Red, as the deepest rose in a bloom of spring
like the blood that runs through my being
like the light inside the tower for men at sea
your touch creates a safe haven for me
Dust, clouded and floating through the air
like a part of the Earth that didn't bother to care
like the way a fire sparkles through a dead night
you are just the correct type of write
Fragmented and broken in a universe of chaotic distrust
like a brand new bike with a slight bit of rust
like joy that only comes when you're in my hand
no need for an audience, you are my biggest fan
A song to be belted from the top of a mountain high
like the coarse, bristly hairs my fingers slip by
like the tissues that have wiped so many tears
you are the only one who will ever understand my wants and fears
And love, the sweetest, most innocent, and pure kind
like the first opening of a newborn's eyes
like the moment you realize your purpose in life
you are the only one I feel I will ever do write by
So here's to you, my dearest friend- my pen,
you are why I am who I am.
most love life
most fear death
but why fear one thing
when the other is what
I am content being in my closet-bed, safe and alone. I am ok with my window open and the night air. I can switch the switch of pursuit, fondness and a candid smile. I have my own sphere of existence and I am happy to have it. I cannot always start running on a new chapter of my life but I am fully able to continue to ream in the past with new vigor and statistical desperation. I am one of a few million-million and it is still unclear what creates the legend of capital uniqueness. I love my father and mother and always my sister. I want better for everyone and myself. I want to love on them all that I can. Marriage no, children no, family is what I have as conflicting and contradicting as it may be. Thing fall apart. I love the ugly moments of my ceiling.
I am not a new story waiting to happen. I am not a ravid political face or frenzy. I am not a desperate grunt who got his just-comings. I am not the type to be escorted in any way by the crumpled void of fallacius fame and humble-beginning-fortune. I am the desperate coat bearer of the northeast bronx. I have the mind of a child. I have the graces of rat. I have the public anticipation of a broken man apart from his chariot-era. When sitting I grow anxious and hungry and mis-mannered and poor and terrified. I throw away any hour to the madness of deep seething and wallowed whispers of loathing per-the manuscript writings of two years ago. I cannot help myself like others can. I cannot say what haunts me the way they can. It's the deaf ears and I have some too. I was born this way and I who I am. They are permissible and I am another anachronism. I am tempted to start over somewhere completely unknown and away. I just want to break free from the cycle my age and be with my age. I want to chase my girl around the city and stop at another house and have another long conversation about the same daily occurrence of you evenings. Then move on when you have moved on and see straight into another tomorrow like I was unable to until now. To write myself out of another horrific night, alone. Defeated by my own revelations of my own determined normalcy and struggle for authentic dialog. Near the line of conviction that I should never say another word because the shy me now will be appalled by the shy me years later. That I will surely be an embarrassment in my own if I ever stepped on a stage. That I have nothing, and will never have anything, worthy or useful to the world around me. That I am completely doomed to die forgotten and unoriginal.
It’s the gold that is fused through the years a different fort Knox it is powerful it is all consuming and
Refreshing its buying the best earth has to offer with never entertaining the idea of selling it is secure
The stronghold of lovers the pen marks and distills adoration captures the enthralling
Qualities showing one to be a true prince and a true princess it is spellbinding creates the flow
That alone allows two separate beings to intermingle fused as one leaving a testament more
Enduring than marble can anyone match or make such facts that endure through the mapping
Of one’s person the details of their humanity revealed in the most loving description never to
See hair so gorgeous lips so luscious eyes that you only want to linger in their gaze for ever
Arms hands and fingers for the bliss of touch that melts your whole being the surrender that
Defines cozy to the ultimate excess what wonder is experienced by couples who through
Committed love have found the fragrance of the rose it is the rarified air they alone breathe
From these dizzying heights they draw themselves back to earths plane when they pick up the
Pen and with honesty born from delirium they write with utmost tenderness I love you a gush
Of wind is set in motion pleasure captured as it describes rapture of being held in your arms
When you speak it is nature breathing you hear coursing water the tree branches are swaying
You have entered a gulf that is fixed there you both are suspended the drifting clouds soften
Your brow is smooth the painter would and follows such sites to create masterpieces and this
Is Common among you all things are in harmony truly the cooing of the dove forlorn exquisite
Brooding enlarges your hearts you drift among the sacred forever without effort the enhancing
Advancing years what abiding how far can wonder be stretched it is between these two pillars
That lovers know the pen and the rose wakefulness is for living the dream sleeping is for
Magical conferment boundless endless twist and turns of greatest delight thanks for your love
My dear what joy and happiness you have made in my life how fortunate all of us are that are
Loved and love and His love for us will never end in this we are in a mighty fortress first we have
Each other then it is all enriched and made alive by pure love from above
From those celestial dawn to dusk;
And from that mid-night till mid-day;
She worked hard; not only for
her daily bread, but also for others too,
who lived in and around her small hut;
situated near the meadow hills.
From those beautiful dusk to dawn
and from that mid-day till mid-night;
She baked her bread for others too;
Her daily kindness; good deeds,
counted a lot in my life;
And all that occurred in my life
is the result of her deeds.
Her every action creates a new thought,
with in me and my life.
I was emotional; passionate to her;
In the long run,this is in turn
created an affection; liking
between us within her and me;
sweet talks; bitter love in her mind.
This leaves a subtle imprint on me;
It has the potential to ripen
my future happiness or for future sufferings,
depending on whether her actions
were positives or negatives.
She opened a gorgeous shelter,
for me to sleep and to dream at night;
It has neither any doors nor walls;
At dawn, she led me out towards the hill
Nature has no windows, no any exits at all;
like her; She has neither any doors to her heart;
nor any windows to her spicy body;
She was the loveliest among others;
And She knew how to pay back the love;
Unveiling the secrets of me and to win
over the dirt within me ; but there was
no room in her womb to conceive;
to carry a baby of mine;
But still, I nurture her; love her !
Trying so hard to go unseen,
like the chilling wind
which fills the air,
but still creates goosebumps up my spine.
Coming and going
like the soft ocean waves,
always leaving a trail
of sweet destruction behind.
Leading me in the right direction,
like the mysterious
but prominent footprints
in the sand.
Parts of you I take with me
everywhere I go,
like the soggy sand left in my shoes,
and the coconut lotion scent
on my pale skin.
Golden and green, then brown and falls apart.
Is Death really so bad?
It creates for such beauty.
It Spins the Wheel.
A skull with horns.
To some, unfathomable...
to see, a sense of aesthetic so profound as it sits there on the mantle before a snow filled fireplace.
I crumble the leaf...
...steals away my pride.
I remember one day I will crumble,
It is not such a horrible thing.
For, I am excited to see what lies beyond the Blackened Gates of the Earth.
And when my candle snuffs out in 120 or more years from now, it will be with an angel-light, glowing white, in my heart.
Without Death, there would be no Creation...no Birth.
Think about it.
Meditate upon it.
Like an Aghori, who sits upon a human grave, holds a human skull, and dusts himself in cremated remains...
Bathe in the metaphoric blood of ancestral light.
Roll in the soil.
Taste the bliss of release.
For then, and only then...
can you walk through the Valley of Life...
Loneliness is the most painful feeling in its paradox between rage and misery and the consciousness it creates; one that forces you to look inside your heart with hope there is something there, but you find only a muddled stinging
Green hills covered
In a cloak of sparkling dewdrops
Like jewels cast among the green
Glittering in the warm sunshine
As smooth as pearls from the ocean
Hidden under the sea-covered ground
Full of dancing flowers
Kissed by the sunlight
And enchanted by the Moon
For making iced tea
That cools us off in summertime
And green mint
Fresh from the garden
To make mint iced tea
Green grass and catnap
Is a kitty's treat
Along with green herbs
From the garden
On the tree
Are like a fan
Cooling me off
When the wind blows
Are a bird's delight
Where they can build their nest
Green stems on the flowers sweet
And green bramble
Planted here and there
Dancing by the creek
Paints a poetic picture
Hunter green moss
Fills the Forest with beauty
Green palm trees
Stand proudly on
The tropical islands
Climbs a walls
And creates a winter scene
Covered in green grass
I just love this
The perfect moment in time
The perfect rain.
Trickles out of clouds
Creates the tune
On the brick
Fence drops drips that try to hang on.
The perfect smell
Of water in the air.
My corner of the world