On my way into  
the chamber of the rose
I saw there was no rose
a thorn is on the door!

Slash it cut it bin it off
I did these all
only to grow many more!

I took a chance
without drawing close
with a pinch of salt
I played a creative stroke.

Ah did I rub the Aladdin’s lamp
now it seems to talk?
Fostering an array of whispers
we tend to build a bubble.
Only to realise I am
still outside at the door!
Mediating with the thorn
yet to art over to the rose.

The moon sparks the stars
in the depth of the dark
and mesmeric cool walks the walk.

Everyone else maybe then was in sleep
the nightingale goes out and sings.
The sun touches down the rose in the morning
unleashes the blue sky in the broad daylight
a canvas for everyone, draw your mind.

Forget the twilight is not a finishing line
at the end of the day, there is still a searchlight
right on the horizon an ode to the evening star
a choreographed popup - the moon is on the way!
Again art in silence - Taj Mahal flower in stone
the beauty subtlety is beauteous
and a mesmerised parrot lost for the word!

The black swan smoldering in deep shade
vanishes in the sunset pond
sticking the discovery beauty spot
on the face of the moon!

Not lost in sleep
ascended to a dream
a secret none other have seen
if that doesn't tell the dream
who can interpret?

How the world will end?
First tell how did it begin?

What's true forever
is never a sudden discovery
rolls out in trajectory!

So long there are a man and a woman
never give up our canary bird can fly  
rosy or not the nest in every morn nets a sunrise!

Wounded by one
same stone
crying in many tones!

Smelling money
reach out to the stars.
Knowing why
they gaze down though
upon the deep dark earth
need to be richer
than material matters!