be honest

do you always
like yourself
   your partner
   all your friends
   your job

do you feel
at times
that you are quite abominable
   your friends are boring
   have turned into enemies
that your beloved has become
   an obligation rather than the joy of your life
and that your job is just
   a never ending treadmill

if all of the above applies
then it is time to take
   a step or two
   back from the everyday

look at yourself
as from a mountain top
and honestly acknowlegde
that you belong
   to the seven billion people
   on this globe

who struggle

Babies of 2016 will touch screen teddy bears
and marvel at the technology their parents got by with
- dismissing our reminiscing of times gone by as wishful thinking
never fully understanding what life was like just twenty years back down the line.

My life before my eyes saw you
Was dark and empty and like a dying coal
My heart was hard and burdened with rue
My blood was cold from my dying soul
I had my things and friends 'tis true
But the happiness from stuff grows old
From whence happiness came I never knew
The only thing I felt was the creeping cold
Joy seemed to me as like a bird, in it came and out it flew
"Things always get better" I was told
But it seemed that to happiness was an everlasting queue
Some said to take a risk and risk being bold
Was all it took, as well as risking my life too
But I cringed and tried to hide in gold
Surely happiness From wealth was due?
Then I felt myself squeezed into a mould
And that was when my eyes saw you.

For every tear I cried
Was a tear you wiped aside
Your arms would wrap around me
And in perfect bliss would I be
For every tear I wept
Was a tear that You treasured and kept
When You find me weeping
You draw me into Your arms for keeping
For I know that when I mourn I find your perfect peace
Blessed are they who mourn for when You come our tears will cease
Like a Mother with her children's fear
You call to me and draw me near
And when You touch my broken spirit
You treat my wounds with tender care
When I was shivering in the freezing cold
You collected my tears of gold
So, in your arms rest young and old
Kings and paupers, slaves and I
Within the Father's loving hold
You have called me Precious Daughter
And I have called you Loving Father

~~
While the dawn flashed
Even rest of the friends went away
Exhausted cigarettes were on the Ash Tray
Evidence of the lost existence of

None didn't recall her, her words
But everyone moved with his head
Morning to evening, random
Not remembering, wandering  

How many people came
within too many ways
Again went through,
anywhere
Once I saw
even they didn't come back
anymore

At the late afternoon
in the window of my gray days  
I remember some faces
Mystic flowers remained
prostrate in the dust of
meandering ways

Came back
and picked up her
Loved, love
Far away on the other end,
rose up schematically
with the seventh
tunes of the guitar  

None didn't recall, her words
within the crowd
of a thousand faces,
In the counter path
of the clock
again I heard the song

The old song replaced
by the new,
morning shines
with the new sun
I hear the sounds of cry
of a new baby
Fungus has seen on the tape
of the old cassette

You are captive
within a dust covered album
My friend,
The lost spring,
The richness of our love,
As if I have left thousands of dreams  

Intangible time passing gently
with the tic tic of the timepiece
As if I have passed on the fastest train
Recognized the great known,
unknown wilderness

I woke up,
Saw
On the one hand,
your faded picture
The other hand,
holding hands of
The New Stranger of time
~~
@Musfiq us shaleheen

I need a true- friend..... Just to hang-with-me. No- Judgment-- just harmony.... U- Be-You and I'll-Be-Me. Yeah! Even-If, We're hanging from this tree! Hang-With-Me!

The opening act is immorality.
Observe.
Intervals divide not naturally
but with intent. To lack, in lacking,
I express- without, of course.
Provisions lessen, starve to death,
caressing apathy.
Run.
Run away from conception, direction.
Consume nothing.

Act two is speculation.
Time expands naturally.
The godhead splinters
vomiting seedlings of Betlahm.
They breed, inhabit the womb
of the earth. Servants die
monarchs are imagined.
The crown, christened
with black opals and painite.

Louder! Louder!
Our crescendo nears!
The springs of fertility
ovulate nourishment. Absorb
these eggs and conceive
not Theseus, but Artemis
Scarcity ceases to be,
and oceans of wealth
are now begging for disposal.

A symphony of woodland imagination , Sycamore trees that mimic the forlorn's indignation .. Persuasive River Birch's cover quiet brooks , compel the fragmented light crossing the waters surface between moss covered stones , Honey Locust armed with their crown of thorns , instruments of the Passion stand majestic as regal Live Oaks command the high cliffs above the swirling tributaries confluence and utter confusion ..
Pan awakens the creatures at Dawn with the song of whippoorwill and Mourning Dove . Helios sets the floor aglow , Redtailed Hawks deliver their morning anthems..
Angels walk freshwater streams without question , forever charged with unfolding the tapestry of divine creation ..

I long for her mesmerizing gratuities .. To convalesce within boundless arcadian charms , nestled within variegated hardwood thickets , visibly enraptured and in complete faculty of mind whilst thankfully secure in every emotion ..

On a blue and alabaster evenings , snowfall glows beneath the Winter Sun , joyous , spirited afternoons and conviviality among old friends and family .. Red ribbons and tinsel , the warmth of burning Oak and Hickory , tall evergreen shadows , garland , ornaments with magnificent brilliance enhance the festive celebration on this Day of Miracles* ...