A home is a home is a home
it's a place, it's a haven, it's a heart
my head, a heavy tome
but here, my pages, they easily part

A feeling is a feeling is a feeling
of belonging, of caring, of staying
here, my mind felt ease, I'm simply being
my body speaks tired, here, I'm not afraid of swaying

A lover is a lover is a lover
for I'm well fed, for I'm blanket-covered, for I'm hot-showered,
I'm being shared, my lover and my bed, and I'm undercover,
I do as I please, I'm undaunted or a coward

A house is a house is a house
sometimes old and weary, cold and eerie, sole and leery
it breathes in and out, familiar rhythm, one with my mouth
My home gives me the feeling that there's a lover in the house, here I saw ice being fiery

A voyage to Greenland

Greenland is the largest island in the world, but it is not a continent
I looked up Nuuk the capital up on the YouTube; it is now a modern town
with supermarkets and even cafes.
I was there fifty years ago. Back then it was a rather primitive place
with a million barking dogs and drunk people on the dirt roads,
they used to hang dogs slowly so the hairs stood out and it was
exported as pelt one hopes this practice has been outlawed.
I remember the coastline it was bottle green and for once, still,
we went fishing in a clear stream so transparent and shallow
but when we waded over to the other side, it was so deep we could have drowned.
It was the coldest bath of my life.
Greenland was beautiful, but it was then not a place to remember with fondness,
except for the trout we caught.

Pretty eyes,
What are you doing
Pretty eyes
Please dont cry
Your heart may not be made of gold
You'll still get wrinkles when your old
But your eyes will always show your soul
And that's what makes you beautiful

Pretty eyes
Theres nothing to be afraid of
Pretty eyes
I can see just what your made of
Pretty eyes
Your hiding in the corner
And I've never felt as warm as I do now

Pretty eyes
They glimmer and they sparkle
You've never been called remarkable
But you'll see
Just how strong you can be

Pretty eyes
What are you doing
Pretty eyes
Please dont cry
Your heart may not be made of gold
You'll still get wrinkles when you're old
But no ones perfect
Your pretty eyes reflect your soul
And that's what makes you beautiful

Pretty eyes
Dont look down

What are we
To ponder and think
To walk and jump
To swim and blink
To process a world of information
To have extraudenary potential in every aspect
And to sit
For years
Behind a brainwash brick
To watch for years as we destroy our world
To smile as human rights are ripped by force from the innocent half a world away
We sit
And we watch
And we do
Absolutely
Nothing

Be pure,
Be beautiful,
Wear a caring smile,
Harness anger.
Wrap with humanity,
Display affection,
Abandon cruelty.
Show kindness,
Top with love,
Dress down jealousy.
Sport charity,
Adorn patience,
Powder it with good attitude,
Conceal vanity.
Bear grudges,
Wrap with resposibility,
Disrobe selfishness.
Exhibit  respect,
Clothe in fairness,
Hide greediness.
And the torch of beauty will beam from within you.

How can we be
The society we claim to be
While totally supporting
A very, very huge
Entity
Which openly practices
Gender discrimination

Stealing away from the noise and glare
I paced the aisles of an ancient library
Being worn and tired, indisposed to read
I sat in a corner, lost in half reverie

Around me were books stacked end on end
In safely locked glass and wooden shelves
And sectioned into different genres
Fiction, non- fiction, verse et al, in thinly layered leaves

I felt lost in this vast continent of erudite friends
Poet, scholar, philosopher and sage, each sat quiet
But those silent souls seemed to crave for human touch
Waiting to serve anytime learning’s lovesome diet

Closely sheltered from the tumult of the world
The place, though serene had an eerie air
And books like so many beauties in a harem
Were kept away in seclusion just to admire

The lifeless air and the long deserted look
Mildly disturbed my inner calm
Couldn’t digest man’s total disregard of books
Which for long, to many a lonely soul, served as balm

Sitting amid those gallant souls
I thought over the relentless efforts of sage like men
Who in the stillness of the night, in their cloistured cells
Plunged into research and meditative reflection

What knowledge is garnered in these tomes!
What all charms, encased in these pages!
To what magic lands they can carry us
Sharing with us the accumulated wisdom of ages

With the profusion of electronic gadgets
And information, readily available by a finger hit
Books no more are given a venerable treat
And fated to be stashed away in corners unlit

Heavy with the time tested wisdom of the wise
They sit huddled together in damp corners
Longing to get a little human warmth
But sadly neglected like rusted burners

After an hour’s enervating reprieve
While I was leaving that dumb world
In my ears, fell a faint sound
Of the agonizing cry of the Printed Word!