Scholars debated for decades
The meaning of those words
He had written.
He couldn't quite say
But knew they had been important at the time.

Usain Bolt, like a thunder bolt,
Darted towards his final halt
With all his might combined
Pushing his opponents behind
Making the world wonder if Bolt - a colt

lucky is the family
that can celebrate
more birthdays for their living
than for their dead

it takes us years
to find out how our body works
what it can feel, smell, touch, see, hear
how we can move its limbs
what hurts it, what makes it feel  good

more years are spent
discovering the fathoms of our soul
from murky depths to lofty heights
the scales of feelings, pain, excitement
     love, joy, jealousy, despair,
all our nuanced sensitivities

then we explore
the layers of our mind’s infinite potential
its constant work of making sense
    from the reports of all our senses
so we believe we understand our worlds,
imagine new ones, phantasize about the old

when after all these years
we harbor some illusion
our long experience might be enough
     to straighten all confusion
chances are good we recognize
that all we are is knowledge-misers

we have grown old, but not much wiser

All strung
out
       on
sadness,
empty shells
of needles
      that injected
the next defense
      to keep me going
splayed upon
the coldness
            of metal
somewhere in a place
lower than
the floorboards
of the nether regions
of a private hell,
where no one sees
      the truth behind
the doors of
           beaten swords
of silken pictures
in frothy shades
of effervescent green
a smiling happy family
in which the
sounds of drowning
can only be
             vaguely heard
a faded gurgle
       in an ocean of sighs

Somewhere, there,
the pain in my veins
spreads like
a self-administered
                       drug
only it's not
my prescription, at all
just a parody
from the very
    sick doctor
who shares
          this house,
meant to
be a home
one who thinks
he knows it all
but knows nothing

In this dreamlike weaving
of staring blankly
into alternative spaces
when all is so heavy
that even breathing is a task
I suddenly remember
   who the **** I am
and push my gaze through
the ceiling cracks
to look up at
         the stars,
receiving their
            shadows
           of light
      like a blessing
   upon my
   nettle-stung
    tongue
and
       rise

I will take the time
to gaze upon
the burnished chest
of the resident hawk
while I am waiting
for the sun to drop
and pastel
the water blue

I will patiently
wait
for the mountains
to radiate
for my heart
to steady
for the return
of peace

I will relinquish
control over
my tiny world
scattered thoughts
flying up
brushing
their curved wings
against me

I will remember
land and sea
will forever be
remaining long after
we hurt each other
long after we turn
our backs
on love

I will take the time
to be still
moon balanced
on my open palm
illusive beacon
enlighten
the coming
night

Do you remember
The fairy tales we spun
On those blazing summer noons
When the road tar was melting
And we bunked classes
To be under the forest flame
Shadowed from the world outside
When we thought time would be immortal
As you wiped the sweats from my forehead
And with every thread of yarn
I would grip you harder
In an effort to prevent gravity
From letting those moments fall
Into the abyss of memories.

Do your eyes still see the Prince
That never took you away
When you tell your grandkids
The fairy tales?

Happiness is like a chocolate cake -
When it's in front of you, there is no
Greater feeling or thrill.
When it's gone, there's just nothing.

i sleep
wide eyed
in fear of letting go
of my fears
and flying
away




F                        R                        E              ­          E

With your bottom resting on me
you roam the world of poetry
display spectrum of your poetic mood
ever bothered about this piece of wood?

I hold your frame over day and night
weight of your spirit soaring to height
your struggle to find in all only good
ever bothered about this piece of wood?

I rest your arms on my armrest
for your comfort I do my best
see you don't fall when in deep brood
ever bothered about this piece of wood?

For years my touch has kept you at peace
carried you safe seated with ease
when empty yawns the space I stood
is it then you would realize worth of my wood?

desire has no mercy
like a red morning light
tickling your feet
it has me transparent
it has me transformed
into roar, thunder, wave
or quicksand in your hands
till the air in between
is fully charged,
radioactive
and insane

ask your blood
your limbs, your breathing feet
what Poetry is -
a phylogenetic anomaly
in light’s discontinuity

or just…
the strange yearning of hematopoiesis

ask the silence in your lungs
the bursting DNA, reinterpreted
how it allures memory inside your bones
how it treads conventions of sleep
with the weight of a sigh

if you ask me
what Poetry is
I’d say: breath calligraphy
a winged dream of depth
on enchanted retina
the bitter-sweet art of airy harmony

ask your hands
what Poetry is
perhaps they’ll take a moment
to bloom

Sometimes a poet's muse
                            comes

          e
        r
   ­       r   a
               t  
               i c
              a
             l
               ly



like     a
           puzzle
                           s  c  a  t  t  e  r  r  e  d
on
          the            marble
            
        of
                      his
                               imagination
    

       then
                   he
picks
              his     quill
with

                 his
                          witty
hands
                      
and arranges
his  thoughts
into a poem.