Manny said
by lunchtime she'd be dead

You ignored me at the simming pool when I approached
The desert sun glinted off the flat roof top
Manny was your choice not mine

The call asked for grid details and map locations
I rushed through the tumbleweed to the spot
The spot where it was to happen

A van pulled up
My heart raced
A shot rang out
You fell, I shout

The cube, the sphere
and the triangle

Building blocks, visionary shapes
that brace wind, cut clouds

Industrial smoke goes against
the grain of architecture

Maybe we can find where
they breathe tomorrow in naturally

It will be opaque and after breakfast
arrested by cantilevered thoughts

A ripple in the calm
whirlpool above the falls

As Liliane enjoys swimming
in the **** and collecting modern art

By nightfall and before the uniting
there's a solemn dream to be had

Haunted fragments
within the libretto of a Shining Brow

The contents of Froebel gifts
form organic steps, and led us
Wright to the water's edge

We are naked when born
Choosing our place among forlorn ancestors
After death, a structured life denotes our span
Our modern thinking will not save the hunger pangs
For the meals are crisp, delightful as religious rites are

Born are we to serve our fathers
Who give everything to their fathers
Living a life of servitude
Never striding next to kings
What of the princes knowing no solicitude

We are only mere classmates
In a college of wisdom
Wizened by the plight of our teachers
To lead a nation or cure cancer
We are naked to ourselves, as we are simply accident-prone

If we linger on in this blue planet
Life most come to a tragic end
Where the followers of the chapel proceedings
Get the most out of this age-old tradition
Often divorcing logic from religion

I've seen foreign stones bleed out fountains of wanderlust down your waterfalls
I've seen shards of mirrors swimming in the ripples of your sea
The one's that still hold the reflection belonging to the wandering passerby on your streets
I've watched as droplets of ink from a sunset sky pour onto your maps
Colouring in the roads that lead to your history
I've seen the flowers in your gardens spread their fragrance onto the sleeves of those lost in your alleys
And the soil underneath them surrounds the seeds of friendship that they leave behind
I've seen hope in the layers of your canyon rock
And resilience in the avalanches of snow that tumble down your mountains
I've seen the architecture of your emotions towering over my outstretched hand

And now I sit by the water trying to paint a picture of your roads on its surface
My hand reaches out into the distance, waiting for the light of your moon to embrace it
And I watch as the stars paint constellations that remind me of you
I dwell in the lonesome nostalgia, recollecting every fading memory
Hoping that when the sun glitters on the surface of your water
You'll see me sitting there, painting a picture of you

The buildings are square
Lost is the taste
Profits are calling
Often built in haste
What an insult to the past
In this beautiful space
Opportunity to inspire
But more than likely a waste

hey architect,
You've been given a vacant terrain,
somewhere  crowd of green grasses
a meeting place of tall trees.
Go straight from that vacant terrain to the paper.
With sunlight, air movement and some related content, You draw some 2D lines.
Each line carries the meaning.
You also make them in many different shapes.
At the same time, hundreds of calculations and ideas are exchanged with new thinking.
A 3D form of imagination that builds on thin lines.
Where you can imagine gestures used by users, shuttle of light somewhere, and fair use of green etc.
which make meaningful sense of that space.
Which actually constitutes invisible mass.
Then you are there to make your invisible mass visible,
At the end, it becomes visible.



‌

she finally found the light,
after her darkest hours
antecedently it's
the tallest and the brightest
skyscrapers blazed those
cold weary nights