All our lives are we cultivated—
Cultivated by birth,
Cultivated by parents,
Cultivated by friends, teachers
—Institutions such
Cultivated by self,
Cultivated by Earth—Irrigated by Love.
All so, to be purchased by Death—
A ripened Consumer.

A thud at my window!
An unseen moment was let go
For there I sat on a throne
Which bore an ephemeral glow.

—Though it soon had been heard:
Our mother's hand not in the least is arbitrary,
For she weaves such a gossamer web
That connects through all things contradictory—

And so I rose above my windowsill
And found, a soft bird perched hither,
So close to this ragged forest
Brave—I thought—she;

She waited for an eye, so it seemed,
To meet with her's—indefinitely
Though it took an eternity for me being there,
The next gaze she stole and flew away from me.

A meaning I saw with no boundaries
For an incoherent silence was answered upon—
The yearning of a wave to find a shore
Only then, to retreat back to the sea.

They say "let bygones be bygones."
But How could one let go of a clock
To which one referred to—time.
Though I believe in forgiveness
History as is—is a tree
For a point cannot be seen—
Without salts in the seas.

Civilized life is rigged, O land-dwellers!
With landmines hidden
in trails of Society's doctrine,
'Too often is it stepped on,
Too often does it explode.'
Blowing constitutions to smithereens,
Where you then rummage within your nucleus
to piece together your scattered jigsaw,
Misplacing your natural elements,
Overcasting your ability to side with beauteous aspects in simplicity—
Of those ethereal-resplendent butterflies.
Disillusioned on land thus is you (the complex you).

Let go—
Rise above your materialistic graves—
Walk on air!
My kindred wisps
Walk on air!

I see you at the beginning and at the end,
All the while thinking about you
in between.
Only now,
I can't perceive where I begin and end.

Time to come home—
Before you never know
What happened to anything.

When you stay long enough through what it is that's needed to be done
You'll heed a song which had been playing all along
On the periphery of your shore,
Whose vibrations are meant to make sense of your ears.
At this point, O fellow flesh-mate!
Listen intently
and follow the tempo—
And so shall you be hurled to the brink of land where stands a bridge bearing the label of love.
Go on,
Stroll upon it—
In the end, when all is unlearned
Love is learned.