I want to be alone,
to sit between the
concave hollows of my bones,
nestle beneath folds of skin,
shut my eyes and
make the world go dim,
just me and a pulse,
a heartrate pumping blood
and when I open them
it's not the floodlit streets,
wars, fires or anger I see
but the trees and fields;
the peace i wear like a glove,
vowing not to take it off the
minute things get tough.

Throwing rocks into the winter river.
Ice as thin as a child's soul's skin
Carries not the weight
Of History's oldest weapon.

Like a paperless poem it shatters,
Floating away with the fleeing stream.
Water needs no windows.
Nothing is outside to its within.

What loss would it be?
What cost would it take?
To borrow such wings,
To fly to the King?

Follow his lead,
To hear him teach,
To know what it means,
To believe in the Dream.

Watch him dance in the grass,
Drinking from heaven's glass,
Singing,
"Free at Last... Free at Last..."

Last Friday night
across a summer’s night
the moonlit afire of cosmic presence
endured a promise of good peace.
As I entered my home, 9.13PM
I received a text from my dad
informing me that he’s been
involved in a car accident.
My flesh was worn out
from the day’s activities,
and melancholy added pressure
to my bloodstreams due to
my dad’s unfortunate event.
I could feel uncertainty
filling my unconscious mind,
drowning in sadness ‘cause
for the past six years
its been a normality for him;
facing insurance policies, getting medical treatment, a few calls
from family and friends ...
and he’s okay.
I threw a heavy stone
in my heart
and it broke me,
tears kissed my face
and I cleansed my soul with them.
Few minutes later he texted:
“in 20 min. time I’ll be home,”
and I wondered if this will
happen for the sixth time,
if he’ll survive another tragedy.
But whispers of hope said,
“you’re blessed, he’s blessed. be grateful. all is well.”
And I was okay.

You are made more precious than fine gold
spiritually refined in the essence of being bold
Worthy you are
A light reflection of the cross of Calvary
A masterpiece of a raw art gallery
Worthy you are.

Sweet child, free your mind
You carry two arms; your will and mind
Divinity is a mystery of your faith
A spiritual reflection of God’s grace
Allow yourself to be uplifted
Allow God within you, and be gifted.

Unleash the arrow from your bow
I'm hanging by a string you know

The anger's bent you nearly in two
Your rationality has lost it's due

Cast me not across the sky
It will only leave you asking why

Put me back into your quiver
Where we can again be birds of a feather

From the green hill, blows downwards
a wind, gently titillating the languid trees
of this dense forest,the rustling of the leaves create,
an impromptu tune, proving they are taut strings,
yielding willingly to the sensual fingers of the wind.

Super moon,while raising, listens keenly awhile
as if she had never heard one like this before.
The wise silver owl, sitting on the high branch
keeping account  of every stroke of night,with an imaginary wand,
as the conductor, catches the emerging mood that seethes
within the million pieces of orchestra that gently merge,
get exhilarated, finds a pause to punctuate it with a timely hoot,
the moment freezes, falls in to the repository of time for keeps.