Orchids

I love her. I do. Its the only thing I've been certain of. The only thing I've felt my brain and heart have ever agreed upon. In her presence I feel like a child... at a loss for words... the right words... My eyes mock my heart and whisper 'Don't skip too many now... U need to keep pumping for the o'l lads sake.' I walk with her and the wind moves with us.... trying to catch our words.. I look into her eyes and I wish she'd see me with the same adulation as she does when she sees a li'l pup. I hear her singing and wish she'd sing one song for me that reminded her of me...even if its creep by radiohead. I wish I could sing ... so I could sing her every song that reminded me of her....I wish she would stand before my heart so I could rip it open to show her a mirror... I wish I had a mirror that would show me her every time I needed to see her... I wish I could be the man who'd have the pleasure of holding her hand.. I wish I could dance with her... dance in a way the music wouldn't matter... I wish I could hold her when she cried and wipe her troubles away..like I'd wipe her tears..I wish I could watch her sleep... and be peaceful... I wish I could make her smile.. I wish I could push her swing forwards every time she swung behind...I wish I could cook her favourite food.I wish I could see her enjoy her favorite dessert.. I wish she would share mine...I wish I could carry her over puddles during the rains... I wish I could understand her silences.. I wish I could tell her how I feel by actually doing justice to the feeling...I wish my words wouldn't fail me so.. I wish my feelings wouldn't at this mammoth rate grow..I wish I wouldn't think of her every night before sleeping. I wish my dreams wouldn't pay attention to my thoughts of her ..I wish the mornings weren't that hard...I wish the winters weren't as cold..I wish love was a figment of my imagination...And even so..I wish she were the queen of that there imagination land...I wish I could tell her she's the reason I smile..and she's the reason I cry ...I wish I could kiss her.... the way only I could...I wish she knew how much I love her...the way only I would...I wish my Orchids stood a chance.. my orchids with that overdue dance.

I love her... I do...It's the only thing I've been certain of.

Exchanging Pleasantaries

I remember a time when I would be perfectly happy chasing a fire truck that would fit in the confines of my then tiny little hands.. It would amaze me, the chase that is... and upon catching up to the object of my then interest... I found that I felt a sense of calm and contentment. Today I could watch a firetruck (that is the one's that are way bigger than I am and the one's that would certainly not fit in the confines of my now relatively bigger hands) explode and it would still not shock me silly. I'd get a grip on the situation , analyze it , come to various conclusions as to why the explosion might have taken place etc and in the end get bored of further probing and probably leave.Strange transition this growing up. How perfectly unexciting. Why I wonder doesn't a cotton candy not mesmerize me the way it used to... Why I wonder does the thought of climbing a jungle gym not thrill me anymore..why I wonder don't I see fish in my bathtub anymore when there was a time I was certain that I could see sharks. I wonder now why I spend some of my time hoping for love, when there was a time I felt it envelope me from all around. My cravings are still of the same intensity, but perhaps now I disappoint easily.Small talk back then was non-existent and utterly unnecessary because I didn't bother with people who didn't interest me or capture my imagination or entice me with a toffee, but today I find I need it in my arsenal to keep face. I mingle with faces I'd rather not see, what benefits from this I shall avail u ask? ..In reply I'd shrug my shoulders and say 'hey u got me!' . Truth be told I miss the good old days, I wish I wouldn't have to use the term 'the good old days'.. for it only proves that may be this time or era just simply doesn't measure up to the one that succumbed to change which is perhaps the only constant and the continuity that is life.Where I wonder did I drop my ability to be intrigued and why I wonder did I not bother to look for it.May be I've saturated, May be I've accepted certain truths, May be I've been let down too often, May be I grew up.

I've probably forgotten how to live...

or may be I just miss the excitement ..............

Bike rides with Mr. Jim Gorde

In the darkness i saw his eyes..
Fierce with rage...yet mellowed when they fell upon me...
He picked me up from the mud...rubbed off the rubble upon my being..
Get up he said...b strong..i'm here now...
It was like I was staring at a mirror..n saw something powerful..
Saw sum 1 towering..n yet saw a lot of me in him...
My fears seemed to drown..he had a powerful steed.
A machine....with handles made of silver that gleamed in the moonlight...
His passion engraved upon its chest..we tore down the road...
Upon his powerful steed as..it roared with fury...the heavens made way..
The walls crumbled.. we were ready to face anything...we were going to fight...
Standing side by side..as we crashed upon the gates of hell n broke it off its hinges...
Our greatest fears lay ahead ..
Yet they seemed afraid..afraid of us..
Afraid of the fight we were about to bring...afraid we might win..
I looked at him one last time b4 we tore into battle..and victory seemed inevitable...
We were across an army...standing outnumbered n yet we smiled...
We waited...we panted..
We breathed..they charged...
We drew out our swords...n screamed loud enough to humble the thunders...
And we charged..we knew we would win...
After all..we'd danced this dance so many times b4...

A tribute to two boys who found each other more than a decade ago... A story of two young men who are passionate, loyal , creative and strong... A journey of warriors who've fought and withstood many a battles together...The legend of two souls who were never afraid to fall in love with girls certain to break their hearts..A memory of friends who helped each other through wilted orchids and yellow fevers...A tale of Brother hood which began with a 'Once upon a time... and continues to fill the pages for stories yet untold'.

For Jim Gorde without whom Darkness would be obvious and picnic baskets meaningless .