Little Princ(ess)

She’s outgrown her ideas
Of whom she had to be
Maybe you’re torn between
The past and the present;
today and tomorrow

So let’s unwind not without wine
And hold unto our spine
like the winds of summer
Abrupt, a comeuppance
For hoping for the sun
So let’s begin the fun

Eyes,
Sealed off by local tapas
And familiar breweries
Taking stock of her pallid self,
On a Friday evening,
Caressing her thoughts to take
the weekend by the horn.

A Layer of Dew

a thing of bliss is always lovely
as and when it soothes out cuddly.

unto the layers gone afar
and the streams left to us -ajar

so every now and then
let’s hearken not nor pretend.

upon our awakes, are we wailing
with a desire to thrust out our ailing

but at times, grief is somehow brief
like a layer of dew, short-lived.