The gas in my tank,
was low,
I was trying to find
fault with the road

beauty is something
that cannot be defined,
beauty is something
like love
you know when you
see it,
beauty that I am
talking about
isn’t the sunset
so beautifully painted
or a picture perfect
dawn,
its in the lines
that cannot be drawn
its in the self aligned
rain drops
weaving a symphony
its in the birds
choosing a perfect
spot to nest
its in the bees
buzzing for attention,
its on a sunny day
when you are staring
down the sun,
its in the coincidences
that leaves you
without a reason
its in the winds
commanding the trees
calligraphic words
on the invitation
for the change of seasons
its in the quiet stares
on the rocking chair
looking for introspection
its in the child
losing his way
begging for attention,
its in the tears
that refuse to cooperate
and thats because
we have difference of opinion,
and then we reconcile,
its in the waves
testing the rocks
and then the rocks lose it
and send the waves crashing
its in the disappointments
and the clock keeps ticking
what you thought was a setback
was a disguised blessing
its in the rhymes
that are beautiful liquid
my brain is a strainer
the beats couldn’t be perfect
make your soul feel nourished
its in the female body form
alive and post dark room
that curves got you stumbling
and by form I didn’t mean shape,
its in the feeling
when you come back home
from a vacation
knowing the best view
is from your bed room window,
beauty is something
you seek
when you find
beauty is nothing more
than a state of mind

Should I grab my crucifix tight in these dark ages,
Or should I blast them all, fill up these pages,
My anger rages on,
The page is torn,
There is a cyclone in my mind,
You might go there and find,
Demons on a leash,
Freedom of speech,
Women on a wish,
Crimson and sweet,
Wisdom of discreet,
There's so much I want to do
But so little time,
My heart is already broken,
Why you tryna fiddle mine?
Leave me alone, Coz if I rebel,
You wouldn't like it,
Strip you all off your Nikes,
So called ryderz strap you on your bike seats,
I m supposed to be nice kid,
My last name ain't Shakur,
But me against the world
Now that's more like it

The angels can’t have it,
This sentiment is human,
What good are wings for?
If you can’t feel the wind on your face,
This feeling isn’t democratic,
But can make it to every king’s wish list,
Every day dreamer wishes for,
A realist’s reprise,
The line that is pushed,
For the wishes to bloom,
Turn back the arms of the clock,
Who could have known the joy in learning,
Stand back and read,
Behold! the jealously of mediocre minds,
For this art is a dream
Dare not awake the demons.

You can’t tell
everything
to everyone
but if you choose
to do so
some will
fall behind
I am just
trying to
play with your mind

when you
think hypothetical
Its amazing
what you
can find,

poetry
isn’t a dying
art
but everyone’s
struggling
every help
appreciated
cash or kind,

you try to spread
the light
but the one
on your porch
is lighting up
the neigbhor’s
while you
turn blind,

Knowledge is like
a well
dig deeper
quench the thirsty
make sure
a degree in social work
you don’t
fall behind,

time is like
a river
flows eternal
go with the flow
coz you might
realise in the mourn
the alarm wasn’t too
tight to unwind.

the itch was so bad
that I scratched till it bled,
I felt so much pain,
that I cut till it was dead,
and your love was so good,
I loved till it hurt,
And life is short,
what’s the measure of its worth?

I m mightier than sword,
If my owner uses me right,
I can **** without a stab,
I can start a war,
Stop a war and a lot more,
I give light to all those who lost cause,
For all those who got something to say, But can't say it,
I help them make it,
I don't discriminate, by color, race or religion,
I help them write, I give them a vision,
I got you your first job,made your parents proud,
I help move crowds.

I m a workaholic,
I like to keep spitting ink, without a pause,
I m a writer's weapon of choice,
I m the silent voice,
If you use me right, I can make your girlfriend moist,

I m your Sunday solitude,
And Monday news,
I m the only thing you might own,
When you die broke,
I can help your last words,
In the form of a suicide note,
Or clog myself at your father's last breath,
Make your inheritance go to charity,
So make sure you use me right and not play with me,

I *******, leave the pages *****,
Leave stains hard to wash away,
For my owners who lost their way,
And don't know how to use me,
Call me moody, I can make your shirt pockets get noticed,
So I just pray, my next owner be a true writer,
Who has his mind aligned to me, and wouldn't lose focus,
I hope one day I will help him write an opus,

I can make you nostalgic, give you memories,
Help you remember things,
You can use to sketch,
If my cousin's lid breaks,
I don't have the same shades he has,
But it depends on the user's skill,
And if I ever run out you can refill,

My golden age has passed,
But I still got it,
I fight against 100 keys,
But then again I got it locked,
And the keys on the keyboard,
Are like Nas,
What would you be without me?
I gave you power

With every line written,
All I have given,
These rhymes nothing more,
Than self made prison,
Trying to avoid tunnel vision,
The pen that left crimson,
The petals of emotion,
The decals of wisdom,
Rip apart
Like faint heart,
This ain't art.
This dirt on my shoes,
Ain't wishing for me to loose,
Every step taken,
The pages left brazen,
True rhymes feel like a haven,
For the endangered species of the kingdom,
I ain't talking about reading between the lines,
I am talking about freedom.

the chain of thought
doesn’t seem to break
and streetlights doesn’t seem to fade
and the pills wouldn’t take.
the battery from the alarm clock
adorn the floor,
the faintest whisper
seems like a knock on the door,

ubiquitous anxiety
plays a tug of war
with my cousin of death,
the stares at the ceiling
grow heavy with each breath,
the page lends a shoulder
the pen a helping hand,
the highway traffic finds its way
to my ear,
and its only darkness I befriend.

I see the mosaic leaves
And I think,
God has to be an artist,
When its autumn,

Then I am feeling rock bottom,
And I listen to the silence,
With the waves,
And at times when the birds chirp,
And I think God has to be a DJ

Then I see all the Violence,
And makes me think otherwise,
But my God doesn’t sleep

I pray every night,
Read the word,
And see the next day,
How He works,
Makes me think
God has to be a magician,

The volcano, the floods
The famine,
And then you see His fury,
Reminding of our duty,
God has to be a teacher

Then a great man said,
God is Truth
And so I seek,
The future looks bleak,
The grey clouds gather,
But on second look I find,
They come with a silver lining
And I get on my knees,
This life is redefined then.
God has to be the weatherman.

I see a mother and her son,
I see unconditional love,
And I now know for sure,
God is love,

I travel seven seas,
To find Him
And now I find,
God is inside me
Who am I to say?
Who God is…?