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The height of mountains,the shine of fountains..
The parks with showers, the gardens with flowers..
The smile of a child,the noise in the wild..
The business  of milk, the fashion of silk..
The shadow of a tree,the fruits in free..
The soil is not fertile, the prayers are futile...
The tractors replaced bull,the hospitals are full..
The spray on all plants, the organs have transplants..
The drift in season, the depleting woods is reason..
The survival is main, the life is in rain..
The wealth of an ocean,the ships in motion..
The fish have plea, the plastic out of sea..
The greeds of man,the lame monitoring of ban..
The conflicts of brooks, the treaties in books..
The lust of this soil, the blood on boil..
The globe with borders, the wars on orders..
The lynching for leather, the summits on weather..
The ivory is like gold,the tusks are sold..
The freedom of a bird, the eye of the third..
The world beyond sky,the rockets to fly..
The open tap in drain, the skyscrapers in vain..
The thunder is aloud, the uncertainty of cloud..
The huge rate of birth, the plight of the earth..
The crisis of starvation, the calendars for salvation..
The threats of weapon,the world war can happen..
The dark fumes in air, the need of care..
The melting of glacier, the authorities are lazier..
The havoc of disaster, the nature is still master..
The disappearance of sparrow, the mind in still narrow..
The nature can bind,the  threat on man kind..
 Nov 2018 Moon Nectar
And when you left
I overwatered all your flowers
 Oct 2018 Moon Nectar
I could spend a lifetime chasing waves and sunsets,
Or skies full of stars,

Scaling mountains with glorious views,
Or trailing lakes and rivers to murmur along with,

But they all seem to whisper the same;
Wouldn't I be EVEN more beautiful if I was shared?
 Oct 2018 Moon Nectar
 Oct 2018 Moon Nectar
I watched a magpie pondering the mysteries of life,
He perched upon a sagging line, taking in the sights.
Sixteen wheelers rampaged through the space beneath his feet,
He cared as much as streetlights do when flies upon them meet.

Other winged adventurers regarded him with care,
Their courtesies were kept in check, exchanges very rare.
Not only those that scaled the skies but those that climbed the poles,
Surveyed the magpie’s presence as the blacksmith eyes the coals.

The lion’s share of creatures with effort can be tamed,
But the chalky, charcoal wanderer, all efforts are in vain.
He will not go directed, he does not fear the hand,
He struts along a footpath as the mustang pounds the land.

Some find beauty in the birds that surf the wind like sails,
Eagles, Hawks and Falcons, but me, I think they fail.
They fail the test of nerve, they can be called to heel,
The bold and dauntless black and white was never known to kneel.

There is no shame in walking to the strict beat of the drum,
The cause won’t cross the finish line lacking numbers in the scrum,
And beauty most would testify is in colours and design,
The structure of perfection to few God did assign.

But I would argue differently and of this I am sure,
Beauty is a simple thing common, bland and pure.
Beware of gazing blindly when the wizard shakes his hand,
While your attention was absorbed you missed the truly grand.

What’s truly great and wonderful, as the saying goes of old,
Won’t be found on pedestals, all that glitters is not gold.
The worlds delights will not be found in the neighbourhood of fame,
It hides within the masses, to most it looks the same.
But train your eye to look beyond where most will fall their gaze,
And you will find the special kind that truly do amaze.
 Sep 2018 Moon Nectar
fingertips press
against my skin.
they are calloused
and gentle and
slow moving as if
they are trying
to engrave
the outline of me
into their mind
trails of heat
are left in their wake,
lines of fire
beginning to spark.
the dim sunlight
of morning
casts between the slots
of the broken blinds,
falling on us.
one ray of light
falls over the side
of your face,
over one eye.
the brown looks
like it is glowing,
specks of dark
surrounding your iris
to the depths
of your pupil.
your eyes —
one glowing
and one hidden
by the shadows —
are fixated on me.
my gaze feels frozen
as it settles onto you
and i don't understand
how you can have the power
to make me feel
both frozen
and inflamed
all at once.
my breath catches
in my throat
as i wonder
what i did
to become so lucky
to be in
this spot
next to you.
as we wake up
and lay here in silence,
waiting for one
to break and make
the first move
to start the day.
but i would be
perfectly okay
laying here
but i know
we have to leave
and i will spend my day
thinking about
being in this exact spot
until it comes again.
i miss you.
 Sep 2018 Moon Nectar
 Sep 2018 Moon Nectar
Sweet lips like honey
keep the skies above me so sunny
positivity surrounding me in all accepts in life
feed me your creativity
infatuated by your touch
I might be fixated by the grip of your finger tips as they gravitate towards my skin
feels so good so I know for a fact this is fate
this new love is the love everyone deserves to endure
this love tells me I’m beautiful every single day
this love is not perfect, but this love gives me hope
this love writes poetry about me
this love keeps me uplifted
for this love, I feel appreciated
 Sep 2018 Moon Nectar
We cannot write silence.
The beats.
The pause.
The breath.
The way it aches
and persists

and begs that,

if only for a moment,

our consciousness is only a whisper.
our bodies,
our lips,
the air that passes through falling chests
and stillness.

A melody of emotion.
Sleeping in the quiet of a heartbeat skipped
a word lost to the wind.

The wickedness of reticence
Encapsulated in air and time.

The moment stretched too long.
Hesitation perpetuated in the grip of fingernails
pressed into palms.

We cannot write silence,
but we can try.

to find a way to immortalize emotion
to create space
in the ceaseless drone of words that speak and spin.

I cannot write silence. But I can write
tears and years
and the burn of long-stretched lies.

I can write goodbyes and hellos
And dozen ways to say
I love to hate you
I hate to love you
and sometimes
I cannot tell the difference.
The space I have upheld for myself.

I love to hate you

I hate to love you too.

I cannot write silence.
But I know it.
and I have held it in my hand.
Inspired by the Vanity Fair article of André Aciman's reaction to his book *Call Me By Your Name* being made into a movie. Specifically the quote, "I couldn't write silence."
I have something simple to ask you
Tell me
What do you see in a sunset?
Do you see a painting, a scattering of warm hues?
Do you see a blanket of doom enveloping us
As the stars come out to play?
Do you see emotions?
Boldness, vibrancy, laughter?
Do you see the end of one thing
And the beginning of another?
Do you see anything deeper?
Does it remind you of someone?
Does it invoke thought in the deepest part of your mind?
Do you ever sit out and watch the sun die?
Have you ever wished that it would never end?
Have you ever cried when the last bleeding rays of light
Disappear over the horizon?
Does it make you crave something, a cold drink perhaps?
Or perhaps, someone, a girl who used to hold your hand
And laugh at your jokes, even when you knew they weren't funny?
Does the sunset remind you of your mother?
How vividly she spoke of her hopes for you radiated in the colors
Before she closed her eyes for a final time?
Or does it remind you of yourself?
Of how every bit of light in you died
And now a starless sky reigns over a cloud of darkness?
You used to watch the sunset every night
Holding the roses in your hand from a sweet girl
Which would soon decorate a hospital room, cold and sterile
But now you watch from inside
Inside a house of broken dreams, quiet hands folded in silent
But angry prayer.
And the twilight sun is the only beauty left in your life
But tell me
What do you see in a sunset?

— The End —