Whistle your thoughts into my ear –
inside the shadow of your fine fire;
it burns me close to almost dying

When two lips kiss in a perfect song
a rhythmic crescendo – to build the
feeling of love so pure, and never felt

While you melt my tears like ice drops,
that waters a flower in a garden of pristine
let’s wait upon our dreams; until the place
they become so real…

When we’re out by the sea,
as far as we can see!

The God of my all; in the little that I have,
The words of Salvation; in the promises you've made,
The light of my path; on the days that I walk,
The song of protection; in life’s destructive chorus,
The echo of light; for the brightest of days.

On shaky ground; His foundations are my steady,
In empty days; He’s the fullest to my mornings,
To what do I owe to be given such love?

Nothing! Of what good works can give,
But rather the praise and adoration I have for him.
Nothing! Of what seems impossible,
Will be too impossible for Him.
Nothing! Of what the enemy plans,
Can stand against in the wayside of Him.
Nothing! Of my constant worries,
Will stop the love of the Lord our King.

Nothing! Is impossible,
for nothing is as great as Him.

my girlfriend would wear baggy jeans – being my solitude, as a
faithful lover. it’s just the darkness she has in her genes. sometimes
I cut her fingernails, to stop her from biting them – she starts to bite
me instead. my sad stories are all reflected in her tears; she tried to
cut my hair, and cut right deep into my thoughts – I’m always
thinking out loud.

she sits on my lap, just to have a window seat; her hair is like a
forest, that the comb loses it’s teeth. still my fingers run through
the woods; dark as a night, where my eyes become her moon.

and she’s the wettest dream – a real sensual thing; being like a
water Queen. she knows I can't water down my words, or kiss her
less without our spit. “kiss me before we go” – even if we’re just
going to the corner store.

but that’s just the thing; I’m in the market for finding hope in
my dreams – for this person only exists in my dreams. sigh!

Shadows silhouette
static t.v. screens electrifying
performance just before the curtain falls
An audience roars applauds to none of which
is truly heard, taking bow to resounding success

All at a level best, the author neither hears the end
of their own story—but quietly predicts it
Believes in it so much, it soon becomes disbelief
or as the fear of a fitting end has eliminated grief

Ssshh,
shuttle away to the quietest of dreams
transported to a land of only imagination
Passion, passions of all but passionate
Weaving through traffic of a rush hour mind
with no stop signs or any bright red light

Denying all of your pride
so choked up in a dream, coughing out aspiration,
ambition, or ideals
And only in a land void of fears, do we soon
find the bravery to grow our wings

Our lives resemble relics nestled within the dusty corners of
thrift shops, all drawn to these forsaken treasures that others
have overlooked. We take turns giving upon these forgotten
items a renewed affection, a fresh perspective on their worth.

For we are all broken at times, displayed for sale in the hopes
of rediscovering our inherent value, yearning to feel complete
once again. Our hearts linger in the temporal marketplace
of time, where faded dreams gather dust, and past loves
accumulate the remnants of emotions once so vibrant.

Each of our sorrows lies like a heap of tattered garments,
heavy with the weight of our experiences. We observe as
the masses pick us, some to elevate our spirits, while others
seek to let us down.

I find solace among other hidden treasures, awaiting the
discerning gaze that can recognize my true worth; indeed,
our lives resemble relics nestled within the dusty corners
of thrift shops.

Eyes of a deep, earthy brown meet my gaze – a clash of syllables;
she embodies the essence of the soil.  Her foundation is unwavering,
and she is no one to indulge in the comforts of tepid waters;
she’s meant to ignite.

She leaves me in suspense, yearning – my nerves tremble in the
dawn’s embrace, her presence a jolt to fuel my spirit.

An ode to the morning brew.

I am weightless in the breathlessness of my own soul;
where I wake up every part of myself – piece by piece.
Life is the length you live, until you die – measuring
it risk by risk.

My soul is amiss, where I aim my mark on giving
out good remarks. But I must admit, sometimes it’s
all just a miss.

Yes, I am this candle of love, burning fiercely in my heart.
But where I burn from its wick; my heart is fiercely wicked.
And I play out the cast of my feelings – but, why do I have
to act them out as an armed hand; protecting my very own
insecurities, held in a daily ***** cast?

And in all the beautiful things I can see, I quickly fish
for ideas. Afterwards, I cast my net to grab onto dreams –
still I need the fires of His love, for my soul can easily fall
asleep. For our beds are our testing graves, and after your
final resting place, where will you end up in the End of days?

Time: with its relentless grasp tightening around me, like the
unyielding force of gravity — anchors me in place. I aspire to
embrace aging with grace. I sense the encroachment of greys;
those emerging silver strands blend into the horizon of new days.

Isn’t life so strange; contradiction: we know of it like a friend, even
while it can turn adversarial until the end. Shifting seamlessly
between ally and adversary, these moments of joy and sorrow;
exalting in its beauty even as it envelops us in its enigmatic embrace?

So profound in depth and meaning, a symphony of paradoxes
harmonizing into the melody of our journey. I only aspire to embrace
aging with grace, oh what a shame — we move forward, embracing
the uncertainty with grace, as time continues its ceaseless march.
A steadfast friend from the break of day, an adversary until the sun
sets.

Cornered by anxiety; 'is it worth the read?'
Exhale heavily; inhale the pressure building up my chest,
Eyes heavy of tears, drowned by this pen's debt.
Something in my eye, blinding me to the sight of life;
A blank canvas, but only an empty creative,
Nothing to inspire at the moment, just Writer's block.

Would you still want a touch of a garment to Heaven, even if
it kills you? Ten thousand steps away from Heaven – I could be
on my nine hundred and ninety nineth step; but the question is
would I get in without an invitation?

Would you still fall asleep, even if you wound up resting right
next to death – given a limit to your air, would you start to count
your breaths? In the end, I hope my eyes pray whenever they blink,
and my heart silently repents for their lips "good" reputation.

I hear the eery songs of sirens; my own voices in my head – that
are acting like background singers and the Devil's ****** advice.
Do I feel alive doing the things that risk my own life; mixing
desires with passion – a bit of too much passion in my own desires.
Twelve speed racing to smile, but sometimes I despise being so
nice.

Sometimes I'm a world built on lies; sometimes I lie on top of those
years long gone – the grass that's greener on the other side, I just
want to enjoy the scent of that freshly cut lawn.

There were a thousand roses
in my eyes; as I had seen the light
of the sun kissing a flower
It had touched the petals of your hair,
sweetened in a desirous aroma
Tied in a knot; not a single strand of it
was out of place. But I felt out of place,
-stranded

I'd never lose the number of my own words,
but in a moment I couldn't count on them at all
                
                         I was in awe.

Heirlooms, heirlooms drawing me
back into memories
I stored my heart in them, tucked away
in that bedside drawer
And like the rest; I've fallen asleep on
their comforting dreams
Growing up, as they've grown up to have more
value through these hidden years- a beautiful investment

So, know that I'll never forget that first love we
once shared, trapped in my consciousness
I've come to learn, I've learned to share the lessons,
and the lessons have been taught out of love
Safely stored in the drawers of consciousness,
a well made beautiful investment, I'll always recall
for tomorrows heirlooms

Time, my fading memories over there, wait let me grab hold of that,
Ok back to the plot, hey there crazy world it's me, that stranger in a building of known people, ain't that a fact.
Anyway it was early morning when it felt as I got up around late afternoon,
I must have really enjoyed my sleep, but of course I kissed goodnight a full moon.
But wait a second and pause a moment in time,
Today was another day ready to be come old, when it finally passes, I'm definitely calling that day mine.

I first had to wake up my heart, now my mind had to follow,
And I heard about true love out there, I wanted to steal it though but I rather stand and wait, rather to borrow.
But enough of that, let's move on to my day,
I woke up for moments in life, so I'm living life in a different kind of way.
Give myself a high five for that and get ten back,
Then swing by my emotions, make sure it's all in check, good, good, everything is in perfect stack.


Because my days, these days are often to long,
But I make it this far, it never killed me so I'm made much strong

I shouldn't show how heavy I cry,
biting my lip, to swallow spit.
The fourth shouting,
accidentally changing into fifth,
at the time my father was teaching
me how to drive.

So like a dog on a street,
with puppy eyes for those misfortunate.
A young man close to my age,
begging me for the little of my wage.
I guess I'm an open hand to all the
people I feed. But I closed my fist on
this memory of a brother calling me a b...

When I was told I don't know how
to really hustle, Wasting my
time on writing; a couple puns just to
make myself chuckle.

A lot of those I love, much
love to diss, to a point of all my faults.
I put it all together saying,
       "I'm so sorry to disappoint"
At my age I should have moved out of
my parents house.

As I have/had this dream,
that only a few see and believe;
I've been working on it with every hustle
and every kind of scheme,
to impress you, and give you a grin,
As I can't smell your best intentions,
through the hustling giving me a nose bleed.

Everything feels so grim,
but even in graveyard shifts,
I try to reap what I sow.
But not everything you put out has
something for it to show. Not every
wish you bury has a chance to grow.

Twenty-two years,
wondering what I can show to peers.
I know they'll cheer my successes,
but never acknowledge the tears.

So I'll just pen down my tears,
of all twenty-two years.

Imagine, the whispers of love tainted on your lips – reading those
signs in your words; where your love is so desired, that once you
fell in love, it all descended upon the world. While man was made
from the dust of the ground; how quickly he sells himself so short;
just becoming dust that’s cheaply sold.

Oh, was it her, Wisdom; she knocked on his door, but nobody came,
from the raining despair of life, she came looking for warmth, as she
shivered in her overcoat. But you only gave her lip service, never
paying attention to her words, even as she handed you her quote.

Over the intercom’s speaker I could hear her call, “it’s me honey;
it’s me,” but I was a whelp who was more in love with the world.
“Let me in—I’m so cold,” still I chose the warmth of this world to
keep warm, but she’s a mistress that has no home. She roams the
streets to every man’s call – while wisdom is the sweetest kiss on
the lips, with a still glow.

And even though I didn’t accept her at the time, she still waited for
me to grow; to grow into her. She undressed herself, and took the
skin of my pen. Her beauty in my hand makes fools jealous of what
they couldn’t grasp then. As she’s the dividing rule, to separate the
boys from the men. I love her more now, better than I did then –
for she’s my lover, who stood as a constant friend.

An ode to Wisdom.

Subtle comforts,
nonchalant cuddles under
the covers of your pretty eyes.

Undercover kisses, as like
every star coming out at night.

All soon to become a bright tomorrow;
oh my darling,- I want to show you off
to the entire world in such a glorious light.

And shall the taste of forever be spoken
from His lips,
His thoughts are not of my thoughts;
neither are our ways the same.
He surely rests high above both our thoughts
and our ways. But still on Earth;
he let’s the snows and rains of Heaven come
down to us.
All things bud and flourish.

Yielding seeds to the daily bread,
he has provided.
Never to let me go a night hungry;
for I’ve been given provisions of the day.

In joy; I am led to peace.
In love; His glory I seek.
In words; are blessings He speaks.
And in actions, the love of Jesus is seen in me.

He invites us all;
but only the few will accept the invitation.

The deep crimson wine simmers beneath the weight of your tears,  
your timid gaze fleeing from the shadows of your fears.  
How can we ever measure the depths of your anxieties,  
as they pull you toward destinations that seem to beckon endlessly?  

Underneath our shared facade, time rushes like a fleeting breeze—  
our days slip away, morphing into weeks,  
while your knees buckle under the weight of memories,  
the fractures of your bones now echoing the passage of years;  
some days shine brightly, while others cast a dull shadow.  

I often picture you from that last summer—  
the way you carried your father's care, the way
of your mother’s confidence radiated through you;  
how beautifully they intertwined
I reminisce about the home we once shared,  
our dreams adrift in the currents of our minds,  
fragile skins brushing against one another,  
as scars bleed into one another.  

I found a heart, one I never truly possessed,  
and I was overjoyed—yet now it feels like a distant memory,  
all those moments now lost to time;  
I wish I had clung to them more tightly.

Even a flat girl can say things with her chest,
Any man can say a lot – but have their heart
Broken in a sec; a lot of us think about ***,
Before identifying your worth in the right
Headspace...

To catch a floating dream with a sky hook,
Picking the empty book, with the cover that had
Good looks – don’t read that line about a story;

But just the story of your life, where you dated
A few ugly hearted dudes; maybe I should apologize
For all the Apollos with the good hooks

“Plenty fish in the see,”
But one bad fisher, spoils the catch of another,
He catches, just to toss away – on two different
Boats, distances away; but hey,

“All fishermen are just the same”

The eve draws close,
endeavoring to tame my frights,
Yet the sun, a superior champion,
steals the limelight.

“I don’t really exist, and I know I don’t exist,”

so it says – being latent, until it’s been found.
Where I sometimes break down by the corner
of Writer's block; where the drive I had for
something, finds an abrupt stop.

In truth,

this Writer's block doesn't exist; it's just
a point of time, the writer needs to BREATHE.

I knew it was late for me when a girl asked me to do
something romantic for her, and I suggested we play
checkers - and if she beat me, I'd know she made
the draft.🤭🤭🤣🤣🤣

I know the guiltiness of a dusty Bible
Brown specks slipping off my *******
Diminishing into my morning coffee,
To make the blend taste a whole lot bitter

Empty sentiments; too deep to be openly cast-off,
Once of someone who had the heart to their devotion
Nowadays it had proved heartless;- so fruitless:

Still a tree is judged by its fruits.

The burden of life weighed heavily upon me while I was young;
a constant whisper in my ear that I lacked real sweetness, using
tablespoons of sugar to fill my cup. I once held the naive belief that
I would depart this world with a smile, if I ever died too young.
I found myself swearing that my life would plan out better; feeling
as though I would have things figured out – but I tend to swear
mostly under pressure, to a life feeling more like I ****** up.

In a place where the slightest act of indulgence is met with scorn—
where reaching for a bit more water from the *** is seen
as a sacrilege, as if I might taint the very essence of life itself—
yet everyone so is quick to drink out of same big cup. The human
eyes is so oblivious to their own hypocrisy.

My youthful hands, were once so eager to grasp the reins of
responsibility, but trembled with the fear that I could never bear the
weight of what was expected of me, especially to those who nurtured
me with such care, longing to return their kindness with open palms.

Life, it seems, is merely a calculation— a game of figures; whether
you figure it best to navigate it as a devout follower of faith, or as be
a seeker in the chaotic realm where success is only measured by the
right figures.

Ah, what a life it is… go figure!

Through the ashy clouds, what can I see deep in my eyes,
Feelings of old, times of new, sounds of truths shading shadows of lies.
A moment in a heart to cause a second of earthly breathe,
To hear the sounds of regret, yet to see beyond that, flashing lights of new hope in depth.

As the stars shine across a thousand galaxies, planets and worlds a like,
Men and women  would shine across each others lives for the mountains we all must hike.
Give them hope to themselves you shining star of a glowing wonderous night.
For who truly sees any man's foreshadow lest they shinning in your one true light.

Cast the shadows of this world to the places far beyond.
Free from what our hands can grab hold to reach, farewell my troubles, best be heading along.

Yonder as far as your mind could take you, get lost in your dreams,
Get back to the place back to where it all began, close your ears from the sounds of all your doubtful screams.
Tell us what you've found, show us all your blessings and greatest wins,
Shall we all celebrate with you as you complete your journey, celebrating our humble glories as if we were humble Kings and Queens.

She says,

"Open up your eyes to me," while we were on a blind date.
Some opinions come a bit late; early remarks are great —
And there’s a fearful much of men, of that phrase,
"oh, I'm late."

But I fear when she's running late for our date,
And secretly isn't coming anyway.

So my eyes remain shut; as from first interactions,
It looks for us, this thing isn’t going anywhere!

Antisocial much,
Because I'm too afraid to spill out my heart.
Cautiously I chose all of my words,
Doesn't mean they won't work on your nerves.
Effortlessly I try to be the humble type,
For the sake of being someone you'd like.

God created me as this person of late,
Holding onto his will and onto my fate.
I know at times I can't get a grip of things,
Joyously I hold the tiny pieces of all my dreams.

Kassan! You should be brave as much as you can,
Let the world speak for it's own, you're still a man!

Many will see you as different,
Neither could label you inefficient.
Open your eyes dear child,
Piece together yourself from inside.
Quietly listen to the guiding voice in your mind.
Realize your worth,
Seek to be worth more every single day, right from your birth.

Time always seems limited,
Understand not to steal time and become a criminal.

View yourself in the better light of a furious fire,
Walk a walk that will inspire.
X out your fears,
Zero in firstly on what's meant to be real.

Let me imprint my love with my tongue,
speaking all of the words you've never heard before
And as one who has always experienced writer's block;
it's probably good of me to just go down town
But the streets are always unsafe, especially as a first,
a first for me, of saying less, but still doing more actions with
a mouth,

Knowing myself, I could start preparing before in a month,
as I know it all couldn't amount to much
Making a two plan meal out of you; always skipping brunch,
and would you come- to a place I should take you to
Or does it take a few more seconds of a numbing jawline,
to make you in the end feel so really good,

I never could, prove all my experience,
cos experience isn't all I have, at hand
So please don't get mad, if you find me looking up
to read your lips of what you feel at your lower lips;-
                                                   please do understand!

And would you accept me, feeling a bit down under
to go a little down under
Playing a little too much repetition, with a mouth stutter;
this person who is a newcomer, hoping you're a quick comer
Calling me out when I start feeling lost;
hoping by any chance I do have the right number,
And not to get too distracted by a hard wood, of my pants lumber,

                                                Let's see how this goes...

Heavy is the weapon that carries it’s victim’s blood –
Heavy is a ***** mind that eventually fills with mud;
Heavy are your eyes in a dream, like a sleeping prong,
Piercing your thoughts in the daylight; life lives short –
While the dreams we make of ourselves live long.

Heavy is the head that wears the crown,
Heavy is the crowd, hoping to see you down;
Heavy is the weight of love, to make your kids proud.

For by the blood of ourselves, the words of our tongue
Are the greatest weapons, to lift or bring others down,
Even as your dirtiest thoughts subtly attract so easily,
It comes from all being fully stained in our sin’s filth –
While your dreams are the length of your passions;
The measure you take to achieve them, lies in width.

Bearing the crown of responsibility; those below you,
Look you down, seeing your success without longevity.
Avoid the negativity, live in positivity, a life of wisdom,
Joy, & love – a legacy your young would be proud to be.

These closed eyes;
in all these unfamiliar times as it seems.
Closed doors, and shut curtains
over these once outside dreams.

Even when I'm out;
these fears have my mind in quarantine.

Sneeze!

Someone did so in front of me.
Without their bent elbow;
I was quickly thinking about the old ones
back home, of my family.

Never thinking I could lose count
of all those loved ones I've lost.
Not all through a pandemic,
but because of it;
a natural death hurts a lot.

Seems I've used up all the tears;
to cry out for another loss.

Sniff!

Only afterwards, you realize you didn't
spend time with them for that long.
All when their already gone,
but you still sing the memories like
a nostalgic song.

Cough!

Clearing my throat;
the heaviest heart I had to swallow.
So light of how lightly we take today.
You may not wake up to the bright day
of another tomorrow.

The beauty of life can easily
fade to whither like a flower.

How long do we really have;
counting your life on two open hands?
Praying for the Lord's eternal life's piece,
and it feels like he won't meet those demands.
You may feel your ideas starting to
hate the ways of his plans.

Lord I don't understand!

I just write down the questions;
in a list, on a scroll,
and bury the paper deep inside my soul.
The opening question being,
"was it you or the devil, sometimes in control"

Only in the heavens...will I know.

To dream of about suicide is a wage to not wake up dead, a struggle
to rise from the depths of despair. In the heart of a collapsing
mansion, I find myself amidst a vast courtyard, pondering if this
opulence will ever be mine. A magnificent tennis court lies before me,
its fragile barrier barely containing the grotesque monsters lurking
beyond. They cling to the fence, their claws poised to strike, yet I can’t
help but grin, for these fiends are but reflections of my own tortured
psyche.

Where shall I find solace in dreams, when each dream is just a false
awakening loop; each threshold leads me further into a deeper
threshold? On the sixth day of my futile escape, I realize my
confinement is not of brick and mortar, but of the haunting messages
buried within the restless slumber I can never fully embrace.

                                     This life is a false narrative!

Call in the cavaliers to chase me down for all the wrongs I've done,
Call in the cavaliers for this battle is still not won.
Tell them all I've tried to fix the things that aren't mine,
Tell them I tried to do things that aren't mine,
Tell them that I've wasted too much time

Call in the cavaliers for I've mistaken little for all,
trying to steal the riches left out for the poor,
Pushing down the enemies trying to make the weak fall.
Call in the cavaliers for they know what to do,
The things that must be done to fix it all,
the things I broke that need to be made brand new.

Call in the cavaliers to make my amends with those I hurt,
for those I had dumped my pains, set fires to have their hearts left burnt.
Call in the cavaliers to show me how to start it all again,
To fix my heart, to heal my soul,
to face this days, fix it all and to know when.

I need the cavaliers for they know my mistakes and what must be done,
To fix and mend it all to what it once was,
To finish the good fight for this battle is won.

I see the stars of the night; in the days of your eyes,
The winds behind mountains; in the power of your voice,
The ways to wisdom, in the words you once spoke,
The songs of promise, in the desires you've now fulfilled,
The provisions of daily, in the bread you've provided.

I've longed for love; that this world can't provide,
Tasted of all it’s things; that are sour to my spirit,
And lived in the world; despite being it's visitor.

I'm not of this world; for I know this is true.
I'm not of this world; for I know of YOU.

As of my shepherd; I shall not want,
As of my green pastures; lead beside still waters,
As of my restoration; lead in paths of righteousness.

                                        He is my all, my Jesus Lord.

I told them I was tired of being local, and they took me as a joker
But the punchline of that is I'm the only one with focus
You try to vouch for peers, but some people turn into vultures
I meant to say voucher, that you receipt after a purchase
As some people purchase purpose; ******* in the end coitus
Still it was a moment you had enjoyed that introitus

Some do feel small inside; their inferior interiors
Not so big as it appears. Just masking hopes with years of fears
Spill a bottle of fine wine on me, and my lesser many me's
Fine dine around a table of my Lord and my enemies
Spit fire of the scolded tongue, but dire in response of having fun
Over the moon joy with a heated anger under the sun
Not all reach a ****** of their fun—still waiting for it to come

In the third person of the third stanza line
They didn't know me as a first person describing I
I'm that guy routing for himself in the ways to walk by
But the GPS was off to the location, and I have no WiFi

In the cause of this morning rhyme, it seemed fun to write
Mixing a wordplay in every line—I've got a childish mind
That child inside, wants to live freely but how in this adult life
Where being yourself is a crime; so you're a person of omission
As they won't see you for as you are, if you don't follow they vision
I guess I'm supposed to be chasing women, and calling them *******
Lined out naked perfectly on some exotic beaches
Placed on the scales of fame, I'm must be swimming with the fishes

The only time they'd say I left my communicative ways of being local
And a yes to having their focus; get rich and buy yourself a lotus
Smoke some flowers, while deflowering flower's with a magnum opus
As that's the art of the world's composer, I try to keep my composure
Breathes in I'm just most certainly tired of being so local
Perhaps I'll die in the crowd to be considered folklore
But I remain local

They've labeled me a thief,
yet I've never stolen someone's heart.

Countless times, they've called me a fool,
but I can never claim to be a fool in love.

They've called me a pretty someone,
yet I often feel like a pretty mess.

I've only cheated once,
but life cheats me more than I deserve.

They've called me the spoiled child,
yet I still act like a child, a man who feels spoiled.

I've done my best to be on time,
yet I always feel so late for success.

And I've tried to maintain a strong drive,
but it feels like I'm being driven to insanity.

Ah lover,
as the sun hides it’s face behind a mountain,
the moon never rests in the day; keeping the sun company –
Your company is the warmth of covering my face in the valley
of your *****; the slow beats of your heart, rest my ear at night.

Ah lover,
upon your image is this brush against the canvas,
as the artist is swept by your smile, longing to paint out
The edges of its curve – where you inner joy is warm as the
nest filled with eggs, that are protected by their mother bird.

Ah lover,
I’ve been nestled by your comforting words to no end
you are the very creative moment of inspiration to come;
but what you do isn’t a play, but you could script a good scene –
As life is art; it’s an art to love, painted to remain, ah lover, my pen.

I am the soil that farmer refused, flung into the vast
expanse, crushed beneath the weight of restless hooves.
I am the spark that could have ignited a revolution—
if only the shadows of doubt had not stifled my youth.
I am the visionary wielding my pen like a *****, and
unearthing these many buried truths.

I am the sky weeping a thousand tears swelling
these clouds; and overcasting my perfect smile –
I am the battalion feeding the fury of mankind,
standing resolute on the peaks of man’s greatest trials

I am the wandering cab driver, burdened by the weight
of unfulfilled dreams, seeking in the silence of his
backseat the warmth of true companionship
I am the mirrored gaze of a suffering companion, reflecting
their anguish- as I too bear the scars aboard the same ship

I am not the arbiter nor the prosecutor;
I am not less divided as man, or feel any more equal —
I am the contradiction, the enigma; I am the visage
that conceals the essence of the people...

I am the People!

Forgotten traces of a pencil – I’ve been built
by words; public reputation is the means of
being good at your own public relations.
As love’s repetition is loving those you’ve
fallen in love with, off the pages of life rather
than the scripts of perfected fiction.

And to believe your love is perfect is to rival
God's – where you become your own judge;
biased as much, for the flesh desires to feed
only itself; the flesh isn’t the perfection of love.

For everyday of life is the day for all equal dogs,
moral or uncouth,  posterity rests its favour –
Still a dog must know not to bite the hand that
feeds it; as it seeks the hand’s favour – wouldn’t
we all like to find favour in the hands of our Creator,

What are dogs to their Creator?

Your beloved, she calls
How then do you respond?
Your beloved, yearns
How then will you fulfil her?
Your beloved is waiting,
but do you search for her?

In the ocean of people,
she's an island to rest on her shore.
You search for love,
but what have you truly searched for?
Many speak of plenty fish in the sea,
what if your catch is in a lake?
You've searched far beyond corners that don't even exist. Could your beloved be much closer than you think?

She calls for you from her
heart. Do you hear it's beat?
She openly gives her heart
to you. Why child, do you still act as a thief?
She carries calm and structure to
your life. Why do you give her grief?
Her love is a home, a home
of sweet. But you belong to the street.

Till you learn to grow,
only will your love for her show.
Childish antics aren't forever,
but mature love will age with you.

Soon child,
you'll find your beloved when the time is right.

I've cried through open veins,
bleeding out open wounds
And most definitely lots of pain.
Questioning a lot of, if God does exist,
why the existence of suffering in present,
In the present days of life,
failing to see the gift in living.

I've lived for wealth, lived for the pain,
but none of them did me well.
I did a lot to try pass the blame,
thinking it was all because we
were all living in Hell.

Cause if there's fires in this world,
my faith doesn't seem to be putting it out.
What's burning down in the world
is burning in me too,
It's all crumbling down.

I'm often scared of living,
and even more scared of dying,
Death seems to always be the easiest way out,
but won't guarantee I go out with
laughs and smiles.
Still living isn't much as easy thinking
about it,
Every opportunity you get always comes
with its trials.

So I live out my worth,
walking through a lot of fires.
Hoping not to get burnt.
Can't always expect to skip through life,
a lot of hurts always on repeat.
But I'm still here for a while,
won't leave to soon,
Even if there's chaos on the Earth

I'm stronger by each day,
each day is a growing lesson in every trial.
So if this is the journey of me,
let me pack my bags and walk through it
with a smile.

You’d say it’s the last of your lust,
“Still would we stay strong, and not bust when I bust”
Even when the feeling of wanting to party,
comes around partly,
Hardly though, according to a recent thought, —
I’m a little box-shaped heart; of my love’s accordion.

And as soon as someone finds a nut in a nutshell;
it would be coming from a hard external covering,
before busting another nut.
A cruel notion that what usually ***** the most,
is the most you’re forced to swallow.

Just as *** sells; ***** intentions sort of smells,
—making sense of any humor, chasing after a laugh.
Though I’m quite convinced that the woman wants one
extra arrival, while the man is the first one to come.
    “You hear it as an awkward after laugh”

The feeling was premature; a broken timing for a
jack in the box—a story of premature *******.

Dye a picture of an ugly world to that empty gaze
—sort of like your makeup disguise; but not so much the
makeup for shallow beauty standards, overshadowed by
dark eyeshadow. As she puts on a lot of guard, that her
body feels like a suit of armour that emphasize flaws

While her eyes sparkle a quick romance; so much heat
coming out of her pores; hot sweats while he sits next to her,
calls her name, and glances her way… a nocturnal creature,
pressed against the heat of day, pressed against the wall, that
she broke a bottle of hot stuff in her back pocket; to claim
she had a fire ***

To be honest, he’s really the bigger *** of them both,
incapable of hiding his cockiness — pants caught down
they’re so outlandishly unlike; but that makes them like
each other more, and much like the petals that gracefully
descend to the ground: their story of love starts falling aside

bites are much harsher than their barks – to those who
haven’t swallowed their pride. to bite on other people’s
ideas and dreams; their ideals prove an ideal meal –                              
                           their wealth, fame, influence, status


surviving on someone else, feeding until your
teeth are boneless - but when it comes to greed,
one finds a way to feed such a need –  
                         zombies with false teeth.

Farewell, my beloved paradox,
that will forever linger in my thoughts and heart.
The memory of your captivating fragrance,
distinct and unmistakable, will forever stay with me,
patiently anticipating your fateful reunion- that I long
for with every fibre of my being. Come not so hurriedly,
yet in time- so as to have the gentle cadence of your footsteps
linger delicately in the passing hours.

Although the whispers of your presence evade my ears,
your essence reunites with mine once more. Across alternate
lifetimes, where fate doesn't guarantee romantic interlacing,
my affection for you transcends as a steadfast companion,
devoted beyond the confines of romantic love.

dilated tears, those that cut through your eyes – in the
silence of hope, I know love will call for me part-time;
working myself just to prove forever. but it always stays
the same, fighting the headache of it all – smiles dissolving
away like an aspirin in a glass of water

where you rest your mind on everything you had; memories
are just gravestones, where we bury ourselves in – hoping
they too find their resurrection

in memory; I’ve written dreams of love on chiselled marble
slabs – lettered in gold, where we loved each other, close
enough to death; ending if all off as two concrete bodies

love makes death jealous, on how good it plays the waiting
game. the still waiting of a grandparent, who reaches their
own old age, knowing in death, they will finally meet their
lover once again.
                love is age, and that love is beautiful!

Funny how it’s hard to explain the feeling of LOVE –
But easier explaining the loneliness; we don’t miss
As much, until we’re missing that familiar touch
Its not about the crush, it’s that rush – that hopeful
Romantics picture of them one day finding LOVE.

Where some are heart led, an ***** of compound LOVE–
In love sickness, we could be a lead compound, hoping
For the promise to treat such a disease; searching for LOVE
Is always easy said then done, and when we've gone
Through our hardships we say, “I’m so done with LOVE!”

But LOVE is never done with you, give it another round,
And you’ll start smiling that you’ve found the One
LOVE is a marathon of going round, and round, until
You can run this race of life with someone you truly,

LOVE, LOVE, LOVE - and their LOVE you want!

In the midst of a somber scene,
When emotions weighed heavy, it seemed,
Tears began their gentle stream,
Each drop carrying a taste, like morning's gleam.

These tears were not shed in haste,
But rather, in due time, they graced,
A heart burdened by life's uncertain race,
Seeking solace in his tears, and their vulnerable embrace.

As they flowed, his fractured reflection appeared,
Eyes once hopeful, now shattered and seared,
A mirror of pain and confusion, it cleared,
Inner turmoil, in hidden tears, was revealed.

In this moment of deep introspection,
Tears tasted like time's poignant reflection,
A reminder to let go, to find direction,
Like morning dew, cleansing the soul's connection.

And so, his tears marked a turning tide,
A gentle nudge towards healing's side,
Embracing vulnerability, as his tears implied,
Growth, renewal, a stronger self to abide.