The strains of flute, touched his inner being,
                   lifted him up, held aloft like a feather,
the music in gentle waves,  
                     took him through many lives he lived before
loosing all his mooring on here and now
                    he moved to the pinnacle, an unattached effulgent particle,
a sea of colors that kept changing, took him in,
                    he was liberated, from all bindings.
felt a joy exquisite, on being one with the music of the cosmic waves.

Like me in the morning
Holdin’ on to the phone
while the message’s recording  
Just so I don’t feel so alone

It’s you silent and fuming
about a fight I lost last week
Late night questioning, assuming
nothing I want to say I can speak

I want more of you
but I tell you I need to be apart.
I hold you to another view
but never let you see the art.

So I’m drunk on a Sunday night
in a shroud of darkness, color hidden
Trying not to start another fight
Sometimes I wish we didn’t

But I wake up in bed
to that freckle on your lip
and rise like a doughy bread
only to fall back into love’s trip

A fruit gatherer by some chance,
she is deeply immersed in this pursuit
seeking out and gathering ripe fruits,
hidden by the foliage,
but her eyes search far beyond,
sunny day, the impact of beauty all round,
  moves her deeply and transforms
her demeanor speaks of an  inner tranquility rare,
and the light her eyes emit speaks
all this indicate a deeper meaning to her act,
much more than what meets the naked eyes.

The verdant garden, flowers, ripe fruits,
the fruit picking charmer herself,
are the realities in front,
if one doesn't look beyond and only see skin deep,
it suits him well, what is the prompt of beauty,
he does not know for sure,
absorbed she is, and he sure is aware of being enticed by her fruits,
as much as her,
and he wants to be a fruit picker himself,
we all are, for reasons only our inner selves fully know.

Super star, be prepared for a resounding fall
when the limit of  your stardom, time decides
unless you aren't aware the golden truth
"All flesh is grass"; any star is reduced to dust
in a day to come sooner or later, there is a time-
for everything, to call it quits and feel rightly contented.

I noticed the shadows
Your eyelashes display.
Your spine the string of a piano
Wound too tight to play

I noticed the words
You never let spill
I could hear the chords
Before you froze them still

I noticed when I yelled
You loved me less
In the distance bells knelled
You watched me undress