"I know loneliness"
Whispered the single drop of sweat
As she dripped down my spine

It came upon the good doctor to clutch it in his palms
An object so sharp that blood oozes over its tip
Touching and clutching it he weeps tears of excess
Excess of the desire from where emerges life

Nothingness is the very excess that flows beyond being
Beyond the infinitesimal horizons of cosmic pleasure
The devil at play beyond the confines of the mind
Language the immanent trap that infinitely failed

Moving beyond the pale meditation of holy dignity
Gods emerge from the midst of haunting madness
The excess of the gods, divine excrement turn into dust
The sweet aura of the banished god- the scavenger

The very life of the gods contained with death and play
They danced across spaces, traversed beyond scope
Their bodies decay as stars while their excess reaches within
Within every marked desert of intoxication that grasps infinite depth

Weeping in the midst of the great gulf, the gods fade as the night
They emerge as beasts and flowers amidst the deep of the sea
The fall into madness, excess, passion and excrement
Perfume is but the odour of man turning into dust

Even the glory of the gods reflected divine excrement
Every entity an extension of another, the cosmic essence
That binds and destroys life as movement unfolds beyond reason
The essence beyond the shared catastrophe that binds life to itself

The good doctor watches the blood ooze from the body
Blood being the testimony of immanent frailty which traumatizes being
His tears dilute his blood as trauma sustains life
It falls into the ground and the divine fruit is born

The essence of goodness contained within the germ of madness
Madness that tantalizes the notion which shames reason
The realm of divinity where infinite wisdom dwells
It dwells in the midst of bliss- Ananda !

The God of Bliss awakens as the stench of being enters the heavens
The creator weeps as he watches the excess of heavens multiply
The object that the good doctor possesses drives him into oblivion
Never more is the world haunted by the gods !

Bliss even the bliss that is found in the mountaintop
Where the last god lay and washed his feet with perfume
And the milk of the divine yak nourished the heavenly nymphs
Charged with ****** excess, paradise lay in the midst of hell

The good doctor returns to the womb from whence he came
Beyond the confines of trauma, desire and being
Every creature watched as he lay the world bare and nacked
Never again will the gods return to plague the world

Then lie the bodies, cold, writing in pain and pleasure, leaning on love
Bodies that desire the gods of old to sustain trauma and jouissance
Where is the good doctor now? Whence will he return my love?
And there in her eyes, the beauty of the world lay

I looked at her and in an instant her eyes transformed reality
Oceans swept the depth of the horizons, stars became angels
Time turned into eternity and the darkness ebbed into nothingness
Trauma was rent apart and life was bound by divine love

I kissed her lips and as I wept I beheld the good doctor
He lay dying in the depth of the traumatic vengeance
His organs lay in the excrement of totality
His eyes gauged out, his ears rent apart and his mouth torn asunder

His limbs were scattered and his intestines emptied
The years of his life at an end and his body dismembered
Disseminated, the stench of the lifeless corpse filled the universe
I looked at her and it was the stench of love

I looked into the heart of darkness and I wept
The sound of my anguish filled the halls of time and space
The pillars of paradise was torn asunder and rent Hades apart
Eternal sorrow that sustains our love

And then as I beheld the futility of existence I kissed her lips again
I closed my eyes and I experienced the touch of the heavens in her mouth
And in the infirmary  his body lay among the dead
His organs burned as a sacrifice to atone for existence

Existence, trauma and excrement echo the cry of divine justice
And here the body lay without its organs and we were too sorrowful was beyond measure
We then buried his cold body under the stars in the heaven
We saw the scars from where his organs were rent asunder

A corpse contains the testimony of death as he gather everything to himself
But a corpse without organs? What does it contain?
Must it not contain death and trauma itself?
And here his hollow body lay, and death the parasite

A parasite's life lies in the life of the organs within the body
When the organs cease of give life, the enemy perishes
And death lay dying in the grave he decayed
The good doctor lay in the realm of darkness forever !

The blood and his tears have now produced fruit !
It was its fragrance that brought life to darkness
In the darkness of the night my lover went into the grave
Fearing not what lay in the midst of the darkness

Wind is the master of time, she flies beyond the medium that she animates
The wind carried in her ***** the fruit of blood and tears
And then she saw that the keeper of the dead leave the confines of his realm
The wind blew beyond measure into the land of the living

And then I kissed her in the graveyard one last time
For she was too sore to live but her eyes spoke one last time
And there I saw the good doctor was not dead ! He smote his foe in the deep !!
His fruit was now beyond the grave where they lay him !

The hollow of his body is now the testimony of love and eternity !
And there I awoke from my dream and my heart skipped a beat !
My desire was water was now beyond measure and I looked into the river
In the sky I saw that love is the very excess that engulfs desire !

Satellites, perfumes, smartphones and other gizmos
Then they forget the giant stench among them
Dwelling with them and moving with them
A monster with an insatiable appetite
A work of art some would say
It overflows from households and factories
Into works of Philosophy and literature
The sages that attained Nirvana in the midst
Of adulterated syringes and gross excrement
The New Buddha under the Garbage mountain
The Prince among the generations to come
Abounding in dialectical wisdom from distant worlds
Embodied in an era of savage monstrosities
Where heads are pounded with information
And hearts won over by shallow myths
Take me away from the world into excesses
Ungroudning my wretched appetites into sheer freedom
Garbage freedom, serfdom unleashed
A new religion emerges suffocating Ecological gods
Radically excessive backdrops for new sciences
We sing new songs as we ascend into thrash
We thrash and we rejoice for our destiny
The destiny of life over nature’s laws

I held her with my eyes -
My dreamy eyes
I lifted my arms
They seemed like wings
My volitant night
I believe I can fly too
Heaven 2.0 need not wait.⁠⁠⁠

In the sea of words
I sail so often.
With my crucible of pain
I gather them
Making my own puddle
Into it I dive
Splash!!!!!
****** and Muddy
I rise

Those little streaks of light
I gathered carefully in a bottle
A few drops of time
Dollops of love
Shaken and stirred
Gently holding your cheeks
Drop by drop
I feed you
Your lips consume
You bloom
You are the morning

This is the story of a young man who found his feet....
Turning around twisted corners among ancient street of cobblestones,
he felt his numb senses come alive
much like the way young girls come alive
in the aura of a subtle yet extravagant fragrance.

The call of the city was too wild to ignore
and the dastardly cries from empty streets gave strength
to his otherwise weary feet.
The tales of the midnight furies wandering skyline saturated
with giant pods and artificial gadgets
was as powerful as any other rumor of a technology
so wonderful that it will call for another great revolution.
The mall was rife with footfalls and giant screens
with amazing propositions
each promising an experience like never  before.

He is then saturated with experiences that a caveman
would have dreamed of only in his version of "heaven".
"Eternity in a grain of sand" is what the Poet said
in great eloquence but too many "eternal moments"
made him question the existence of an "afterlife".
He pondered "Maybe death makes sense now more than anything..
the dead do not need experience,
they are weary of that burden ****** upon the living."
He turned to visit the grave
but he remembered the words of the wise Philosopher
"Visit the dead in the morning
when the first rays of the Sun kiss the Earth
after she wakes up from her slumber."
He imagined the Night as the time where the Earth slumbered
and dreamt up solid vagaries.
The Night is always "Queer"
but then the Sun arrives with so much clarity
that but then the Neon lights are an intrusion
to this order trying to bring balance to man
caught up in an exchange too lofty for him to understand.

He looked into the night sky
and saw the great manmade light shining into the darkness psychoanalyzing the night and shaming her narrative.
The Neon light stands between light and darkness,
it is dark because plants do not respond
to it the way it does to the sun
but it definitely gives a clarity and a perspective
the Sun can never understand.

What does it mean to walk this city?
The gods hid among nature first,
in forests, rivers, mountains and the clouds
but we bumped into them everyday because of Prometheus's error !!
He suffers eternally with a grin
because he was the only Titan who destroyed the gods from within.

Then the gods hid in cities, farms,
vineyards, temples and the graves of the dead
but we sought them out through Monotheistic rites.
Then they said to themselves
"We are running out of spaces,
perhaps the time is now rife
when we take shelter in human language,
we can deceive mortal men that they have power over their language
but take shelter precisely where they boast complete dominance."

Then they lived among us hidden,
we tried to seek them but could never find them
till one day we found traces of their likeness
in the words we speak and now History is a war!
A war to take language from the gods and take control of History. Deconstruction gave us tactical advantage
and mathematics struck the final blow
and now the gods have run out of spaces
and they inhabit garbage mounds.

They know that that "wastelands" exist in human minds
and we now seek to saturate ourselves with experiences
that we have finally become weary
of this futile war till our machines took over.

They exist only to rid hunt down the gods
at all costs and render the Earth as she is.
We will no longer see traces of the gods
when we look upon the Night sky
but only unmediated objective truth!
Then shall the poets lament,
the kings of the Earth lose their ground,
the archer will shoot with no purpose,
the seducer will lose his cunning
and the skeptic will fall silent.
We try to invent new rituals
but we know that our only purpose here was to defeat the gods.
Nietzsche said that man is a bridge
between the ape and the ubermensch
but little did he know
that the ubermensch was the bridge between him and the Machine!
Here is the story of a young man
who found his feet and matter
was as dense as adamantium and as light as cotton candy....

Summer it was in the land of dust and ashes
Rivers overflowing with corpses, decaying bodies
The sunlight and the shadows merged eternally
In the grey canvas of the mystic visionary

Economists clashed as capital overcame mankind
Temples bustled with great gods and divine prostitutes
Seeking an outburst into the quarters of the arena
The fat of the land was their reward

Ten thousand merchants with bellies bursting forth
Made love to liposuction hospitals
Cannibals returned from the dust where they belong
Nothing mattered anymore, the darkest of days

His time was numbered they said, the aging beast refused to die
Ten thousand rituals around the carcass of a dead burden
He needs the thorn in his flesh, the gentle wound and a mild ******
Writing slowly in forests of industrial refuse

Silence beyond the arches of the sea, paradise regained
We ate the remains of semi-organic residue
From automated plants and factories and a strange burden was eased
A creature from within us whose destiny lies beyond us
Meandering through the sunny beaches of neaterland
A strong syringe with an ancient disease
Consumes his flesh with an incurable wound
He refuses to live and she refuses to die

Among the corpses he stood because of his God
God of the corpses, god resting with the dead
I give you the body of my God and his blood
Redeem yourselves from yourselves !

I sleep
But the night is awake
She stretches her arms
Grabs the moon like a plate
Her words are like Sacher-Torte
Her story of scars, like upto stars, twinkled

In the courtyard of swift absent tyranny
Sifting below times, spaces and ages
Across all human bonds and morbid connections
Into a world of great gaps and wonder

(The boy, three feet tall, touches the sky and embodies the grey wind)

The city was made of gold, sapphire and onyx
Glowing with the light of ten thousand stars
Sheltering every broken hearted soul in its wings
In the sky, the night sky with hearts for stars

I see you, the cracks in your being
I watch your flesh decay as I embrace you
I touch your empty skull when I kiss your head
I drink your tears of anguish like a tragic nobody

When I hold your hand, it withers away
When I look into your eyes, I see sorrow
When I caress your dark hair, I see infertility
When I hear your voice, I hear a sad song

(Then you look at me and wonder "What do the dark empty spaces between the stars mean? Don't you know that we were once dead stars who became human?)

I was the prince of the night sky
The envy of the gods in the heavens
Beasts feared me and demons abhorred me
Luminous and radiant by your side I dwelt

But see you, I could not
Feel you, I did not
Touch you, I must not
Cry a tear, I should not

The Lord of the lark and the morning sun saw us
The breath of life awoke me from deep slumber
We will meet again soon beyond this presence
Where the dewdrops kiss the stubborn earth

Betwixt heaven and earth did my soul wander
The memory of flesh is my broken crown
O Saint Francis, thou didst know that all is soul
Why then did you allow the holy stigmata to afflict your flesh?

(He then meets the Saint's presence and he sees wounds of glory that entwines him to the Lord of life)

Oh Lord of awe, is he one of your creatures?
They say that beasts yielded to your presence dear Saint
I see the golden harvest and the clear morning sun
The oxen burn with passion and the river never runs dry

I feel the vibrations of the earth my mother
I bathe in the waters of the fountain of life
I see the Lamb that was slaughtered
I see eternity in your broken laughter.

Monosyllabic swish
She draws her sword
Not for blood
But to light the world
With the glint
Of swords shiny tip
Her eyes.

Would this tale afflict thee O children of the bedevilled rock

Yonder afflictions of substances unknown in cold pits

With tremulous fingers and tempestous lips the body reacts to the invisible

While the blooming radius of the ancient arch is magnified by the moonlight

Through the weary portals of the ages lie unravished and unanswered heartbeats

Across the thin glaced places where the bell tolls for ****** wonder

Where the graces of undying wisdom fain to alight their ancient favor

I, a ravaged  rapscallion, trace all the hidden moments of my vain heart

With insticts that lay in the ***** of the undying  muses

Strange moments hidden amidst galaxies and battered bodies

Then the feasting begins when nocturnal flavors ****** unperturbed lips

The general substance of furies unknown and muchness unnerved

Tasked with obsolete oaths and unmade promises, the warrior breathes his last

By Rowan Moses

The face, scarred beyond recognition
A nacked exposure against the real
Every fantasy crushed under the weight of being
Being is nothing but nackedness

A void in the midst of his heart
Amidst the dream of eternal happiness
A broken life, travailing under *******
A framework of meaning presented by lust

Nacked came I out of my mother's womb
Among ten thousand aborted infants
One woman in travail dies to bring life
Life tarnished by sores and boils!

Soothing his body with a porcupine's quill
He vomits and laments outside the scope of life
The grave seemed an inviting space
Why did the ****** ever give birth?

Why was he not among the aborted?
Why was he not a sacrifice to Baal or Molach?
May the day he was born never be remembered
Life toys with him like a cat does its prey

And lo the great consumer arises from the depths
Great as the darkness that arose in cosmic proportions
It was he which consumed the first star
It was his terrible laughter that echos in the grave

The raw laughter of pure jouissance beyond flesh and body
Beyond the confines of matter hard and real
Beyond the nature of every genus ever known to humanity
Sacrifice and die, ******* and die, this is sacred religion

Dry bones around the alter, viruses dying with hunger
No more corpses, no more decaying flesh
Create once more O divine creator, so we may eat and drink
We will once again ****** and consume

Outside the scope of the dead he lay with his sores
Discharge of stale blood and mucus surrounds his being
He was mocked for all eternity for his suffering
He refused to die, he refused to yield and he refused religion

And they took his flesh and offered it to the great beast
The one who's appetite does not rest
The one who's desire is endless like the skies
His heartbeat is the sound of negative infinity

But his flesh was devoid of nourishment
And his bones hollow without marrow
His blood was like empty air in a broken container
He was nothing but a wound- a divine wound

He himself was death, disease and pain
The trauma of the real opens up and all fantasies disappear
They disappear like the mist in the light of the morning sun
The wound is now the cure and death is now life

I took a trip down the ecstatic abyss of Amoria

Through narrow crooked bylanes and juniper dumpsters

Peering through moments of insipid laughter

Prime pranksters, nerdsters and gooseberry gangsters

Languishing through marauding beauracratic rituals

Peering through unexpected ideals and benign gestures  

Then out in this rugged terrain lay the bear with cold feet

Eyes like blessed blue whales and timid water hyacinth

Narrow corridors of limbs endowed with firm yet hollow muscles

Tuberculosis and octopus gunk lay smeared in every nostril

"Ah! Nauseating yet divine!" said the knight to the pitiful jester

Rowan Moses

A late evening time at Starbucks is pleasure undefined
I was expecting a lady tired at 9
But she looked perfect and absolutely fine
Whipped up her sweater and wore it inside out
Pretty and gorgeous she looked anyway, without any doubt
A very pretty young lady you see
She offered her hand to me in greeting and I accepted it gladly
Her hand was soft and smooth like silk and gripped mine firmly
In my large paw her little hand was almost like that of a child
In silence we continued to shake hands and I just smiled
She then turned away and bade me follow her saunter
I followed her exotic heady fragrance to the coffee counter
Silently she glimpsed the menu mounted on the wall
A latte with cream and do make it small
Even wearing flat footwear I marveled at her daintiness
Only reaching the dizzy height of five foot three more or less
The straight smooth hair cascaded onto her shoulders softly
A fitted silk blouse complemented her waif-ish frame perfectly  
I know not of her covered  waists and the hips
Then the shapely feet perched up in a cushioned stool
The overall effect was stunning and I was smitten I will confess
Then light illuminated her form through silken dress
The sudden transparency left nothing at all to the imagination
Seemingly completely oblivious to the effect she had achieved
On the red-blooded man in her wake she’d never have believed




And then she paused with a vacant look and looked at me
And the illumination in her eyes lit  her entire body
The vent of her dress caught in the seat
The glimpse of her footwear confirmed the intent I had
A she elegantly slipped into a comfortable position
And gestured towards me to take my place
She is not coy neither is she proud she is upright and confident
Her hypnotic voice was crystal clear yet soft
I was mesmerised enveloped into her intoxicating looks
She opened her bag and gently took out her laptop
Like a precious work of art she had paid for at Sothebys
Every stroke on the keys was like a brush stroke of an artist
As her well kept hair cascade to her shoulders like a drizzle
The light above made her skin sparkle along with her strands
Golden droplets like a stream caressing her neck gently
I was transfixed and my thoughts ceased momentarily
Then it started like a wind blowing in the land of fantasy.


The light flickered unassumingly her strands of golden hair glistened
A small streak like a golden rain tumbled and caressed her nape gently
And rested on her soft shoulders diffidently
The hues of colours made me question the rainbows dedication
Her eyes were captivating and pieced through me like cupids arrow
And her nose the seemed to constantly sense goodness as it tingled
Her mouth extended stretching her lips signifying the enormity of her heart
Her words come forth from her moist lips and decorated my heart
On brief occasions she let he lips do a waltz in her mouth
I glimpsed at her smooth arms a few shades of same colour
Those delicate fingers those nails were like **** for a drug addict
Few rings clung on to her fingers and I envied them
Jewels adorn ordinary mortals she had none - the radiant jewel herself
Her keys dropped to the floor and she bent to pick it
Her blouse gaped revealing her breast a wee bit
A milky white flesh in crimson blaze and I avert the gaze
It was time to leave but my emotional storage tanks were full to the brim
I held her cheeks for a second and then she was gone
Her dazzling beauty turned on the stage lights and I was blinded
My language centres seemed to have gone on an vacation
There were no words to leave my mouth
I held tight to her fragrance that lifted me up in the air
Behold i could fly.

I got to know you
And I looked for the hardest surface to etch ur name
And it was my heart
The minute I wrote it
It melted away

I sleep in the curved hammock of your lips
Hanging on to your words
Rocked by your gentle breath

Oh knight of nights.
While u rested on shuttered lids, a battle ensued.
No weapons have I but my quill of imagination.
Friend or foe, dream or was it your steed?
"twill not survive d warmth of sunshine.
Is this d voice from the guts of the fortress just calling out "be aware"!

Beings without wings, flying free. Vision misty unchartered or long forgotten terrain. Somewhere the old soul cautions "tarry, Child, there's reason in limbs...one step a time".

If anything is as beautiful as the new dawn, it is the dusk that draws out the last drop of light. Dawn and dusk are antonyms of the strangest kind, those which have the exact composition of each other, each having the same share of light as that of darkness, one whose beauty is experienced in the brighter half of its self, while the other whose beauty is borne out by the darker side.

Oh Cryptic
You suspend me in mid air
In bewilderment I hang
The streams in your mind
Are running over the river banks
Its not clarity I ask
Weave a net with perplexity
So I am saved when I crash land