Sun’s face is ancient
Yet it’s new and fresher than
Cucumber each morn.

Smoother than fine silk
Face’s not roughed by pimple
Just simple and plain.

A big honeycomb
Dripping with lustrous sweetness
Unending nurture.

Round without blemish
Goddess of light and polish
And unencumbered.

Is she old or young?
We can agree she’s ageless
An old youthful soul.
A strand of haikus.
When words are deemed superfluous.
Maybe it’s time to make a fuss
As how else other than in verse
Would one attempt to pass
A message across to a large mass.
Just wondering how life would be
without the convenience
of the presence
of words.
A fountain of tolerance
Burbling with gusto
And unending vigor.
If I loved you like I love myself,how'd existence be like?
A soulful song
Escaping from a depthless
Oasis of stillness.
The absence of sound.
Inspires an inspection of one's
Spiritual architecture.
I’ve seen you walk on air, not necessarily
Putting on airs, instead balancing modesty
And pride on weighing scales on which you dictate
The standardization units.
When push comes to shove.
I’d like to see you get down to some funky tune.
How’d you carry yourself, I can’t help wondering.
Would you let yourself be carried away?
Or would you instead wrap caution tightly
Around yourself barely affording a twitch of your brow.
I fancy finding out.
May I have this dance?
I am going to put my best foot forward.
Jargon mouthed with righteous indignation
That can convince Lucifer to entertain consideration
Of jumping the fence, an act of treason
To his own beliefs cast in stone.
Interestingly, one barely scratches the surface
Of sense, instead clutching at whatever trace
Of reason to at least save face.
One soon realizes it’s not one’s cup of tea in the first place.
Courtrooms are battlegrounds where wits are
Stretched beyond their capacities, placed under the glare
Of powerful spotlights, no wonder
Most “learned friends” fly off the handle appearing immature.
Law’s on a league of its own
A lord unto itself, seldom bends, prefers blowing its own horn.
Law is a donkey.
In the space of a single day
It’s almost impossible to stay
Above the fray owing to the array
Of inconsistencies keen on inspiring dismay.

Sun shows up in the eastern horizon
And not everyone’s enthusiastic on
It’s cutting short blissful sleep, many a frown
Wrinkle up folks’ faces instead, an unpleasant situation.

Conversation’s a glass of lime juice served cold
Daring and unmitigated,brazen and bold.
One flies of the handle as one can’t hold
One’s horses any further, what follows is uncontrolled.

It’s a delicate dance, one where stepping on someones toes
Is a matter of certainty, notwithstanding the mores.
Only an experienced dancer,an old hand of sorts can leave a dance floor without having been stepped on,or stepping on someone else for that matter.
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