business Friday that ISIS took control
Husayba sometime around
I tell you Love Ramadi Habbaniya
non leader. and meters) east of Ramadi
and about women soon cottoned on
evil and the good lesser gunfire
occasion of his I email my teachers
Rabbit of their day; a toy that you are
doing more group's latest push east
since the Dalai Lama their words
actually led to facilitate some good
old if you love those estone that a US
State most intract ARTICLE b in her
response wrote that they appeared
who love what seized the key city of
finally used to pleasure do not even
Pagans do departmental official
acknowledged defeat ISIS Geisha
Burmese ***** heighten the pleasure
our righteousness in front of others
to be seen executed people in the street
whom Lama's compassionate approach
teaching on what to do by evening
no reward from your Father in heaven,
do not announce it during *** with
trumpets heading towards Palmyra
Heavenly father is perfect the streets
to be honoured by others compassion
and call to action went supernova
Ben Wa ***** background in cognitive.
remember to give thanks more efforts.

Here, boughs and stalks will wait,
eyes laden moist in longing,
every overcast eve,
mourning your absence;

Here, the winds will
go still and rapture-swell
at the song of your flute,

Here I will stay, clutching the lotus
memories of our love to my heart:

Overcome
in longing here
Jumna stalls, when wonder
nights of raas unfold in the mists
of time.

I am but a maiden of these Vraja fields,
go, friend, kingdom and world await you.

Let us go to Galilee
that four yard cell in Mathura,
deerpark in Varanasi,

and ask where are we headed?

Fallow the field we furrow.
Lost the harvests of our youth.

And when all's done, this
our fear, that it was not enough,
that it was not enough.

What does it mean to
love, find peace in works,
uncover the joy of existence?

(Mere) myth, delusion, infant
babble of an evolving kind?

Weeping 
the garden lamp 
flooding all the moorings     
now a deluge of memories      
rush in.

Orb under the canopy          
sobbing to the late winds  
 
Floating lantern
Smoldering to a portal mouth;
One eye of a weeping dragon
                                                 
Mist-capped reminder          
of all gifts unrecognized,                                       
clenched fist of fate,                      
drooping fruit of the tree of life.

I sit holding a torch to the ingress
where your presence seeps into my soul:

is there more I can offer you, Senora,
Sovereign of all phenomena?

You shot in here, a quiver of birds, this
morning as the fires are burning down.

Shearing open the skies for crimson hues
of peace that now flood the quarters, after

the rains when roses have withered, I find
you stealing past the fragrant path westward.

I am become a lighted lamp, bowing
to you in every smile that greets the day.

Rain snaps at the distance
one more wet dawn, I sit
longing by the porch,
as the leaves rustle

Of realms ethereal,
Senora, how would I
honour you in my
coarse, this peasant home?

Do not but assume this
frail form, that caprice can
find shelter, human
in you: I can't bear,

I will wait an aeon,
if only to grow eyes.

Now past drunks at the late station,
past pavements stuck with gum and
roads caressed by wind-swept litter

at the savers, that single pole that
ruminating on the evening spent
I hold every evening in the same
compartment, more or less, past milling
toters asking for spare, the same
crowds, them smelling jackets, clarinet
stations that get empty the same times
muggy glazed nights, as scanty-clad
girls head inward to the city for fun
who must these be, not of us, sure,
Yes, carrying bagfuls that hurt that
by the smelly bin overloaded with
beer cans and assorted junk,

could be a serf working in the farm
a hammer and a sickle later
a shovelboy in a dingy mill,
reading runes by the torch of hope
lighting the hovel by night,

waiting for
the bus that will get me home.