A storyteller within its conscious cages reads its books so loud and clear while shredding silence between their pages.

'Fishes' vocal cords climb summits on the water,
In One cut's enough a slaughter!'
~

'a silent bystander's watching,
while sees nor its silence,
nor its mark,
Awaken's  dreaming,
observation witnessing  asleep.'

'supreme manners turning into  feasts,
'I', devouring's  love,
'I', colour-blind Art's peace,
articulating lecture's reality,
bragging its release.'

For 'the' pathless carousels,
eternal availability of tickets,
...no rush...
Divine delivery is free.

'behold beloved...
divine verticality,
no edges in the curve.'

'Sunshiny nighttime,
a little naked frog
caught a fly,
beyond the honey.'
~

'...Holds nothing...
In love with Its peace!'
~

A conscious 'market' has opened,
Is wealthy enough for 'you' to purchase a Brain,
When no Truth Is a price for A heart to beat healthy,
It gives Itself 'the' free will within A thought of reclaim.

'they relaxed united,  
respectively glancing at each other's masks.'

'how much do 'you' think it might cost you 'the' truth,
for your heart to beat healthy?
how much Self,
you were willing to sell for 'its' safety.'

'It blows! And yet, here comes another 'new day' as broken 'million' pieces for the wind to take! 'I' loves its human condition,
where freedom has turned into a blissful marching parade.'
~

'Did it penetrate the now of its how?
A little worm
Oh, dear!
Is feasting on sounds of the found,
in deaf bird's ear.'

...time flies...
Good news, you are the pilot!
Better news, time is a formed concept.
Epic news, within Pure Consciousness,
The pilot's character melts,
In Its formless eternal...flying!

'The lost flavours in Its speech
are now merely sweets of silence.'
~

Living platform, the heart's suitable lover and the mind's holographic design! No one as 'I'...will ever discover the trails in this absolute line of life's random cartoon.  
~

'pass it on,
where is none and yet,
glimpses of lettered recollections,
registered 'I' thought,
-forgot.'

'It knows no journey from death to birth.
In the face of its wide open wooden case,
eyes are wide open shut.'
~

'shiny pixels decorating its head,
yet within has no need left to be fed.'

'... life is in death, Mother!
with each heartbeat as a vivid reminder,
its rank crosses the line of departure as One,
only one... 'day at that time.'
~

'Its vocal cords are void's idioms of life's undone throbbing.'
~

'...a newborn doesn't know that is loved,
in not knowing,
already it is.'
~

'disremembered recordings,
footings undeveloped,
dissolved its gravitational splash,
into a void enveloped.'

'Who remembers your first breath!
Your first step!
All recollections of a 'child's birth are within Its void!
To Be
or
Not To Be...
Am 'I',
Being dead in its poetic theme.'

'Under a rock barried Its secret,
A secret  unknown to 'the' world, Where clouds are  dancing sounds of its cricket, Through the silent melody of Its infinite sky.'
~

...as It wiggles within,
dare see Its ignorance,
sealed wide,
'I' is tearing fabrics' chimaera.
~

'I' is giggling!
An innocent, empty perimeter,
There is no life nor death as It remembers...
It forgets its creation.
~

'It swallowed then spat.
Sweating, countless 'dead bodies' are surfing waves in Its bathtub!'
~

'it might forge it for a while,
like each origin does its wicked child,
consume its speech and smile,
but it begins drooling out,
like saliva through a cloud,
yet for this One...
'how many' selves were drowned...
in Golden streams of splendid recreation,
until this One...
liquidising sanity,
coughing its medicinal observation,
now Happy knows,
has lost its cups of wisdom somehow.'

'Understanding,
within spite of ecstasy and anguish,
won its Own contest amid transactions,
now feasting on immutable delight.'

Its fire's placid, as 'I' performs the roles of a guard, inside vivid designs, 'am' drowned in Its 'natural' acid.
~

'Within ignorance
Samsara comes,
Samsara goes!
Growing tall on the tip of its tongue,
how irrelevant as slowly diminished.'
~

'the  absolute privilege of heartfelt ecstasy,
I ~
Truth,
twisted inside 'million' perceptions,
within reality won't budge.'

'breaking morning,
shining sunrise,
beautiful as dawn is,
bathing eclipse,
is light regardless,
sees the godless soul,
sold in this newborn doves gold,
alone the shimmer,
depthless oceans battle,
disposing of bleeding tools,
as nothing, is what appears,
within shadows and holograms,
pause, seeking for a heartbeat,
a wave finds it,
transmitted into memoirs,
for love as a prayer,
love of its silent supreme.'

'the author has retired,
yet its characters forever seeping tea,
are celebrated in One chapter as attired.'

'vocal cords,
a vibration's void,
delicate,
it purchased strings,
for its immutable expression,
then sold it to the wind.'

'the truth is that I,
objects within none and yet,
reaches indoors to all there is,
Humanity...
heartfelt redemption is unsettling 'performances' for 'many',
liberation for 'some' it seems,
while 'few' are awake in the sleep of 'their' deeds.'

'it crept under the bed,
transparent as it could,
out of subject to be,
was found.'

'It pretends to be here,
Imminent Ego's trick!'
~

'platforms of appearances accumulate records,
courageous sharing is at a place,
for para shows of a step towards an edge,
solutionized, unsolvable,
no need of a parachute to jump,
flies before its leap.'

'through infinite portals is exposed,
within nothing to discover,
the most intelligent show,
is running undercover.'

'tracking stream,
querying lords,
its rounds are near,
eager to play with the sounds,
it swims off shore's meditation,
inside puppet's ocean,
best illustration.'

'for it to Be,
demands Are its role,
without such is becoming fool's mystery in which,
Truth nurtures nothing for its innocence.'

'...round and round...
within its hallucinated exploration owns no ground!'

'from its refacing circle,
an opaque decoration grew,
the topography of rugs are servents,
without a pattern's self to be.'

'It listens through the aethers,
sign grammar has shifted familiar,
serving well has no taste,
inside the sweetness of its giving.'

Only once 'I' ever understood me,
When I didn't understand me.

'it gives, but is not a giver,
it loves, but is not a lover,
it breathes but is not a breather,
it exists but is not a life,
there is no mystery within the growth,
of its practice in which there is no exercise,
no realisation reaches it.'

'collective's feast!
memorials borrowed,
precisely articulating within as a beast,
chewing its love,
yet slaves a great effort when comes to swallow.'

'I love the rain when I forget my umbrella!
I love the Sun when burning my skin!
I love the rugs, pulled under soaked feet of camomile steam!
I love a dying man's smile!
I love the carefree giggle of a child!
I love what I see,
Once I pull my eyes out.'
~