Where there is a window!
Gaze through it, but!
Don’t mind the faded paint!
Or broken frame! 
For, there is a pleasing verve beyond it!
Things that have not come to be!
And those, which simply are! 
Seeing the ins and outs?
Not any thing would be alike
As we want them to be!
Events may come into sight lucent
But, what is clarity?
When there is a glass in between!
So, look again! And yet, again! 

November 29, 2008

You might chain my flesh
Not my spirit
You might chain my Soul
Not my pen
If you chain my pen
I’ll ask a bird for a feather!

I stood at the top of the bridge, beneath the moon!
As she walked away
Watching the wavy stream!
“What about our love?”:I cried!
She briefly smirked: “What is love?”:
“Merely a dream": The stream whispered!

Cry, cry, my sad guitar! 
Not for the snapped string! 
But the thirsty desert! 
Or the contented soldiers
Who won't return! 
The lonesome willow tree! 
The innocents
Walking the green mile! 
Cry, cry, my lonely guitar! 
For the dried eyes
Of the unfortunate roses! 
Not the unending nights
Of warriors, fighters, and knights! 
But their mothers, children, and wives! 
Cry, cry, my sad guitar! 
For those taken
In Afghanistan, Iraq, Syria
who are awaiting
to be ******, or beheaded! 
In the name of Allah! 
Cry my sad, lonesome, lonely guitar! 
Not for the snapped string! 
But for the conscienceless creature
called human, cry!

I’ve passed by an old window, many times!
With a frame older than time, with washed out paint!
Mounted on a wall, surrounded by many chimes!
Silent; no complaint!

On the other side, sitting an old man!
On an old chair, by the candlelight!
A man with no eyes, a blind man!
Quiet; so polite!

Once, I wondered:
What could that old man see?
Staring behind the window each day
Yet no eyes!
Has he ever seen a blossom?
The winters ice?
A rainy day, morning dew
Or a river rush to the sea?

A bird flying by
The summer breeze
Shivering leaves
The miniature roses branching out beneath the window?
The moonlight, autumn leaves
A gushing brook running through a thirsty desert
The murky eaves?
Or a greenish meadow?

“He perceives what you don’t”: The window whispered!
“He sees with his heart, not the eyes!”
“You witness the outer”! The window answered!
“He discerns the within, not the dyes”! 

February 20, 2009

The wickedness in the wake of the night whispers

It's ramming the moments to their destiny

Smearing out the existence swiftly, so spurs

Bringing the ennui to an end, tearing down the monotony

04/12/2008

Leafless branch
Desiccated trunk
Withered carcass
But, the root
Yet, beneath the soil
Disseminating

The fruit ripens
On the leafless branch
Harassed by assailing winds
Hence the scent, if, the roots last

4/21/13