good in all visages
the wastrel wanders a road
to his, the poet sings along his ,
rich men have a road to them.

The industrious a well trodden path
worn by every man wishing.  To every man a path
which to him is given, and where he must tread,
or run or crawl or burrow into.

All this meaningless walking, or very heartfelt foot after foot trod
a meaning has. For the earth spinning and each new day's sunrise
becomes again each of our quests, whatever they are wherever they lead.

All lead to the same door.

these keys have your name
written all over them
I can feel the energy coming out of them whenever I play our favourite song
sweet serenades pouring out of my heart
as I voice my vibrations through my art
you’re a part of me,
my muse and art speaks through you
you become alive in my stripped sessions
where love is reached and lively
these vibrations are for eternity
this love that we have is forever
‘cause my spirit keeps it alive
we uplift the universe with our mystic energy
harmonise the souls with our pure nature
my eyes never wander
because you make up my retina
and my ears never slumber
because you silence mediocre.

My friend tells of how she wakes up with a sore body,
From explosive *******
And attempting her limbs at crazy positions.

I say "Me too".

And I'm not entirely lying.

My body is sore,
Not from from *******.
Yet from you using it to mop the floor.
Whenever it is that you've met your woes,
I've met the sole of your shoes.

At one time,
I had to will my body to breathe even with my cracked ribs.
Because when you met your lows,
I connected fully and dangerously with your right hook
And powerful left blows.

How could I forget the time,
When I could feel your fingers tingling with joy.
At the feeling of my pulse slowing down?

Your eyes watered with memories,
Bearing tears that held our amorous moments of sunrise
And elatement at catching the sunset
Within each others aura of love.
The tears came crashing down
And I know deep inside that you were emptying our well of wonderous moments.

When you pulled my hair,
Images of our gasping, clawing, eventful, bed-filled moments disappeared.
Replaced instantaneously by a vision of myself.

Laying dead.

As is by your heart's command.

But I cannot leave.
I cannot run away.
Because when my friends chatter away about neck bites, hair pulling and tears in their lovers eyes,
I say "Me too".

And I'm not entirely lying.

I just never let the true story unfold.

Covent Garden.
Midnight.
Revellers and tourists combined.
The market is heaving.
Last trains are leaving.
An eclectic mix to broaden the mind.

Covent Garden.
2am.
The place is pretty quiet.
Pubs have closed.
Clubs.... God knows.
The tourists have frozen their riot.

Covent Garden.
4am.
A drunkard stumbles by.
Flood lit shops.
A rickshaw stops.
The backdrop against a reddish
sky.

Covent Garden.
6am.
Blokes lurk down Langley street.
The glint of a blade.
A blur in the shade.
Lava tip of cigarette falls to a strangers feet.

Covent Garden.
8am.
Commuters emerge from underground stations.
Workers prepare.
Visitors beware.
Pick pockets attracted like gravitation.

spotless mind, that’s all I had
she looked me deep in the eyes
with tears overflowing from her eyelids
burned incense, hoping
I’d get my creative juices
flowing because that moment
was to never be overlooked.

a wanderer I had become
in the mind-blowing, creative asylum, love-making conscious forest
she searched deeply in my soul
became an imagery metaphor
of the greener pastures
I declare as our inevitable paradise.

There's this mask I wear
The glue is so tight
Hiding me, hiding all
All you don't see, unless you get really near
That I'm not alright
My eyes are dark and deep enough for you to stand in
My wrists are ******, so are my thighs
My heart is shaky
And I've got non stop anxiety
But from far you see this mask
You hear my loud laugh
And see me hold my tummy in pain from giggling at my own joke
You swear I have recovered
When actually my late night tears help me keep the mask on
I may not look injured
Nor hollow
Or in pain
Just with this smile on my face
Of this mask that I wear
I hurt unheard and unseen,
Impatient for good days.

If my heart was transparent
A lot wouldn't be the same
Anyways, I'm already used to building these walls around my heart.
It's protected, I guess. From the outside world yet within me the storm never calms.
Tears wet these pillows
All night through sometimes wishing that morning must never come
Holding the grudge against myself
While smiling to all standing right in front of me.
Asking is this how life suppose to be.
Limping with anger yet holding the last thought of laughter
One hell of life we living.
You see...
This mask doesn't show things in 3D
That's why I love rainy days
Coz my tears are never recognized
Sadness engulf my soul while hoping that one day I will be able to remove the glue on this mask I wear.