I have been in the moon
In search of love all noon
Searched through deserts
Even through garden of Eden.
I have Searched beneath the sea
Travelled wide even to overseas
Still could not find love.
I went to Vatican
Even to Mecca
Driven through the romantic sites of Paris
Bath in the Brazilian beaches
Flown across the Atlantic
Pitched my tenth for few days on the Antarctic
Spend some more on the arctic
Still I saw no love.

All I saw was lust
Angels with broken hearts,
Rotten roses,
Withered lilies,
Death faiths and monsters on beautiful faces.
I saw bullets in church offering boxes
Just wedded on number plates of ambulances.
I saw wars in diversity
Pain and mourning crowding all cities
The devil celebrating the dead of peace.

I saw three wise men
Where went love, I asked them
They said love has been nailed on the cross
Buried with trust
They are heading to Galilee
To await his return.
I followed with dreams
I met many returning with smiles of frustration
From where I was going with pregnancy of expectations.

We arrived to the scene
Like a nightmare, I witnessed higher sins
I saw men taking pleasures with men
Some with animals, some women with women.
Gun everybody walking sticks
People feeding on people flesh
With human blood the thirsting ones quench their thirst.

Is this where love is expected to return?
The wise men retorted,
Yes, the saints have been raptured
And his seven years  reign has just began.
Then in a flash, I remembered that I have been taught
Taught about this dreadful end
I had also taught kids
Under trees at nights
Just to threaten them to live right.
What I thought was a mare threat or a fallacy
Has been awaken against my fate in reality.
Oh! We are among the leftovers
Left to reprove ourselves or be doomed forever.

Hello poetry
My secret friend that love to publicize me
To your friends like me.
In you I hide my tears in form of words
When I blink out a smile you inspire me to put it in words
And you freely licence me to paint them on your wall
For all the world to criticize, follow, like and love.

I say Hello to poetry
When my heart is tired of the silence,
I turn to you for some solace
And you are never tired of my beautiful noise
You pay so much attention to my quiet voice
Like you are listening with your ears and still busy reading my lips
Though I'm lost in your world you still give me the chance to always take the lead.
Indeed you are a garden of inspirations
You motivate me even in my lowest moment
You are such a blessing to my nature
Convincing  your friends to cherish my effortless work is one of my greatest achievement.

I say hello to the poets
Of Hello Poetry
We are more than stars
We are galaxies,
Our flawless ceremonies of words are more than real
They are the greatest fantasies.
What else can I say
when all the words that are yet to be said
Are all sparkling obvious
Truly, Poetry is more than a culture but a behaviour.

My favorite poem
is the next one, yet to be,
that I shall write....

Once, I wrote:
a flawless poem
if such there were,
will always be,
the next one^

When asked again,
I still thus answer

For everything I have ever writ,
flawed,
even if the imperfection,
minor,
the clarity, not the pristine perfect
I sought

Digging mining refining...
this process endless,
a life long condition of being
human

It is therefore and ironically godlike,
unchangingly immutable,
this, the divine spark within me,
my nizotz,
unceasingly immutable
in search of the flawless poem,
my favorite-yet-to-be, to be

my favorite poem
is the next one I shall write....
and the one there after,
until the flawless one is either created
or found, bound, full formed

or

until the inkwell empty,
the mind black blot dimmed,
the eyes yellowed-weakened,
the lips, white parched beyond repair,

whichever comes last,
conceding,
the last poem, perforce, must suffice.

Dayenu

Where will the children go to play
When there is nothing left
On the deserted city streets
But tears and broken glass

Where will the elders take their strolls
When all the sidewalks are gone
What will they do when they find they've erased
Everything that they have drawn

An emptiness that hangs like a mist
Over the cold damp ground
Who will be there to feed the hunger
When darkness rolls around

But when the darkness goes away
And who's to say it will
Will things be like they once had been
Or will the emptiness strike us still