Swamy Downey was passing by
The table where SIRI was lecturing about love
To her friends on a meal

Suddenly,

You know why
Love is said to be the positive force?
Asked Swamy Downey

Because people buy iPhones
For the love of Apple
Replied SIRI Haughtily

Thus spake Swamy Downey
Love is composed of light
It lights up the souls
It removes darkness
When darkness disappears
*You can see the right path

/
There are many those songs Untitled
Who becomes sometimes worthless
May at any other time valuable
Even could be priceless
Anytime anywhere

You Sang many more songs
Tried To twist my mind
Then I never mingled the
Seemed meaningless
Because I was then,
A Bright Student of Economics

I Thought the money,
It took to buy a book of poetry,
Even was a price to listen a music
You told me that you love me
I thought that has a big price,
Even would be too expensive
But not to be out of my capacity

25 years later,
Today I think
It was the price of everything,
Cause you were
What, too

But Now You are not exist
The price of love grows priceless
However, why did you think
In terms of the size of the economy
Had not all

Why did I not understand
The depth of Economics of Love
Cause,
I didn't understand that Love Song,
Didn't understand that Love Poetry

So that Today,
I'm trying to count  
The Price of Priceless Love,
Alone, In Such a  Low Valentine day
/
@ Musfiq us shaleheen

The spring in your steps
And the spring in nature
Playing a match
That let me have a catch
Of a bit of happiness
In all my loneliness

In all my loneliness
This weather makes me
Light as a feather
Dreaming of us together

Dreaming of us together
In a fairyland
We claim as ours
Where a vast meadow
Filled with flowers
Dancing as the wind blows

Dancing as the wind blows
Taking away my woes
Sun rays kissing our skin
Let the light shine upon us

.                      *
                            The
                            Xyr-
                       ­    -esic
                   Steel of justice
             Real and unfogiving
                        Cutting
                        through  
                        Foes  of
                        The thr-
                       -one pro-
                       - tecting
                        Friends
                        F­orever
                        presev -
                        -ing pe-
                          -ace
                             .

Your eyes aren't stars
That eclipse the night;
Your lips aren't balm
That soothe my blight;
Your ******* aren't downy
To allay my fright;
Your arms aren't limbs
For carving your fight;
Your legs aren't vices
That hold me tight.

But you are the embodiment
Of a poet's delight.

Thousands of doors are going
To open Today
After a Long Day
Of Sultry Dark
Slowly moving Clouds
But what it is!
As if the speed of the wind more than
A Hurricane

Extreme sound Rocking the Sky,
The Home
And the Expanding
Barren Field,  
Repeatedly being Thunder Around
As far as I can See
Across the Horizon
The Rain has come down
As Cats and Dogs
 
Dim Light in the Room
Hope, despair shaken
Windows Open
Southern waves
Randomize the Poetry Books
Flying Pages,
Never before or after in the

The Scent of the Poetry
In the Air
Sky-word Sentences
I have seen my Reflection
In the Light of the Short
The past Knocking
On the Closed Door
To open the Wide Sky

You have sat down
In the Horizon
That has reminded
The First Love Poem
Where I read
And planted my Dreams
Bringing the garden
Roses,
Marigold,
Sunflowers

Where there the moonlit
Of moonlight has
Crafted the Dreams  
Like an Imagination
As if,
Unclogging Peacock's Feather

But the sudden wind  
Increasing the Velocity
Light has been Extinguished
Yet the Flame Alive
But don't see my Reflection,
In the distant Glass,
In the Poetry,
In the Words

In an Angular way,
Through the Windows
Rain coming into the Limelight
Put away the Poetry
And the Dreams
As the Books of Poetry has Seemed
Like the Stones

But Yet I'm waiting,
For The Next morning
Where the Hope will Come Again
In the Shining Smile of Light

To write food in the stomach
Of every hungry child.

To spell war as peace,
Metaphorize flowers into the barrel

Of every gun on Earth.
The poet has responsibilities

Beyond those of mothers,
Of kings and presidents.

I refuse to give up hope;  
This could be a poem world.

Come on, write your worst piece
Of literature.

Even misprints may give other
Meanings to a word,

Write me a green sky, blue dirt,
Trees the colour of air.

Sometimes the best poets
Have the least to say,

So keep writing, write until your
Fingers fall asleep.

Write until you havent slept
For weeks in search of that word,

That one right word,
Then rest on a notebook pillow

And dream the world right.
Write the world right.

There is no such thing as
Wasted poetry.

I was born in fire
Earth my reason to live

I won't be the weak one,
Although when I think and speak
I may tweak some I'm just
Searching for reasons
To justify the swell.
I will ride the undertow
Sunken beneath bass lines 
And blunt tails
Intending to take it slow.
But I get a little excited sometimes, you know.
So when this undertow undoubtedly 
Washes me ashore
I'll be the imaginary statue 
Erected in my honor
Proudly saluting every fleeting
Emotion that sailed
Straight through my harbor.
You see, 
Harboring hatred is a trait
I forfeited
To make way for the minuscule moments and glimpses
Of human existence penetrating
Layers of jade and years
Of conditioning and I am successfully
Transitioning into persistently 
Acknowledging the raindrops 
As they hit the pavement and pop.
You see some people feel the rain
While others just get wet,
A wise Rastafarian 
Once famously said.
And I think on it all
Far too frequently for a quiet mind
But I've never had one of those
Not even after rolling papers
Intertwine and smoke fills my eyes,
Because I am accustomed 
To a constant consciousness
And I'd much rather this
Than nothingness
And thus I sit, contemplating 
Consequence 
Aspiring to avoid the guilt of 
Seasons past,
For I am past the point of
Punishment and pain ghosts and
I have plenty of pangs from all
The echoes
In my brain and in these
Rattled apartment's stains
It's not all in vain 
Life grows these varicose
Veins
Colored-in, crawling across the
Window panes 
Of the chamber where my soul remained
Through the bridge until the end of
The refrain.
I am in reign. 
I rock the crown.
I roll the dice when 
I am down
I try to think twice
Before I frown
I contemplate the value 
Of the men that I allow
To lay me down 
Now,
I am grown and I am proud
Because I am humble
And I'm not loud
Any longer,
I listen
To the subtle sounds of
Human respiration.
I am the incarnation
Of ancient incantations that
Shake down the walls which
Separate us all
All the way to the ground.
True power is found
Where unity resounds.

I hear you saying
The games that they're playing
Are meant for the
Talented few.

But the power invested
In all of the best, is
The same one that rests
Within you.