in the wind...

Am I a wraith? An empty space?
Dust blown away without a trace?
You see the wispy clouds, the lines in the sand
But you can't see me

The power of invisibility.
A good one I'd thought...
But now that I'm invisible,
I don't know how I can make you see....

An Apologie for Romance Novels

Universally declared "senseless" and grudgingly included in the literary family, the Romance Novel is a much maligned genre of popular fiction.Caught reading one is generally a signal for sheepish grins and a disposition to blush and denounce them with a hypocritical "it's only trash, just flipping through for a good laugh."

Though this reaction is not unwonted(there being a dizzying amount of drivel written in the name of Romance), it is ungenerous of the reading-writing community to simply write them off.Just because some... many romance novels are only a step away from pornography- lacking both a storyline and borderline sense, there are others that display admirable plot lines and quite commendable character weaving. Several Romance novels are criticized for their overly dramatic scenarios and contrived situations. But I ask you- ye sharp tongued critiques- what story doesn't use these same tools? more than anything else it is the dramatic content of the book-the sudden twists, the unexpected- that an average reader looks for in any work of fiction.I do acknowledge that these dramatic intrigues are often similar,leading to a 'read one, read them all' prejudice towards this genre. But then, the much admired murder mysteries are also culprit to the same fault. We know exactly what to expect- our interest lies in the unraveling.We are interested in finding out the whos and the hows. So also in the Romance novel.It is interesting to note how the author contrives to create scenarios,albeit often unintentionally comic, and how they various characters react to each other, and of course how they fall in love. And what can be a greater mystery than he workings of the human heart? Romance novels are further accused of being irrational. It is a truth universally acknowledged that human beings are the craziest creatures on the planet.And consider this- has anyone ever acted rationally when in love? My sources answer in negation. And besides, as Blaise Pascal rightly puts it, "The heart has reasons that reason knows nothing of."

And if all these arguments aren't enough to budge your prejudice, consider this-
The Feel Good Factor. No matter how terrible the situation, you can be assured f a happy ending. The ancient and the youthful are reminded that there are possibilities. Sure this may not happen to me, but it can to others- it DOES happen. And of course the perennial craving to be special to someone,the need to be needed- the very fact that these elements are tenets of the Romance novel speak in its favor.

In conclusion, I'd like to remind the discerning reader that the most important and immediate aim of literature is pleasure. And in one way or the other Romance novels do achieve that. Be it through the happy love stories or the (often ridiculous) plot lines, they are an enjoyable read. And writers of this genre are as good as any other.