His sadness is flowering into something so beautiful, Those who utter its name will burst into an ecstasy of butterflies, His emptiness is ripening into a fruit that is so full, Those who touch it will arrive beyond the gate of their third eyes.
His tears are addling into a nectar that is so sweet, The bees dare not collect something so pristine and pure, His longing is so incandescent with a white heat, It is meant only for the souls of those who can endure.
His dreaming is frothing into a reality so magical, Those who read it will be recollected into the realms of a fairytale, His whispers are knitting themselves into such a spell, Those who know it will speak of the secrets of a holy grail.
His silences are moulting into a poem so plain, that no one would ever stop to pay heed or reconsider, and not even its recollections would remain, but one day they would again come upon the flower….
Always wide eyed with wonder, prone to reveries and restless with an inexplicable yearning to create ever since he was a little boy, Jay wrote his first poem when he was six. He discovered the ore of his creative endeavors in the writings of his sister from which everything else originated, in attics filled with vanilla smelling old books, in savoring the classics and in intricate poems of Wordsworth and William Blake inlaid with rhyme…. His poems have snuck under editorial radars and appeared in global anthologies, magazines, newspapers and online journals. He also runs an idea shop called the Centre of Gravity, draws cartoons, directs animated short films and conceptualizes communication campaigns. All of which originate from the same artery of poetic longing that destiny charmed into his soul.
I open my eyes trying to pull- in his sweetness closer. And as his laughter darts away- I wake up to reality’s punchline. Time may have set us apart- but here I am lost and clueless. As he speaks words