Kindness in words creates confidence. Kindness in thinking creates profoundness. Kindness in giving creates love.  **
— Lao Tzu

It is easier for a father to have children than for children to have a real father. – Pope John XXIII

After every storm the sun will smile; for every problem there is a solution, and the soul's indefeasible duty is to be of good cheer.
— William R. Alger

Brown eyes that loved without a trace of fear,
Under my blue mask eyes that
hate without a trace of kindness:

When my heart returns in the seclusion,

I told him to give me ten years,

In that time, he must see only me

Taste only me, make love to only me

Reflected only in my space.

Like an enchanted mirror or hope,

Our souls will continue to asked

For our morning blessing/

Happy or sad, our morning salutations/

There is nothing more appealing  

Then seeing him in his white attires

a baseball cap, it captures the youth of innocent,  

Is the fundament of falling in love,  

After being in seclusion, it's also terrifying,  

A roller coaster of emotion,  

a mere Smily hideous gestures/

I can see no wrong now,

I can see no flaws,  

I see only what my heart wants me to see

Him, those eyes, those high cheek bones,

While I let me let my soul make love,

Under the warm of the sun,

And the cold from the north,

Entwining into each other’s arms

Who will bless this union?

Who will be there for us,

When it all fade like leaf

All of us have become like one who is unclean, and all our righteous acts are like filthy rags; we all shrivel up like a leaf, and like the wind our sins sweep us away.

Let me love you for now,

Let me smile, while you smile,

Let me , let me, let me..

Reflections of Love

She approached me, her eyes filled with longing. “Why is it so hard to love me?” she asked. I hesitated, knowing the truth would wound her. “It’s not you,” I replied softly, “it’s them.”

Never promise eternal love to anyone. Nothing lasts forever—not even a poet’s wishes. Thoughts and feelings exist only in the vast expanse of space. My heart retreats into solitude, seeking answers.

I made a pact with him: ten years. In that time, he must see only me, taste only my lips, and make love to only me. Our souls, like enchanted mirrors, reflect each other’s desires. Hope blooms, fragile yet resilient.

Morning blessings—happy or sad—become our ritual. His white attire, the baseball cap—the innocence of youth captured in every glance. Falling in love after seclusion is both exhilarating and terrifying—a roller coaster of emotions.

I see no flaws now, only what my heart craves: his eyes, those high cheekbones. Our souls entwine under the sun’s warmth and the north wind’s chill. Who will bless this union? Who will stand by us when leaves fall, and all fades like forgotten dreams?

For now, let me love him. Let our smiles intertwine. Let our souls make love, defying time and space. 🌟

Decorative image of graphic representations of green leaf

Divorce me, untie or break that knot again, (quote a line)

Even in death you think,

you have that hold on me:

It is the week of your passing, however it is

My everlasting reassurance,

another blessing, another year  

Gone into the unknown,  

it's has not yet been proven

About the scattering of your ashes  

Am I a fool, to feel sympathy for you.  

Or should I just simply smile and speak  

Boo!  boo!  or not to speak ill of the dead  



There goes the dead.

There is not a single blessing

Which we receive on earth

That does not come from heaven,

That source of our new birth

Deep within each blessing I received from heaven

we deserve it, blessing on blessing,

Either for me or for my loved ones

R.I.P G

He seldom bring me flowers
But once a year a dozen red roses
For each month he missed out
~
He never smiles,
unless there was a touch down
I used always made him a cup of herbal tea
whenever, he came to town

However, I on the other hand always smile,
without a reason: it was him and I at that moment
I asked him one or two lumps
I really miss the old chum

He doesn’t bring me flowers anymore
instead they sprung up from his grave in the air:

Your flesh was never warmer to my passion(quote)
My passion was more than you could have deal with
My love of poetry writing, is my secret weapon
I am not gifted, I am black, however I am motivated by words,
I have never found them too difficult to string together,
But to make sense of them, that is another matter
Sometimes I think I am madder at life situation than an the Madhatter
I love to think that I am in love,
But this love thing doesn’t love me,
My mood at my age can change like night and day
And as the saying goes, I can't come out to play on a rainy day (no way)
Loving from a distance, and loving from the heart is also risky,
These are times when ones have to reach for the bottle of whiskey,
Sometimes, I think I am winning, but sometimes I have to take a step back
And recharge, because living in a fantasy world of lies, *** and video links,
Can be extremely dangerous, like the mixing bleach,
Words from his lips in his native tongues,
easily soften my heart, (today my heart is racing for you)
Such poetic, sound, I love to watch as he cleanses his body
For forty-five minutes, all I could think of to say to him
had you ever thanked God for such a blessing:
His smile said it all. I release my eggs: because of the poetic gesture:
My birthday will be in five days,
My age is reducing, because of feelings,
Somehow my body seem to be laughing at the calculation (😊
Rudderless!! But to hell with it , I am not docking no time soon
Ama is on her way to ….

Give A Little : I take a Little

I am the daughter of a sharecropper
I am the real granddaughter of Netta
I am the element of surprises
Sadness and gladness is a part of my being
I give a little, I take a little and I
Pay the price and make the sacrifice:

I am the daughter of a sharecropper,
Back on the hills where the zephyr winds only
Last, for a nanosecond: while
Hiding away from the warm air:
this young child survive:

I am the daughter of a sharecropper,
I sing the songs of the old calypsonians
In memories of my ancestors as they
Sings and mocked their slave masters
Even beyond the grave:

Sadness and gladness is a part of their memories
I give a little, I take a little and I
Pay the price and make the sacrifice,
I have the scars to justified,
the other man white lies:
I felt the pain, in the cold rain,

I am the daughter of a sharecropper,
The granddaughter of Netta,
The element of surprises,
Here I am today still feuding with my choices
that I have come to make...….

Passion had finally erased my calm, (quote)
I look toward the long stretch of beach in coney Island
The couple walking the boardwalk, I visualize that it was us on the island of Barbados, walking, bare feet on the sand
And only space between us, was a little cool breeze.
You can bring the vitality back at any age,
I wonder if you would kiss me on my forehead
Before reaching for my pouty lips,
I wonder if you would whisper my name before you
Reach for my breast, these things might mean nothing
To you, but to me, it said, we are ready,
I wonder if you find a seashell, and
Place it next to my face, and jokingly
Say to me. She sells seashells at the seashore
In response I would jokingly say
“To avoid having *** with her Johns!
I am sure, I am sure! I am Sure!
Passion had finally erased my calm
But being there with you, it would be my lucky charm.

When my heart returns in the seclusion,

I told him to give me ten years,

In that time, he must see only me

Taste only me, make love to only me

Reflected only in my space.

Like an enchanted mirror or hope,

Our souls will continue to asked

For our morning blessing/

Happy or sad, our morning salutations/

There is nothing more appealing  

Then seeing him in his white attires

a baseball cap, it captures the youth of innocent,  

Is the fundament of falling in love,  

After being in seclusion, it's also terrifying,  

A roller coaster of emotion,  

a mere Smily hideous gestures/

I can see no wrong now,

I can see no flaws,  

I see only what my heart wants me to see

Him, those eyes, those high cheek bones,

While I let me let my soul make love,

Under the warm of the sun,

And the cold from the north,

Entwining into each other’s arms

Who will bless this union?

Who will be there for us,

When it all fade like leaf

All of us have become like one who is unclean, and all our righteous acts are like filthy rags; we all shrivel up like a leaf, and like the wind our sins sweep us away.

Let me love you for now,

Let me smile, while you smile,

Let me , let me, let me..

Second hand love:
Have I come this far to be a second hand love?
where is my rose, where is my morning smile,
where is my goodnight kiss and
where is my number one guy.

Serious talk
The morning service was about
Taking one day at a time
and forget your worries
While the piles of backlog unpaid bills bow
in the letter rack, the bill collectors calling
every hours of the day using those 1 800 numbers

And there I was standing by the kitchen sink,
doing the dishes from the night before:

while I pondered about the ambulance bill,
the credit card bill, so many *******  bills,
If I was to drop dead today,
Who would pay those bills?
Who would wash those dishes?

So I took out my small *** from under the counter,
And filled it up with water and gently turned on the stove
I began to cook my favorite porridge,
Oatmeal mixed with saga
I clean down the kitchen counter,
I gather my thoughts, I became the cookie poet of the month
while i munches on my words

Learn from yesterday, live for today, hope for tomorrow.
The important thing is not to stop questioning. Quote:
As I continued to stir the mixture together on the stove top
I kept thinking about the homeless people

Less worries, no bill, no bill collectors, no
Letters rack, just the last car on the last train track
And a sign that read do you have any loose change?

The week has to have a weekend
Days have to have a tomorrow
And goodbye to yesterday’s/
In turns will bring the months to an end/

What do we have to face
moving forward setbacks and  more
worried looks in the bystanders eyes..
When all is set and done, we have to say grace
We have to look up every morning and whisper to the skies.

The news broadcaster’s never speak of genuine love,
They only wishes to be littered,
While, begging folks to do their part
The cooing of the dark lonely dove
a symbol that there’s is no more  love in ones heart
during the these stressful day/

Ten o’clock curfew at night,\/
Essentials workers must only be seen at dawn/
No more than ten to twelve people on sight/
And large outstanding gathering must be gone/

Black Friday’s deals, window shopping strolls
Everything seem on hold, the biggest black hole of 2020/
And nothing spoke to me: not even a 60 inch flatscreen TV/

Let’s take a page from the Jewish customs
Bury the dead in the next seventy two hours/
All November traditions is limit/
Thanksgiving Day a Tic, tok

All Saints Day, All Souls Day, Mischief Night, Bonfire Night
Once you take down the statues, of useless figures
Would History of the injustices will be erase/

Smiling on the outside, feuding with the devils inside
I made a promise to God,

That I would not allowed any man to make me cry again
Calling her name: calling out her name
Throughout a passionate moment of love making. Untamed

Despite the years in captivity, the victim
Still love the abusers: his was nerve racking:

*** for me is like my poetry writing: unfinished
I am constantly hitting  the spell check button

I always find a little happiness,
Then it fades like the passing months
Give a little, takes a little
Sometimes, we just have to heal
That wounded bird, then
Let him go free:
Stockholm syndrome is no exception.
Let him go free...Annie!
love is strange

The mastered mind of the satanic deception
Satan greatest commodity for most human weaknesses.
*** sells! it destroy it distributes ,
a high volume of deception and wickedness
Where the gateway of strength emerges freely
as the soul of men unfold tremendously.

Literally and figuratively correct,
its label sensuality and prngr*phy
of the billion dollars *** industries:
A non-replaceable piece of the humans dignity
this humiliation of the world cast a gloom:
God never intended for it to be this way:

lust is selfish, an emotional force for some to endure:
Meaningful *** is a better option
if we can find it here on earth

From the invasion of the animal kingdom
to the big screen of Hollywood,
***, lies, and video tapes sells , it promotes:
Take back our strength of the self,
from the craves of the satanic passion and desires
It would one day end forever,
what have we contribute to this world?

Lust is selfish, an emotional force
Love is a better option!
when you look for the answer
the answer is yours
and yours alone!

*** the controller
They heard us outside the bedroom window
Breathing, Moaning, Panting, Grunting and Screaming
in the calm of the night, calling name of the Gods
While the salty sweat drips from our bodies,
Under the Caribbean heat waves, many moons ago
what a summer to remember
But some confusion for the nightly crickets' melodies
Who thought that their sound was the loudest?
They were trying to tell me something with
their loud bark, danger, danger, danger, danger, danger, danger,
Little did I know what it meant,
It took me years to interpret the meaning of a dog bark
But with a poem, I can now relate with poetic words
Their bark was meant for me, myself and I

A little guest house near Oisten, the ocean breezes five minutes away
And at the time, deep withing I thought that I was in love,
With love, or a dream, which became my futuristic mishap
When I forgot to love me, myself and I
The spirit of a dead lover, wants to control me

All *** is about energy, and sound brings energy."—Barbara Carrella

And the bark of a dog pitch can foretell one future,
Too late, but now I know....

She had just finish smoking the ****,
Then she decided to write a poem about smoking the joint
Or was it before she wrote the poem, or after she smoke the ****
Was the poem triggered by the ****, or did the **** triggered a write?
Does it matter now, after she rolled the **** into written words and smoke her ideas.
  

Al Cash once wrote that
*My soul absorbs you, my mind inhales your essence, and you confirm my life.” *
She usually took an aspirin after a terrible headache
But thinking out loud now she should have taken the aspirin before the headache
Or before she smoke the ****, that lead to the write
That eventually brought about the poem, which causes a migraine
Now her body reacts to the Drunken Sailor Syndrome
So once again never swallow a spider to **** a fly: just purge.

Never write a poem while smoking the ****,
Poetry is life natural high, an untimely wave that never
Cease to amaze us.

O yes, you are very naive
I can see that:
Out there in your own little world
Darken by the sunray
Wearing those ridiculous glasses
Upside down:

Sleeping with the liar looking forgiveness
O yes, you’re your father son
But do not think you will be loved again
By the woman and her son
And what maybe, might not be
I know the pattern.

Your nerves will be shattered by torture
For all those good times,
More lonely night to come
She was just as common as the others
When bitterness poison your marriage
They is no turning back
JACK...




.

Even in her late forty it could happen
the joy of her life, the blessing she have been waiting for
She woke up with hope,
the world seem much different
the soft lullabies sweetened her soul:

Dreft is as gentle as a summer breeze,
circle the misty air
even this late her beauty shines,
yesterday tears dry on their own
Keisha breastfeed her baby…

There is so much I am going to tell my granddaughters
about their mother... but for now nothing

Should we have love in silence?
Or should we have love only from the heart?
Should we have let the past stay in the past?
Or should our stories should have never been told

The past is never where you think you left it.”
Quote ― Katherine Anne Porter

Somehow we just had to sin by silence
And mourn the death of a friendship

Life is not lost by dying; life is lost minute by minute,
day by dragging day, in all the thousand small uncaring ways.”
― Stephen Vincent Benét

Should we have love in silence, or should we have love each other
from the heart: we had the courage to stand up , we had the strength to
walk away from our abusive relationships:
Somehow we never learned because of blinded love and love affairs

Silence is the night
so is counting sheep
Into the wean hours of the morning
my heart beats down the loneliness
When I am missing you?

The sparrows nestled under the branches
as the rain goes pita, pata, pita, pata
The cricket compose its last four-note tune to me
sorry my baby, that you can't sleep
The jackal, the wolf and the herdsman
Slept soundly

Nevertheless, here I am counting headless sheep
That’s life you always say,
My life my lonely life,

Without my poetry to keep me sane
My jukebox music to keep me cheerful and lively:
a glass of red wine  blended with the silence
So why am I missing you:
Because this is my way of tricking my heart into loving you more
~~~~~~~~~
“Missing you is flashes of our past and fantasies of our future
with the hard irony of the absence of our present as present occur.”
Quote:― Zhi

Silly Rabbits

What the bad news was
He found me too late:

For us to start all over again,
Meant diving into dark waters
I offered no guarantee
Didn’t need sweeping off my feet

Everything was going according to God’s plan
Not man’s evil deed:

In the mist of everything, I knew trouble
Was up head: Rings would be taken off
Snap photo would be taken out of wallets
And nights of cold showers before going to bed
The refrigerator would be empty once again

Because he found us:
The man who flew to high
nights would be like a silencer

Facebook on liners would be his friends
And the house of Jericho would tumble down again

I choose freedom; he took a leap of faith
Don’t cry for me: cry for him, from love to disgrace,

It took thirty odd years for him to look good in the mirror
but it took a few second to look bad in her eyes

It took me one year and I  fix it.
Lost time pencil in:
True love of a good friend

Don’t cry for me; cry for him:
I offered no guarantee:
I offer no sideline referee

Didn’t need to be sweep off my feet
Man’s evil deed wasn’t meant for me
neither being a relationship referee.

In the footsteps of the day
Is not like the footstep of the night
My eyes knows the dark

My souls know the rooms
The corridors, the smell,
The peek a boo light under the
entrance door and they you are the shadow
of what was lost: once again:

  who knows what lurks in the heart of man:

In every home there is a dark passage,
Loneliness, grief, depression and marriage
They breathes soundly by your side: then the wreckage

Another year, another chapter, another longing
For skin hunger, waiting and awaiting:
Where does these emotion lead?
To deception, or tears,

So I am asking, what happen to my soulmate
The one with the locks that fits my keys,
and ,the keys  that fit his locks?

Now, I move alone in the dark unseeing,
as I move toward the door, I remember,
there is only one direction
And that is back to the warmth of my bed

She already knew what she wanted
he kept insisting that’s work, work
She was so hot, hot; he was so cold,

Her hot flashes, verses his cold feet
Bring on the friction, or the vapor rub
Some way or another, she was getting some

Forget about the work, work, and work
Not fishing for compliments: she hints,
Just some good old fashioned comfort and enjoyment

During the fidgety February morning,
While money was on his mind
his baby’s hands was under the sheet,
with that timely rhythmic breathing of a
Metronomic beat, leading up to their ****** healing
Without the thought of work, work, work


https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oiGHY6q-snI#t=12

Time will tell, time will tell,
Who will meet at the well?
And who will be forgiven,
And who will be smite

It ***** to keep a secret,
Jealousy is a disease, fear is mind killer
They all knew his demeanors
Impeachment but  two times, once a sinner always a sin
Sometimes I use to love him
Sometimes I didn’t understand his tactics:
My grandparents always told us
Children, children, behave yourself
Never is the follower always being the leader:
Is the best way to go..

A few article I came across this morning
He is dynamo driven restless unable to keep
(Reminds of my grandfather donkey Wilbert).
He gets by with very little sleep.
The mind of Donald Trump
Narcissism, disagreeableness, grandiosity psychologist
investigate how trump extraordinary  personality
might shape his presidency (story by Dan P McAdams)
Was the president really a leader?

I don’t know if I should be happy or if I should cry,
I don’t laugh at ones misery or one rejoice at
Proverbs 24:17 Do not gloat when your enemy falls, and

Do not rejoice when your enemy falls, and let not your heart be glad when he stumbles, lest the Lord see it and be displeased, and turn away his anger from him. Romans 12:19
I must indeed say that I have a love and hate relationship with the man
However, what took place in Washington DC two weeks ago,
Makes me more afraid of the politicians and politics’ more than ever

Time will tell, time will tell,
Who will meet at the well?
And who will be forgiven,
And who will be smite

Let’s not forget our childhoods
Like playing in the rain, getting drench, and loving it
The scene I remembered most, was i watching Peggy the small dog,
in the window across the street.
While, the neighbors keep up their lawns, and areas neatly pruned
With the dull chopping sound of the cutlasses, early in the morning:

I generally held a book close to my face, while reading
But somehow, on that day, I kept  staring at the house across the street
I don’t remember if I had done my chores or not,
before the lady in this photo came home that day for lunch.
For her, it was all about keeping up appearances,
Dinner at six, all school shoes must be polished before seven
and our Immaculate uniforms, must be hanging on the ironing board.

And no matter what,
all lights must be out before ten o’clock.
“Don’t forget to say your goodnight Prayers, she would have said”
Lately I've been thinking about childhood a lot

Suddenly, my thoughts turned to my first soap opera, Peyton Place,
Woody Allen, Mia farrow, and all my childhood memories came to a haul with…images of my friend Dolly Benskin and her daughter Paige:
Paige die at an early age: which haunted me for years..
why so young?

I use to love smoking candy cigarettes, but not between my toes
This morning of all mornings,
bonds with the carpet fibers is a piece of candy

No heat, no sunshine.
please bring out the moonshine,

While the cowboys ride their horses
you must ride out this intensity of the winds
Mother Nature sings as the frozen lake slowly cracks
Casting her jeering spell of laughter,

Nine deaths so far, because of the storm
Ice is ice, not solid ground,
just take a look around
Stay indoors and write a poem
this storm is showing no sign of backing down

Snow, rain and grey sky ... sets again
Upon the coldest part of this city
where hundreds of grounded flights
Once again took to the unfriendly skies
So, here I am thinking of the land of the flying fish
With one wicked indulgent on my mind
The fire ***, palm trees and casino nights.

  St. Lawrence Gap is where the exchange rate
gets bigger and the euro goes from hand to hand,
meaningless ***, ***** talk and a bit of ...fun
a dream within a dream, little favors
just to entice them, those locals folks
to encounter one night stand

All I need is one week to glow with the sun
One week, one weekend and my tassel bikini

Every house has a story:
Every piece of land has a past and also a story to tell
When l was a little girl:
I would dig deep into the earth looking
For proof to these stories: a perfumed bottle, a piece of rag,
You name it: I know there was a story.

I remember our first home,
After, moving out of my grandparents’ home
An old run down board house, with the open ceiling
Two bedrooms, no build in bathroom,
Somehow, my parents made it our home
For my siblings and I:

Something about the Iron bedhead caught my attention
The color of black, a little rusty, on the rims
But, l likes that old head board.
My parent got rid of the old head board
Just to keep up with modern times
I wish I could have kept that thing
I know where it is buried: in the gully
Those childhood memories of me
Digging into the earth for artifacts

Every piece of land is unique;
As well as every person is different..
Even the poet within me, seeks,
Not for treasures, but for answers,
I recently made some enquires about
Old man town man piece of land
Everybody wants it, but nobody can get it

Lots of stories can be told about this land
But not enough about the man character
They is lot of things I wish I done different

As a young adult, but I guess,
it wasn’t meant to be:
Today I am calm, yesteryears I was
That, poem that never was publishes.

A little nod to Kiki Petrosino

The heart ceases to beat. Because
Some ghosts are my exes
neither angry nor kind
their faces spiral like
old windmills that clings to dry autumn leaves
looking for a place to land:

Not all ghosts are my exes
I remember them as stingy, and womanizing
Some were wolves in sheep clothing
Not smart but conniving species,
They capture your attention, like
a slow moving sunrise, then lure you
Like a vampire before dawn to have his feed:

But that isn’t all, some of my ghosts who
Walks amongst the mortal grinning
Asking to be friends, to forgive, to reflect,
Not a clever move, my ghostly friends,
just deceiving: Tactics

As a wise man once told me,
No one can hurt me without my permission…
So some of the blame, of misfortune lies on me

A nod to Emily Dickinson


I measure every Grief I meet

I know they all felt like mine

Some smaller some larger,

Yesterday, I got a text from a friend

Her exact words.

“my daughter got shot to the head

Last nite die@ a visual

At first, I didn’t know what to make

From those few words .. I later  

Reach out to her, but she kept

Refusing my text or call

Which is understandable,  

in a times like these

Is pain ever going to get old?  

Is man ever going to stop the violence?

Would all of these weapons going to be around forever?

Why does it hurt so much to alive these days?

Are we going to run out of words to comfort each other?

First thing I read this morning, on the net

“Headlines.... a young mother abandon her newborn in a New Jersey Restaurant

It might seem heartless to some, somehow, without doubt

that young mother was afraid for the life of her newborn

What future does that child have,

What future does she have?

I measure every Grief I meet

Death is something we can’t smile about

*“The meaning of life is just to be alive. It is so plain and so obvious and so simple. And yet, everybody rushes around in a great panic as if it were necessary to achieve something beyond themselves.” *
― Alan Wilson Watts

I took this line from  Emily poem

  to end my version of this piece



And though I may not guess the kind –  
Correctly – yet to me
A piercing Comfort it affords
In passing Calvary –  Emily Dickinson

Do you still remember: the flyer flies?
And the harmonic liturgical chant of the invisible crickets
Outside our window: oh how they soothe
us to sleep : an added plus to the sound of the falling rain
of all our wishes, did we meant to leave the
tropical sound for the deafen sound of gun fire ,sirens,
or burning tires of city life, startling's hearts everywhere;
almost every hour upon hours of restless sleep

awaken to the swift sound of chirping, squeaking engine
my heart longs for those crickets outside my window
as they hide beneath the tall wet grass,
I remember how I slept between darkness and dawn
Remembering happiness comes from contentment:

Someone is writing a poem in the dark
Just to escape from the light of things
Nothing can escape from a black hole,
Creating fewer images in one’s mind,
I wonder if they can see a streak of light
Fighting its way through darkness

I can see them falling deeper and deeper
Falling, falling, but not enough to fill the void
A gun, a razor blade, a handful of narcotic, now it’s
the video cameras, an unusual collectible to assist with the pain
Keys, bolts and iron bars, hopelessly romantic
and deeply subversive: Madness takes center stage.



P>S
So when you find yourself locked onto an unpleasant train of thought, heading for the places in your past where the screaming is unbearable, remember there's always madness. Madness is the emergency exit.”
― Alan Moore, Batman: The Killing Joke

Something will always remain the same
Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom
Santa Claus with his red and white suit
Johnny Walker for the man who deserves
More than a gift: He is a winner by far
Another Christmas with re-runs of Home Alone (part one)

Episodes we dare not to miss that... include Indiana Jones the last crusade
Even as the Characters is all grown up and move on to different things
The poor chaps gain more shame than fame as the world watches in disbelief:

Something will always remain the same:  In and out of someone life
However, without that awkward moment when Santa Claus got stuck in the chimney last night.

Somewhere, there is a poem in our heads
About, Love, life, politics, natural disasters,
Religion and conflicts controversial issues

Suddenly, here come the uprising wars in politics
Isis and The Donald Trumps of the world crusaders
Here, we are as citizens, once again, starting to feel down,
Trying to find beauty in life, throughout the fixation,
obsession with tic, TAC, toe politicians.

Somewhere, there is poem ,a  poem in waiting,
waiting, waiting, waiting, and waiting,
  Too many words, not enough ink for printing,
not enough folks, who cares about such matters.
Because, they saw the up and down to natural disaster,
the tricks of trade in the political world of politics

Even if we do comes across a little harmony in love,
Because, out of clutter, find simplicity, said Albert Einstein.

P.S

We are all equal in the fact that we are all different. We are all the same in the fact that we will never be the same. We are united by the reality that all colors and all cultures are distinct & individual. We are harmonious in the reality that we are all held to this earth by the same gravity. We don't share blood, but we share the air that keeps us alive. I will not blind myself and say that my black brother is not different from me. I will not blind myself and say that my brown sister is not different from me. But my black brother is he as much as I am me. But my brown sister is she as much as I am me.” *
― C. JoyBell C.

Time and distance—speed and time—allow us to see the good in most people. I strive to recognize the goodness in others, even when hope seems endless. They bid for my love, and my boomerang-addicted heart should know better. Why hide the truth about one's feelings? However, expressing emotions through self-care is essential. The unexplainable feeling of longing for someone so far away can also play tricks on your boomerang heart.

A natural height, whether safe or unsafe, can lead to a state of happiness. According to experts, euphoria or exhilaration accompanies certain achievements. Imagine being awakened by warm, manly hands on your body—instead of hearing him say, "I wish I were there" (😊 is a plus. Long-distance relationships require a reality check, considering both time and distance.

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