He tempts me- Mara.
He tried and almost tempted the Enlightened one.
Mara, he calls himself, Mara that brings death.
But so sensually he does so
He tempts me
He says, almost in rhymes, rhythm that dances like death.
The wasteland around the tree of knowledge drops it fruit.
He tempts, and tempts again, in snake oil, perhaps snake skin.
He tempts me the same.
Mara the demon, he is, and he tempts me with flesh of beauty.
He tempts me with bearings of promises in bridal purse of his sisters.
He tempts out of love, he tempts me to lust.
He tempts me all the same.
Mara is he, the demon of temptation.
But temptation I've begun to love.
Tempt me more, Mara. For I've begun to lust for the World and all its giving.
Oct 29, 2014
Oct 29, 2014 at 1:04 AM UTC
The Dutch brought art, mud and dirt of the Kathmandu heartland,
With cigarette smoke clouding the air, and pizzas in the oven.
Not overcooked, no medium rare, slight rounded, man-made
The ambiance was now of Rembrandt and Van Gogh,
Yellow with the hint of light.
Perhaps coffee, perhaps tea.
And delight in a conversation of philosophy.
Maybe you'll pay, maybe me.
The open doors swallow in the air of the monsoon,
with the enigma of ever binding books who stuck to the wall
Like wall flowers, some folded papers like petals of an unbloomed bud.
They all had smells better inhaled with tobacco smoke.
The music played, and people dance within the security of their thoughts,
The shelter for their thoughts, the flaws of their speech.
Memories,pure and bright radiated from the lamps above the bar,
Lights which come to us only in fallen stars, but wishful thinking
is dangerous.
Hence forget it like Dutch forgot the wars.
Memories are made here, where the humidity is heavy from the perfume of heavy smiles, or folded chins and forheads from a chess game.
Not hidden, no worries, around the corner.
But yet again man made.
Sep 7, 2014
Sep 7, 2014 at 8:32 AM UTC
The preacher said, "Bow down before the will of Him who has made you, he knows all, he is everywhere. He is always, he is after and before."
The prophet said, "He will redeem you."
The alchemist said "By His will all your ailments be gone."
The poet asked "Where is HE?"
The man asked "Where was he when such befallen me?"
The woman asked " Why is my virginity for the giving of men i dont know?"
The philosopher said "I'll argue."
The doctor said, "Why couldnt i save?"
The survivor asked, "Why me?"
The dead were silent.
And the air whispered in their air, "Even He doesnt know"
Reason cried "He is not!"
But faith sobbed "Dont let me go."
And life simply scoffed "Do whatever."
Sep 6, 2014
Sep 6, 2014 at 9:23 AM UTC
I live i die, im all too human
very human, so human ive lost track
of what time it is
The duration of events between my life and death
is it time? is it life? I'm living and clock's ticking
all the same, so humanly same
time has value, like its money
time is valuable, some formulae told me
time is money, and we run according to it
so human, so humanly insane.
May 25, 2014
May 25, 2014 at 3:18 AM UTC
If we are completely limited to the
mind, the body and are questioning whether
we have a soul than we cannot quietly tell the others
how we are, by what we are
But we can commune silently,
where everything vile is out
of the darkness within, or the vacant feelings
we feel. How are we, by what we be
Some exist while some just endure
very less live in the present,
and mos people rift in waves, drown
in the past or make dams for the future
for "Me, My and Mine"
How we are by where we live in the time frame
How I am, how are you?
If i am being me than so are you.
Are you me? Or me that you are is you
Our name's declined us of our commune. Otherwise,
How we are, is by how we become
Mar 18, 2014
Mar 18, 2014 at 2:36 AM UTC
You cannot tell a word to its meaning
until it is felt in to the brain,
and turned into sound.
Only to make it more worse we
say things we should hear,
instead. Like "thank you"s
and "sorry"s
The oceans are, if not, the wails
in words of the earth alone.
Perhaps explosions of asteroids in far space
are just wails of the universe.
Wails, sobs and cries
Are words only to describe
But the question stands
and might be unanswered
are words hollow or
are they weighted?
Jan 28, 2014
Jan 28, 2014 at 3:59 AM UTC
She gave me gloves.
Sapphire lets call her
I loved how she would
roll her eyes close
whenever i swore louder
or when i-
being in the mood
of being an arrogant snob
Told me to be, mean
and so vicious
But Lady Sapphire is kind as the
depth of the ocean and nice
as the sugar and spice
of a confused fangirl,
Who i believe
is precious as the rock
i name her from
Jan 11, 2014
Jan 11, 2014 at 10:59 AM UTC
Dorsovertical is what my head is in,
contradicted to each other like
the ocean between us
But you cheer me up
being the beautiful soul
you are.
I dont see how the the
rainstorms in the New World are,
but i sure know if its
your eyes that see it, then
its all beautiful
We went walking in the rain, the sun
grass, mud and gravel rocks and sometimes
pavements
But in that fog of the morning here
and that of the mid day there
We're lost to be found everyday
im glad we still talk
I know you dont like to be written about
by me, at least
please know though that i need
you to stay, so slowly the
melancholy of the day disappears
I need you to stay, in my words
Jan 9, 2014
Jan 9, 2014 at 12:33 AM UTC
Can you not? Why do you ask
me how my day was
when days are short this
season, and you dont know
how my answers swings around
your head and winds me up in
your dreams
And you would tell me
about yours, but Simrik
i can swear to you I want
to be a part of your
Camu jacket,
in the cluster of your
combat pattern so it could be
never washed away from it
except from your tears
Can you not ask
me why? Because
the swinging of answers will
roam around and keep you again
in four walls of solitude
Jan 8, 2014
Jan 8, 2014 at 12:04 AM UTC
I can bleed a poem,
from the compass blades i cut
through my skins for
for directions unknown
For the life lived in
an inertia is better
than to feel and react.
The hysteria of the mind
is too violent to me
and all on my part
i can do is bleed in words
Because if nature abhors a vacuum,
like science says
in between that space
must be letters and sentences that rhyme
there might have been poetry sublime
And we can scribble them down on the
paper
Or we simply can bleed
Dec 17, 2013
Dec 17, 2013 at 9:04 AM UTC