For a fraction

of a solitary second,

voiceless child

blushed like flowers

as the precious ruby hours

flooded her

dusky footprints.

On fragile wings,

she attempted

to soar above

the shadowy night

in her solemn cape

of darkness,

lost among

the throngs in silence,

seeking shade

in shadows of others,

a fate that

threatened

to engulf her.

Alienated clouds

and dusky skies

fed her hunger

to whisper aloud

to moon, suspended

in charcoal skies.

Cobwebs littered

her dim space

as morning mist

overtook her soul.

She reached for smiles

just out of sight,

yearning

for awakening blossoms.

No one saw

her bleeding in anguish,

crying for a reprieve

from obscurity

as she attempted

to whisk doubts

into sheltering winds

of hope.

She felt

overcast shade lift

like an eclipse

beckoning her

with warm fingers

of light.

She grasped

her new beginning

in a bouquet

of enchantment

for the first time

seeing the truth,

pushing away

dejected shoulders.

The shadow child

grasped the stars,

healed the clotting

loss of innocence,

listening to

her voice chorus

with hundreds

of other children,

awakening to

the knowledge that

her shadowed existence

is the child

she once was

but is no more,

as she opens lips

to speak,

“Please play with me!”

An old man hobbled

Down a street

Light in his mind

But heavy on his feet

He can’t remember his past;

It’s just as well

He stepped up a kerb

Stumbled, almost fell

He was a sportsman

In his day

Fast and furious

Those who knew him say

An old man hobbled

Down a street

Smiling kindly

To those he would meet

His family love him

Does he know?

He loves them back

But does it show?

An old man hobbled

Down a street

A ready smile

He won’t admit defeat.

And I smiled, too.

My day complete

As an old man hobbled

Down a street.

It stays with me, though it was some time ago. Spring had come, the day was bright, the air warm. It was a weekday and I was off from work. I can’t recall why I was off, but I do remember that I was not going to work.

It was just the kind of day to make a heart light. I was doing 55 mph in a 45 mile zone, window down, Elvin Bishop’s “Fooled Around and Fell in Love” blasting through the speakers. It was one of those mornings where the world and my place in it felt right:

“I must have been through about a million girls,

I’d love’em then and I’d leave’em alone.

I didn’t care how much they cried, no sir.

Their tears left me cold as a stone.”

I don’t remember the car’s color, nor its make, nor model. I do remember that it was a newer car, and a nice one, and I remember its driver. She was forty-ish, brunette, seemingly monied. I saw her face through the window as we passed in opposite directions. We locked eyes for a moment only. For a split second I allowed my eyes to leave the road and look into hers. She has stayed with me since that moment, she with that face, and may never leave me.

I did not know her. I had never seen her even, but I recall that her expression was a mask of agony and pain. I remember her mouth open as though she was screaming, her hair mussed and matted after an uncombed morning. The hair did not look natural, or right, nor did the eyes, they being smeared clownishly black from dripping masquera. She looked like a woman who took pains with her appearance, but here on this beautiful Spring morning, a morning full of sunlight, hope and optimism, she had let herself go? I could not help but wonder why?

My first thought was a problem at work. She had appeared classy, professional even. It was the time of day when people should be at work, or on the way, but she was travelling away from the city’s shiny collection of steel and glass? Fired? A big mistake on an important deal? That was exactly the kind of thing that might break me down... but no. Somehow that didn’t feel right for her.

Love? Love would certainly have the power to break a woman down. A man could do it. A man with a wife perhaps? A man who loved two? A man who loved them both, but the other woman was his wife? A man too weak to let one go, so it was left to her to drive away alone... again? The mornings after were her Hell no matter how warm and bright the Spring day, they having become empty and soul-less, the mornings after leaving her feeling used up and dirty, but still she could not keep from answering the fucking phone when she saw his number!

A phone call at work, perhaps? A death? A pet, or a parent, maybe? This direction was much worse, wasn’t it, and would certainly bring any man or woman to tears? And what if it was worse yet, a spouse maybe? The emergency grew as I thought it through. I hoped not, for her sake, but the face in the windshield had been forlorn... tragic even. A child? No, certainly not a child. That would be too tragic! I would not think it and make it so, even if it was only in my mind. I would not make it so for her, or for anyone.

Herself? What if she was returning from the doctor? What if the news she was given was the worst? What if she had been sitting alone in a sterile examination room when she heard the voice, but it was only now registering in her ears? What if she were losing her husband AND her children? What if she was losing all, in fact? My beautiful Spring day darkened at that. No wonder her despairing face, her running make-up. She would need a friend, a hand to hold! Perhaps I could catch her if I turned around now? But what if that was not it at all? What if that was not even close to being it?

What if she was only neurotic? Clinically depressed? What if she just cried for no reason what-so-ever? What if it was something as simple as a lost wallet, or a house key that broke her down? What if she just found out she was going to have to wear a bathing suit in front of a new boyfriend this early in the Spring? That might be a tragedy to her, for sure, but it was scarcely worth a dangerous, shreiking u-turn and a break-neck race to run her down with an outstretched hand, a hand with a desire to protect, to shelter, and to wipe away a woman’s tears.

I smiled at that thought. Outside, the sun grew bright once more. My “I have a day-off on a weekday” feeling returned. I slipped on my sunglasses. Elvin Bishop picked up where he had left off. I continued on my way, and that other car with its forlorn driver? I must assume it continued on its way as well, and I am left to hope that all was well.

“Oh, yes I did, I fooled around, I fooled around, I fooled around, I fooled around and fell in love! Oh, yes I did!”

But there are still those moments when I am driving alone and left to wonder, to recall a stranger’s sadness, a woman’s sadness, and to ponder hopelessly at its source. How strange that the briefest snapshot of life can rolodex itself and its emotions into your memory forever? And how strange that a picture can resurface those emotions in a moment, spinning them back ’round to the top? And strange that a song stays attached to that particular file card like a paper clip, clinging to it through the years.

“I fooled around and fell in love... Oh yes I fooled around and fell in love!”

The kitchen floor creaks,

As I creep, tip toe,

On guard-

The motion sensor streaks,

Bright, white light,

Across the backyard.

I expect the fat raccoons,

The fat possum,

Or nothing at all.

I see the full moon,

Through the trees,

But no motion, I recall.

I wait, and observe,

But seeing nothing,

I step back.

On edge, my nerves,

Then I see them,

Eyes! - big and black.

A few feet from the window,

On a half built swing set,

The owl is perched.

Eyes locked on my own,

We sit and stare,

Until we’ve thoroughly searched.

When the watch is over,

He flies his way,

And I go mine.

In a ghostly blur,

The pale owl leaves,

And chills crawl up my spine.

A woman sat down at the table next to me at Subway. There was nothing outstanding about her. She was fairly young. Not unattractive, but not especially pretty. She was happy, though. I watched as she unfolded the paper cradling her sub. She opened her potato chips and poured them on the flattened wrapping. Then she closed her eyes and turned her palms upward to the ceiling and rested them on the table. She flashed a subtle smile for a moment, then opened her eyes and picked up her sandwich.

I turned my concentration to my own sub and considered what she was praying for. To whom was she praying? Was it thanksgiving for a love returned home from afar? Or was it something simpler? Was she just happy to be alive? Or does she love onions? I love onions. And roasted red peppers. Perhaps she was sending me good vibes so I could find peace. I know it was more than just thanking God for the food. She totally made my day without her even knowing.

Bon appetit!

It was the weekend before Thanksgiving and I was a recent graduate, living and working in Philadelphia. I was new to experiencing life in the United States as a whole as I hailed from India.

I was walking back to my apartment with a handful of groceries, when I heard someone crying behind me. I wheeled around to see a guy in his early twenties sobbing on the phone. I was in a culture shock and was unsure if I should approach him; not knowing how people in the US reacted to displays of emotion.

He yelled, “Why do I care? Because you are my fucking brother. Now I will be alone for Thanksgiving.”

He was still on the phone, gasping for breath in between loud sobs, tears streaming down his ruddy face, comingled with the snot running from his nose. I had to do something, culture shock be damned.

As I approached him he screamed again, “Well fuck you. I just wanted to be with family.” He hurled the phone across the asphalt and it cracked open. The battery landed at my feet while the rest of the parts were strewn around.

I picked up the various parts and put his phone back together. The screen was cracked and it wouldn’t turn on. I handed it back to him as he continued to weep with his eyes closed. He looked so sad! He wasn’t keen on accepting the phone back so I placed it on the ledge he rested against.

“I hope it gets better for you.” I said.

He nodded his head and before I knew it I was hugging a complete stranger as he lay his head on mine and cried (he was at least a foot taller than me). We stayed like that for a minute or two and then he picked up his phone and walked away.

I walked back to my apartment with my groceries for one. I never saw him again. But every once in a while, I wonder about him. Did he ever reconcile with his brother? Does he have a family of his own?

I hope he found what he was looking for...

A war lingers above;

In time i'll escape it.

Toward safety i run , toward safety i run;

Trying not to remember where i've begun.

All that I feared I'd lose, washed away;

Droplets kiss the ground, and bruise without a pound.

A dim gray cover sways me;

For I like the colorless dress.

I dance in heavy motion;

Swirling and twirling a lover's potion.

A vicious tonic usurps the damned;

A striking revelation stands.

I wish you light in the darkness;

You pour constantly;

Till I'm disheartened...

My son. 14. Playing in the house. Back and forth with the ball, full of rouse.

6 o’clock at night, no care in the world. His body, up down around whirled.

Breathing hard, no stopping for air. Must be nice, to be young carefree and unaware.

20 min passed, still no sign of fatigue. Youth, sustinence, energy, I am intrigued.

Stops to tease me, such a pain. He constantly pesters me, says I have no brain.

Do your homework, leave me alone. Shout at him to study, in that motherly tone.

Love him so much, he is my son. Endure his smart mouth, until he is done.

Love the silence, nose in his book. I glance over at him, just one quick look.

I'm not sure when I stopped

looking away

when people would stare at me.

I don't remember when I began

to meet their stares

my eyes cold, unblinking.

I can't tell when

they became the ones

to look away first,

shame coloring their faces.

I know that now,

I will not cower under their gaze.

I suppose it is a small thing,

but it brings the ghost of a smile to my lips.

Have you ever taken the 5:38am subway from JFK to LGA? You go right through the heart of the city. No, not Times Square, not Brooklyn. But Queens, Jamaica, Forest hills, Jackson Heights. You know, those boroughs that don’t show up on your friends instagram post. Its dirty, crowded, and gritty as hell. Packed full of the hard working men and women of every ethnicity known to man. Half of them covered with dirt on their boots from the day before. No, dirt from the 5 years from the day before. Because that’s how long they’ve been wearing those boots. The rats are out in full force because it’s still cool in the summertime. But not the drunks. Because this isn’t where the party’s at. It’s best to take this right of passage train on a Friday morning before the sun comes up. Because those are the people who’ve worked all week and got up to do it again. Hard hats on loose, shirt untucked, lunch in the bag. You want to know the men and women who keep this city alive. It’s right here on the 5:38 train straight through the soul of the city that never sleeps.