A day by the sea: A poem

The water rushing between my feet
The sea sings for echoes to leap
I watch the sun go back to its sleep
And awaiting the moon we breathe

The night blooms up from the deep
The turmoil of the day, it gently sweeps
The voice of the waves, slowly speaks
Dreams of bliss and tear-shed weeks

-Jan @jahnavigouri

Life’s play: A poem

The path I wanted is now broken by half
When people hear my dreams they only laugh
I wish to come first but I became the last
I am wounded and broken, escaping fast

What would I do, I am alone in the dark
I am trapped in a cage, and approach the sharks
I revise and revise, walking down the park
Just to forget everything in a lightning flash

New days unravel fresh new tasks
I have no friends, I run with the rats
Working so hard to be called not smart
Falling to the moon and crushed to the ash

Life is hard but a sweet little thing
I grap on its hand with all my might
I would have to go on, even with no gifts
So let’s run around and fly in its wings

-Jan @jahnavigouri

Scream and a cry: A poem

When the fire ablaze dies down
And the water comes rushing to town
There is ashes left, black and brown
Calm and open, waiting for the cloud

It is a no-man’s oath I now preach
Heading to somewhere dark and steep
I would fall down to the hollow deep
Waiting for prisoners, years to keep

I am going back to the devil’s land
Where I won’t find a good kind hand
People are selfish and half dead they stand
Upon the house that lives demand

I am going back to the oblong ground
Where goodness has died, evil surround
I am in a ride in a merry-go-round
I won’t get off as the screams get loud

Ties of horror, many are the crimes
Torn lives in darkness, disappear the time
Black coats and living souls reach the sky
Everything I hear is a scream and a cry

-Jan @jahnavigouri

Rug by the door: A poem

It feels nothing special to be a rug by the door
To have people step on you as they come then go
Come water or rain you leave me right outside
I will take your greatest messes all and every time

It is nice to always stay down in the floor
I get to watch the world in all, but gold
I would pretend I am deaf every time you lie
And keep my dark eyes always towards the sky

I always hear your whispers when they’re gone
How you really wished they were away in bones
I now do think I am lucky to be a rug by the door
Than be a human who change at every door

-Jan @jahnavigouri

The knight of the sea : A poem

Love in the sky I waited for 
Sadness in the sea I seek
Watching my anger take its toll
I walked away from anger’s peak

Tantrum followed me everywhere
Life came to me for thee
Present is what I am waiting for
I am the knight of life’s sea

I escaped from the land of goals
Feelings from heart I preach
Latching my life of locks
Happiness I would someday teach

Love to the moon and stars
The universe embraced me
The nights of nothing but calm
I am someone to be seen

The knight of the sea I am still
My armour became the sea
One day to the sea I would go
And would only return to thee

– Jan @jahnavigouri

The Strange Tea Shop

There was once a tea shop at 18 Zavian Street, which sold memories. The memories were held together in white crystal bottles and written over them with black ink was the year they were from. There were memories from as back as 100 BCEs and memories as new as from yesterday. The tea shop was manned by a huge old man named Albert Dunning.

Little was known about Albert Dunning to the people of 18 Zavian Street. Nobody knew where he came from and when he started the shop. As long as anyone living in the street can remember, the tea shop was always there, waiting for new customers in the morning with its opened red doors and at night closed with a huge sign that read ‘Closed‘ hanging over its door. People came to the tea shop from all far away places to get their hands on new memories.

Albert Dunning made the memory tea himself for everyone. First he would make the tea which is the simplest part of the process; and then he would take a crystal bottle from one of his tall shelves. Nobody can decide which memory he will pour out on their tea. Some people had enjoyed one of their best memories in his shop, but some were disappointed by the memories he put in, but they still came back to his shop hoping he would give them a good memory one day.

One fine day, say the 29th of September the residents of 18 Zavian Street went to the corner of the street as always in the morning to enjoy a warm cup of memory tea. But the people are said to have stood before the tea shop (what used to be the tea shop) in shock. They were bewildered as they realized the tea shop was no longer there and it was as if it had disappeared into the air.

Nobody saw Albert Dunning after that, but stories about him and his strange tea shop are still passed between the people and the occasional travelers who came to the street, who always wonder how someone can sell memories. How the tea shop came about and it’s sudden disappearance is still a mystery for people of 18 Zavian Street to ponder over.

– Jan @jahnavigouri

Sorrow: A poem

Go down with the ashes
But the embers, they did spark
Pleading down to clashes
Wishes said bye and passed

Clouds get dark and darker
I see myself in a flash
Sorrow is never sweeter
With icing pink and black

Trapped in all this sharpness
I step on and then I fall
Down to somewhere safer
Everything blurred to small

Past is always my enemy
Future a friend, so far
Never had something like misery
Etched in ice and sand

– Jan @jahnavigouri

Forever flowers: A poem

Bad things done is never mend
Over time or centuries went
House of greed and anger send
Postcards made from tears and dread

Disappear upon bad little times
And come back when all is fine
I may only be a passer by
Who walk upon with a hidden sigh

Cannot lie or cannot disobey
Your rules made under a secret hide
I am down but I shall fly
Then you can watch with eyes all wide

I may not be the one to blame
When the rain comes, all is same
Whether me or the others in play
Break down all your dreadful game

Forever flowers will never lie
Can’t wither away with dreamy times
Upon the winds and by the hives
They shall stay and never they die

– Jan @jahnavigouri

Nothing: A poem

Nothing this frail lips can utter
Nothing is which I have to see
Nothing is in the forgotten clutters
It is nothingness that I breath

Nothing is that which flutters
Like feathers in the autumn breeze
Nothing is the broken shutters
That looms in the window unseen

Nothing this hands can now hold
Nothing is what the sky may feel
Nothingness covers me like gold
Nothing is my heart in a crystal seal

Nothing is a year that had left
And the future all unforseen
Nothingness now feels like theft
When universe burns in the deep

– Jan @jahnavigouri

Ephemeral : A poem

I could only sit and watch
The night as it slowly pass
Moon blinked away so fast
Am I caged or free at last?

I could never utter truth
Wishes buried under roots
Trees are branched up to roofs
Few are weak, never sure their foot

Proud or crying out in pain
I watch as everything fade
Stars and moon all away
Tears dripped and appear a way

Way to nowhere, sure it was
Wondering whether to lose or grasp
Threads are fragile and lies are plans
Moon disappear, slowly the stars

-Jan @jahnavigouri