The midnight sail

Crack, a little sound from the mast

Responding to the touch of the monsoon

On her old wooden structure

A tender embrace he gives

Stretching wide the black canvas

Whispering tales of the brave

The once beautiful and strong

But now lay wrecked at sea bottom

Harboring souls of the dead

Captain Black and his crew

An old map of the sea

To the lost moving island

Resting the rulers of the sea

The great kings of pirates

 

Whoosh, gentle waves drifting

Rocking us rhythmically

A musical sensation it feels

Like a fine tune of a classical

Conducted live in the open sea

Trumpets, trombones and tubas

Violins, violas and harps

A symphonic sound for the travelling souls

And as the sea guardians work

Attending to Captain White in his cabin

I stand on the deck

Relishing the cold breeze

Watching the moon shift

On a midnight sail

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Blessed and yet cursed! (Heads or Tails)

An elderly man with a medium height

Wearing a short stubble with a little grey

Rubbing it every minute or two

A clear sign of deep thought

A classic conduct of the old

Listening carefully to a young soul

Shuttering glasses as he speaks

Pieces flying in the air

Bleeding hearts and skin

A weary face for a weeping spirit

Deep in anguish for the plunge in moral

In this era of the smart and young

Blind to their mistakes and hate correction

Leaving him in worry, what future there was?

 

He stood arms crossed

Just a few feet from where I was

Facing the highway to see the passing cars

Clearly unhappy about what he was hearing

Like it was a mundane tale of the wolf of the Wall Street

A lone nobody playing his way up onto the boards

In tune with the wheel of luck

That every step is a fairy cloud

Raising him closer to the stars

Which regrettably he doesn’t touch

But falls so deep that he hurts

Breaking every bone in him

And lo, he lives

Leaving him in wonder, what was fortune?

 

He looked straight into my eyes

With a piercing gaze so deep

Like he was watching a motion picture

A classic act by Alfred Allen

In the Ghost city of 1923

Aghast by the amorphous creature

Breathing fire and smoke

And yet spitting blood as it spoke

The deadly phobias of his past

All wrapping in close around him

Realizing so little he had accomplished

Cause he was a one winged bird

Unable to fly to the stars

Leaving him in regret, what was life?

 

A few grey hair to show

For all the years lived

Cast into the shadows of the alleys

Waiting on the hands of the kind

To stretch out to where you lay

To remind you of what light felt like

Just before you fade away into oblivion

As you’re slowly devoured by your decisions

The unwise prejudice by all

To brand lousy on your face

Cause of some wrong steps

Many or few, it doesn’t matter

Ignoring the play of heads and tails

With the forever changing events of future

 

Blessed and yet cursed!

To live long and yet poor

Wise and yet weak

 

Blessed and yet cursed!

To be young and yet so foolish

Rich and still so foolish

 

Blessed and yet cursed!

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