sand man is coming ,
sand man is sleek .
sand man is out to find people ,
sitting in downside creek .
Grinning Screaming Drifting wafting ,
groaning soaring fighting flaunting ,
yet fading in the sand ,
with the ashes they did wore .
sand man is coming ,
he quarter down a mile .
chanting the hymns in the air
howling a loud loud noise .
down the stream here they sit ,
confound ashes as the sand .
yet fading in ember of those ,
who waited for the sand man .
like bliss off the clench.
streams of the sand,
have flourished the long sad creek.
sand man has come to rescue for thou,
faded in cold night sleep .
with arms full of holy sand
their happiness did thrive,
inside there pale and weary skin ,
the sand man has arrived.
where art thou ,
asked the holy men.
thee can't touch nor see .
we waited long to hath the sand,
let us bow to you compeer.
bow the earth to look your feet ,
in stream of water and sand ,
your reflection above your feet is me ,
replied the old sand man !
the sand man is me
Oct 11, 2018
Oct 11, 2018 at 7:20 AM UTC
I took my chances over your smile .
i thought we are going to sink in ,
but we sank a few inches deep
within our own skins .
Feb 12, 2018
Feb 12, 2018 at 10:17 PM UTC
In the sweater of the winter ferns,
Cozy and sleek.
Warming all my inner self
How long did i sleep?
The skin is colder till the bones,
Dead are the Autumn seeds
The long awaited west wind froze,
Shallow abandoned creek.
On the carpet of this winter belt ,
How long did i sleep?
Of the smile of radiant maiden,
That once made my sunshine dance green,
The leaves that life out of the ground,
Till the life abandoned trees.
That summer of the heaven if dreamt ,
Sleeping in those dying ember,
how long did i dream?
- utk
Sep 14, 2017
Sep 14, 2017 at 1:45 PM UTC
who is more fortunate ,
One who was once found and yet lost ,
or the one, who was never found at all !
Sep 14, 2017
Sep 14, 2017 at 6:39 AM UTC
where wind sleek the beaches ,
though the rustling are due .
where the sand doesn't holds ,
any of the sinking hues .
where life flies amidst the rainfall ,
yet the sky is all dawned dew .
where the depth sinks within ,
there is this weary place of the little self ,
where very often i go all blue .
Mar 30, 2017
Mar 30, 2017 at 11:29 PM UTC
Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
And you, my father, there on that sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Jan 13, 2017
Jan 13, 2017 at 6:22 AM UTC
I sit and i stare ,
i glow those thousand flares ,
in the silence with aroma of piece ,
build up by the attar in ferns .
i flew and i fear ,
i cry as i share ,
with the awe of the shade and sky above .
on the edges of night ,
sitting in the verge of the fear ,
when sun is never definit
and the coal inside had smoked up the dark ,
burning it all with a silence in chords ,
like chimneys .
when eternal darkness has it's way to the thoughts ,
end up having those large breaths in fog ,
lasts too long never to fade away .
now i am that weak and that weary ,
that falls on the slurry ,
on and on for the thousand times ,
smile as i lose then start ,
laugh once in all ,
with the wierd clinging in veins ,
as i make free fall . ,
smile as if there'll be no more edges ahead .
Dec 28, 2016
Dec 28, 2016 at 11:35 PM UTC
stopped doing these dog chase ,
cause this running made me lame .
limping on the side walks ,
i am probably not the same haha.
Dec 28, 2016
Dec 28, 2016 at 4:33 AM UTC
though the ends we may go ,
reward is the journy after all ,
the meaning all along !
Dec 14, 2016
Dec 14, 2016 at 11:45 PM UTC
how beautiful is the idea ,
that we keep .
moreover it's just a seed ,
been planted a little deep ,
which is nourished all along,
to be vulnerable when someone peeks,
how hard is it then to let go of the same ,
things of beauty never last ,
the joy in the bliss of the word great ,
clenched wrist , hard we tried ,
yet they all fade ,
for the thinnest of it , which we belong,
our feet already shaped ,
like the sand on the coast ,
they are vast and ashore ,
when hands been stretched far too long ,
for the land offshore ,
things of beauty , hard to keep ,
while awe of it unfolds ,
the very ounce on the skin ,
moaning the same old chorus .
and for your feet there is few ,
whenever the shape seems small ,
or sand is due ,
i will be glad to offer mine ,
but i am someone off thy shore ,
selling sand ,
far and too forgotten to find.
Jul 9, 2016
Jul 9, 2016 at 11:45 AM UTC