If my heart pours out
If the rains turns to snow
Then my heart shall find rest
To the delight of the world

If a cry for blood burns like a fire
In the far land of kasheki, then the song of the heartland shall be sung by the hyena's

If the moon shodows it's beauty under the blue skies
A roar shall be heard in the sea deepth

To the voices of the earth
I just want to sing beneath the sun
beneath the clouds

Crystal  ball in pre night sky
Floating on orange waters
Bright light from departing sun
Golden shine in twilight
Waiting for the moon to rise
When sun says goodbye
Soft glow on Earth.


Shell ✨🐚

the worlds want me to fly higher,
        but you don't care about my
        wings so i cut it & put in a box.
        i had a dream,
        my imperfect dreams.
        i want to chase winds.
        but they say most birds who
        chase wind are fools,
        so i stop chasing.
        i had a dream,
        my imperfect dream.
        i want to vanish without a trace.
        crazy for a little bird like me
        who cut its wings.
        a long time ago
        i had a nest called
        home(house)?
        i don't know
        i don't care
        maybe someday
        if you care enough
        i will have a courage
        to find my wings again
        
        ©IGMS 2020

where do they go?
to mountains of synonyms
pushing lilac or purple
or puce or lavender
from valleys
of russet metaphors?
do verbs frollic?
nouns place themselves
before mirrors
asking themselves
"who am I?"
adjectives, do they
answer?
do the long words
most people don't
understand
do they go on
spending sprees
with their
million dollar
Lotto winnings?
do conjunctions
play matchmaker?
or hitch up
boxcars for
the more expressive
poetic engineers
to haul through
the long winds?

ghosts of past tenses
invade present
and mixed metaphors
haunt the nightmares
of learned readers.
gerunds run on
their little wheels
and stuff their cheeks
with prepositions.

where do words go
when they die?
they must hang as

DANGLING
PARTICIPLES.

I am not always full,
but neither is the moon
and she still finds a way
to pour her light into the sky.

In the cloudy evenings with strong hints of rain
You heard them once and you heard them again
The air would rend with their cacophony
The torrents would send them in ecstatic glee.
Even a few years back you could find them around
The harbinger of monsoon with harsh croaking sound
On your yard and garden in quite large packs
Frolicking for insects, the great jumping Jacks.
They scoured the marshland in search for food
Calling in monotone and setting you to brood
With your mind gnawed by the incessant rains
That rattled your thoughts and the glass window panes.
But then lands were devoured by the human sharks
Soon disappeared open spaces and parks
Came up apartments and rows of house
Urban growth you accept without grouse.
Now in the lonely evenings with fair hints of rain
The rains will be back but you won’t hear them again
Their habitats are gone there aren’t left any bogs
And with these are gone your neighborhood frogs.

Unknown,
Invisible,
Doubtful,

Yet my hope,

What a saint!

Baby please
Tell me what you need
I promise I'm trying
To take on the lead
You are small but not weak
Your voice is quiet when you speak
But do you know you move mountains
Like you do it with ease?
You take on this cruel world
All it's edges and swirls
You give us the strength we need
When my mind is unfurled
I know it's not fair
And I know that your scared
Your small hands take the wheel
As the rest of us stare
You're reckless and wild
You're still just a child
I promise I'm fighting
To get this reconciled
You deserve to be free
To give the power to me
One day I promise you
I'll help you find peace