Auto pilot

Let there be soundlessness
Let there be silence of the pin drop kind
Let there be spaces filled with vacuum
Let there be a single white cloud hanging without rain on the horizon.

Conversations stuck in people's throat
Concentration on mindless games & chores
Covering every bit of time people have
Not even a gap, a slit, a crack
There's a lot on the autopilot's plate.

Li'l red package

13 Aug '13

Chugging journey
Leaves behind smoke in a trail of small grey clouds
All aboard but my li'l red package left behind.

Oh my package
My li'l red.
Ur loss is wreckage
Oh lament.
My li'l's now dead
To me.

I can't see the green fields.
Oh!
I can't see the windmill.
Oh ho!
I can't see the birds on wire in a row.

My li'l's lost forever
To me.

It was packed in polka yellow
And smelled like a garden of roses.
White ribbons bow tied
Fell in twirled bunches.
So many li'l hearts
Pasted all over my li'l red.

Oh, my Red!
I miss you so
It wells me up.

These tracks go on for miles and more
These tracks go on for miles and more

I'll find another heart
Bind it with wind
Lace it with golden daffodils
Spray with sunset red.

Another red. Another day. Another life.
Look outside the window.
Sent on my BlackBerry® from Vodafone

www.shreejawrites.blogspot.com