why is there only one friday in every week...

really is not enough.

so tired and exasperated,

i really do not want to go to school tomorrow.

am i still a child.

non poetic or creative.

bla feelings of a thursday night.

uncharted territory

With your eyes glazed over,

you're a million miles away.

I look at you and wonder,

worry at where you are.

With no sure ways or signs to tell,

I have no choice but to be patient.

If you want me to know you'll tell...

I've never been one to invade private space.

I remind you gently that I'm here if you want,

and not to spend too much time in your head.

You reassure me that we're ok with a kiss and a comforting wing...

enough for me right now.

The light goes off and you slightly let the guard down;

offering just a few words.

I can't help and evidently have no idea what to say.

So I simply offer the same reassurance that you gave me.

Uncharted land.

New territory for both.

Slow and together... we'll figure it out.

a sunday afternoon

the room is dark and damp, lit only by tiny fairy lights and a bar sign saying 'blues'.

we walk in, unsure of what we have stumbled across.

seemingly quiet and unpopular, we take a drink and sit at the lonely bar.

warm up takes a while and the antiquated compare appears to know something about the old joint.

time passes slowly, and the bar beings to fill.

an extensive list of locals and new comers starts compiling and before you know it,

we can't move to get a drink.

the 'jam time' starts and feet start tapping,

hands keep the beat and mouths are filling in the gaps.

this room full of 'musos' and mates soon to be have something in common.

addicted to the feel of the instrument... of the crowds applause,

of the passion that unites cultures and people of all ages

the blues bar on a sunday jam session...

a unique feeling and nothing quite like it.

hooked

with droopy eyes and a lopsided smile, he returns to his loyal friend.

it's been hours of entertainment - yet he remains as engaged as ever.

his hands move swiftly,

eyes darting back and fourth... ignoring his name called by anyone.

breaking only for emergencies, he is hooked in the cyber world he has created.

despite the requests of school work and lessons,

friends and a social life...

he has no interest in a regular routine.

day in day out,

he feels compelled to participate in the game of cyber life...

always trying to outdo his previous score.

the droopy eyes start to close and the smile now sinister...

obsessed with world inside his own.

a tiny box with corners

At times I feel confined, trapped in a small box.

With a title and a place, a name and a responsibility...

my path and routine seems preordained.

Sure, there are the moments of sporadic diversions;

where I mix it up a bit.

But the immanent return to normality is always around the corner.

Returning to London now after a random countryside excursion,

the foreboding sense of dread creeps in again.

The obligation to work and return to 'housely' duties...

cleaning, cooking and washing etc

It clouds and angers the calmness I just had.

As empty fields are replace by congested roads,

quaint cottages by housing estates and fresh air by cluttered smog,

I feel claustrophobic again.

I want to be freed from the restraints.

Driving in any direction.... determined only by the look or by an obscure sign.

Tied down by no time restraints; rather just the want to move on.

Roaming and exploring a place of nil or much significance... simply because I can.

The freedom of simply being away form the obligation -

the certainty of my daily routine.

I crave for the right to slow down... to stop and enjoy.

To be at peace with my own pace and skin.