what is love?
is it the gentle breeze,
upon the spring leaves
or is it the brute force
that moves your inert mountains.

what is love?
is it the milk of your mother's breast
that flows like nectar through child's throat
or is it the very flesh
upon which two soul feasts.

what is love?
is it the very compassion
that finds expression through words
or is it the love of
mother earth for her sentinent beings.

love is boundless
for the sweetness of flowers,
the sensation of your lovers' touch
the enigma of the very sun and moon.

The long inhale above your diaphragm
and the sense of oneness within you,
with the harmony of your breath
you will find poetry inside you.

from the lush green meadows
to forged hands of peasants
the clumsy clouds above the hills
made poetry for you.

where you perceptive enough mate
when the nightingale sang,
when the daffodils bloomed,
with the sound of a brook,
all got lost within you.

Born on a windy day,
Beauty was personified.
I have seen a frown on my father's forehead
and a lightning glimmer in my mother's eye.
She says I was seraphic and divine
like a tree in the garden of eve.
I looked at myself like an enchantress
with all the beauty passing by.

Those eyes on the corner street
made me hollow and gloomy
as I paced upon my mortal feet
hoping to get away from the devil's sight.
Drenched in blood, I screamed in pain and agony
for the enchantress is gone with beauty left alone,
as the windy day just went by.

The hounds of the graveyard are restless,
as the path of the cemetery looks treacherous.
The crosses of the grave stood tall,
as I walk among the dead tulips call.

The darkness resembles a long melancholy.
The bottle of whisky seems familiar to me,
as I step down from the stairs of the cemetery.
The fallen tulip meant nothing to me.

I remember my long lost past,
as the pensive sadness shackles my heart.
Now the meadows are all strange to me,
as we both walk now on fallen tulips call.

Comrades of tomorrow,
the battle cries are lost in oblivion,
the rusted riffle got swept in mud,
the manifesto is lost and forgotten,
for the guerilla, lord comes thy way.

the wounds of love and revolution.
Thy Latin America to every generation,
the lord is resurrected from the holy grave,
Thy Christ is lost and mine got awaken.

The baptism of truth and revolution
will engulf every soul of this generation.
The lost revelation and the prophet of truth
"CHE" our brother in arms we stood.

Thousand have gone to the distant land.
The land of joy, peace and harmony.
Real might they seem like an oasis in the sand,
forever they brought fear and agony.

You might have faced a wanderer,
easing his nerve and mounting a horse.
Navigating his path for an uncanny land,
together they might seem strong and bold.

The sands of time have taken its toll.
The joy of thrill has served the voracious soul,
now it searches for solitude and bliss,
As the vagrants were not alone.

A mannequin of flesh and bone,
half with you and half have gone.
you praised me as your autumn moon,
a token of gratitude from next trade deal.

We went to the hotel balustrade,
thee spoke about your drenched past,
gloomy and hollow they seem to me,
thy life resembles a lost symphony.

You feasted upon my breath and soul,
I lay torpid with only flesh to hold,
for the autumn clouds have cleared the sky.
The moon shines fully in the autumn night.