His words stitched like rail road ties
through sentiment and simile.
His fingers like slaves to emotions in his brain.

The hum of his instrument,
so rich and so right.
Constructing soundtracks to stories
about what it means to be alive.

Tapping beats from the back of his thigh,
bop-bop, doo-woop.
Turning feeling into vibrations
that shake the walls of the bus station.

What change he got shaking like a tambourine
inside his cardigan pocket.
The gold trim on his six string
shines like a locket under bright orange lights.

I called him the Musician.
his mother called him Bentley.
his father never called,
the streets called him crazy.

His audience passing cars.
Cigarette butts and trashed plastics.
The Musician waxed and waned
as the world kept on passing.

F
  U
    C
      K
Then
       S
     P
   A
W
N
Then
G
  I
   V
     E
Birth
     T
    H
   E
  N
Yawn

I’ve seen some patterns that happen every day
In the growth and the stagnant way we decay
In these walls with no windows and the teachers all glazed
Eye’s glazed from the all-consuming glooming haze
Of what we all must become someday, right?

So live it up now because in ten years we’ll be settled
We’ll either grind it out or run away from the ghetto
To suburbia where no black man resides
This is the land where white men all hide
Have kids, hate your wife, hate your life because you have resigned
To what you hated at sixteen because it happens all the time

I need to SCREAM that this is not the only thing
We are not all cogs in this machine that lacks life’s meaning
Dr. Manhattan said that we’re all tied to strings
And the FDA keeps on poisoning
Well he had a point and our food disappoints
But we are not hopeless, we can anoint
Our own power to see the strings that toy with girls and boys
And slow the rate at which we destroy
Our own bodies and homes and the earth and our minds
We are capable of breaking societal binds

Beat

So pass that joint to the **** and get out
Because substance doesn’t need more substance when your mind could spill out
From thinking, from capability, from plane to plane
Polluting the air while you pollute your own brain
I’m not disrespecting, there’s always a place
But get out of that scene so you can get out of the race to the end
Of youthful reputation that always constantly needs mending
Escaping won’t help because it’s always just pretending

We are not victims and we are not martyrs
We have contributed to this world from the very start
Of our ephemeral, radical, illogical existence
With our parents raising us to never know resistance
But it’s in our bodies we just refuse to assist it
The birth is messy, ******, not gut-free, completely you and completely me
Covered in what we call wicked tragedy
And from the womb of our souls we take a new body with standards to break
It slithers from slender thighs like a domesticated snake
Down our legs and across the floor so we can FINALLY RELATE
To a world that this city doesn’t know
A world outside of the common, the rotting, the flow
And you know that I know that we know we can feel it
We feel it because we can hardly *believe it

Some people call it destiny
Because he came during the time that you thought you needed him the most
Some people call it destiny
Because he appeared like a prince in shining armor
But he wasn't what you thought it would be.
He hit her
He humiliated her,
that's not love
He pressed her wings down and didn't let her fly,
that's not love
It doesn't matter if you say it backwards
or hide in the closet hoping he wont find you
It is still not love
As much as you try,
you cant blame this one on alcohol
Or stress
or temper.
It is not love
Love forgives.
That is why you forgive him
But you don't let him continue what he is doing,
Do it for the kids that are watching.
How many times did he almost made you forgive him
and almost loose your children.
Give these problems to God
Don't make the mistake my mother did
SHe left
and planted hate in each of us,
but for her it was a field of
regrets, hates, and rancor.
Forgive but let go!

My writing is what helps me
It pushes my out of my bed in the mornings
It drags across the room to get dressed
It makes me walk all the way to the kitchen
It even whispers to me if I forget something
My writing helps me let go
And let out
But my writing will never truly speak to me
At least not in the way God will
My writing knows what I tell it
But God knows even what I still don't discover
My writing says love only if I write it,
God shows love even when I hate it
My writing needs me to pick it up
God picks me up with my writing
If you still don't see the difference
Ask God, I'm sure he will find a way!
she found a way for me!

Inside the center of her
"Now" I find my yesterself.
Blushing juvenile
Torn between nervous
And not.

Nature is resplendent
Her each and every contour
Glistening with the morning light
And by the moonlight it becomes sensual
Evoking an aura of love in our heart
As if an angel with the perfect beauty
With the changing moods as seasons
Her love encompasses all of humanity
As love requires a heart which can hold multitudes
For she is our guiding angel
And I have learnt to love from Nature

© Amitav (Radiance)

My perception of you
is a reflection of me
of all I once knew
and all that I see

Your reception of me
is a reflection of you
of all that you see
and all you once knew

Nothing we see
Is entirely true
If both you and me
Set our mirrors askew

Eye to eye
Heart to Heart
We realize we
Are all a part

Heart to heart
Eye to eye
We realize love
Will never die

See into
each other's minds
With all our mirrors
now aligned

Through each other
We can see
We reflect forever
to infinity

when you're young
a pair of
female
high-heeled shoes
just sitting
alone
in the closet
can fire your
bones;
when you're old
it's just
a pair of shoes
without
anybody
in them
and
just as
well.