the ripe winds
perch upon the threads of
western disturbance

trading through the
vastness of liquid turmoil

flowing and cutting
across the narrowest
of vengeance

that has laid upon
this land flourishing
under a disguise:
of mere nothingness and
certain similarity;

for who knows
what converses with the
frigid north

and talks to the
passes of the mighty
peaks of middle Asia

walking past the grandeur
of the Himalayas, and it's
many ancient towns

where no other
has been of any importance
whatsoever

there in the sweet solace
of solitude and crisp sunrises

i find myself dreaming
of the tranquil winds, and
ancient passageways:

far from Nazareth and
the cradle of men

where the old brick
roads now sleep in dusk

and there's nothing
left to conquer

built upon the spectacular
-- on this olden earth

i find myself yearning
for little things.

the ripe winds
perch upon the threads of
western disturbance












days dissolve in sadness
find me when this ends

tell me about your
experiences

lets go for a walk
before it's too late

i'm awake just
for you

and i never sleep when
you are not looking

i stay still until the
alarm rings

and it is your time
to leave

early morning when
the songbird sings

there you are
never here

you've loved me in
the spring

and i've been in love
with you ever since

dying of sadness on
a tuesday








trading through the
vastness of liquid turmoil

flowing and cutting
across the narrowest
of vengeance

that has laid upon
this land flourishing
under a disguise:
of mere nothingness and
certain similarity;

for who knows
what converses with the
frigid north

and talks to the
passes of the mighty
peaks of middle Asia

walking past the grandeur
of the Himalayas, and it's
many ancient towns

where no other
has been of any importance
whatsoever

there in the sweet solace
of solitude and crisp sunrises

i find myself dreaming
of the tranquil winds, and
ancient passageways:

far from Nazareth and
the cradle of men

where the old brick
roads now sleep in dusk

and there's nothing
left to conquer

built upon the spectacular
-- on this olden earth

i find myself yearning
for little things.

how many times have I sat in a cafe alone

empty chairs to keep me company.

with a brave face, and tensed brows

trying to look past the hazy blur that
seems to have caught me in trance.

sipping on the bitter coffee to remind me there's something to live for

and finish before I leave here, be gone for maybe what could be my last time

of sitting alone in a cafe, of people and chatter to keep me company,


I used to like it here.

between, there lies my burden
on my knees i am but a servant

serving at your feet as i've done
a thousand times before

swollen gaze
resting upon your eyes

i can't flinch
and catch me by surprise  

bound in chains, kissed by
******* --

i want to taste your
addictive lies

corrupted conscience
lost in sermons

you're so vindictive it'll
never suffice

you and i cannot
survive

in this malfunctioning
world

spiralling through summer
as it grows

into autumn, uncertain,
of the winter that passes by

in that weakness i find myself
drawn to you

in your arms of ruthless
subversion

suffocate me with your
fruitful diversions

the more i am awake
more it worsens

i'm barely alive haunted
by desertion

desperate for an escape
from this burden

yours even   ever after,
i am truly yours.

beacon of hope
emerald heart of mine

frolicking in
ruins

in a transparent
hue

pretending to be
smoke

running amok
in the golden fields

forcing the winds

and you can see
heaven when

the sun falls
seared

every dark hour

and the beacon
of hope

becomes me.

look at home,

the night is dark
and yet forgetful

warm room with
bodies sound asleep

cosy air breathes
through the windows

as the leaves fall
somewhere in the future

and a rainy day
is on the offering

carelessly stoking
arms of the clock

it's a shelter still
this warm room

filled with things
that will be --

old and dying,

as the leaves fall
somewhere in the future

for enough springs have
come to pass

now that i sit here
looking at old photographs,

visiting home.

watch me as i suffocate
at the corner

of this malfunctioning
room

where all thoughts come
to die

and decompose into
boarded windows

and cracked walls

old and vast
traveling as i have

circling me as i
draw a line

ever further from
me


\PART-2||


cold blue eyes
stare at me

from between the
spaces

and there's no place
dark enough to hide


\PART-3|


there's a grave divide
in my smile

of all those things
i couldn't whisper

and bring to life

always breathing colours
into the corpses

making love to the ideas
in my folding head

unbecoming of the caught
dread

that grows into new days
and old nights

witnessing the many storms
that have knocked on my door

to lure me out in
the open

where the world can
haunt me

possess my conflicts
and scars

it's alright if i die

here, and now

in this endless moment
that we live in

and call home

where everything's pretty
all the time,

malfunctioning.