Fly away little birdie
Fly away little birdie and fly you must;
fly away from all this stinking pile of shit
You have to escape this all right now;
before you take an ill-fated and fatal hit
Feelings are needles, sharp and poisonous;
emotions squirm like snakes in a dark pit
Crawl out of the trench you dug yourself;
before your will surrenders and throat is slit
Too Many Sometimes
Sometimes love doesn’t need words;
you can smell it in a shy fragrant smile
But then, you see what you want to see;
from up close, even when away by a mile
Sometimes there is and was no love at all;
you just chose to assume love in a guile
The Graveyard of Dead Dreams – A Mini Opera
Legend tells us that away from the hustle and bustle of life and beyond the light of the setting sun, there is a forest – the emerald forest of imagination. Deep within this forest is the silver pool of glimmering desires. Surrounding the pool, are the grey boulders of regret and on one of those boulders, sat an old man dressed in a tattered black robe. He held his head within his palms and was pulling on his grey hair in anguish.
‘Oh! I had a dream and that dream just died;
Oh! My poor dream has breathed her very last
‘But where has my poor dream vanished away?
You must know, you’re my Present and my Past’
Massacre of the Unhappy
Go and kill them, kill them slowly or kill them fast;
kill them with your abject disinterest and disregard
Kill them for they forgive you their very own murder;
kill them for their hearts are now too badly scarred
The Impossibility of Fading Away
Sometimes I wish I could just fade away;
leaving behind no memory, not even a trace
Sometimes I wish I could remove myself;
from this stupid illusion of life and space
Fate of the Unhappy
The unhappy are forever to remain alone;
for that is the decreed nature of their fate
Happiness, an elusive dream they pursue;
and when they fail, it’s always a wraith
The Eternal Hitchhiker
People call him the eternal hitchhiker,
he hitches rides onto shooting stars
Hoping to reach some peaceful planet,
away from all the chaos, the raging wars
But each time he hitches a ride,
he pays a certain heavy price
He pays it with a piece of his heart;
each time sadly, an odd roll of dice
Green Tara and the Man Who was Lost – A Short Opera
The man was tired of walking for long in the cold desert. The sand was almost silver and stung his feet with the chill from last night. An equally tired grey sun failed to warm the sand grains. And then when he had almost lost hope, Green Tara suddenly appeared out of thin air.