The Soiled Keyboard

​At the fork, I am all in  for the impending fight. Destiny, eh?

A tomb that offers

posterity to my right.

A restless struggle that gifts

immortality on my left.

​I squat down,

feel the rubble, 

knead till I soil my fingers,

and then type out my will.

At the end of it, alas,

I stare at a blank screen,

and a soiled keyboard,

tainted brick red.

At last, my destiny...

The smudges on my 

favoured letters, and words strung,

act as its coloured reminder.

— Leslie

(I type words not to fill blank pages, but to redden the pattern of smudges on my laptop keys)

The Good Ol' Trail

Well, the dust settles
over the li'l trail
from home to manhood.
I look back,
the dreams smile at me.
The man beams,
the child cries,
yet again, and again... 

For I write with my
feelings;
love with my
soul;
and fight with my
heart!

pic: wikipedia.org

The Eyes

There isn’t a story

left to write...

But for those eyes,

and the lores

hiding behind those lashes.

Scores and scores of scrolls

unfurl as I loosen

your knot;

you let my trepid

lips doodle on your fret;

and notes rise high,

towards the creator’s bow.

I find my story there,

there in your eyes.