After death,
I will not be gone—
I will be wind, touching your skin,
I will be silence, deep within.

The body fades, the name dissolves,
But the soul—
The soul returns to the rhythm of stars,
To the breath before beginnings,
To the light that dreams all forms.

There is no end,
Only a door swinging inward.
I become the question and the answer,
The seed, the flame, the sky undone.

I will not speak,
But you will feel me in stillness—
When time pauses,
And your heart remembers
That it too is part of the infinite.

Death is not loss,
But a returning to source.
A merging with the song
That sings through all.

So do not mourn—
I have not vanished.
I have returned to everything.

A small fickle flame, embedded deep in my chest. once a roaring fire now put to rest. by the hands of another. my heart, it now beats, a small brass drumbeat always ready to flee. deafening, dampened, quiet.

a sparrow once flying up high in the sky has now been shot down, it's weakened, it died. but the spirit lives on by the sound in the street and all of the people who danced to the beat.

the sparrow lives on, it breathes, it breathes.

Is that art?
Is it meant to tear me apart?
An art
Art that embodies the heart

For I need a refresh
A way to sample all this mess
Hopefully a way to de-stress
Maybe one day I'll get

Get it all
Get it soon
One day I'll come out of the cocoon
Although it feels like a typhoon
Hitting me
Shifting me

Tearing me into pieces
Pain that I hope ceases
A way to refresh
An out
Completely new flesh

excited I got
looking forward
wouldn't stop
could almost touch
the dream I saw
behave I will
follow the drill

two months to wait
turned with one call
no faith
three years -it changed
older I get
let's see what's left
in 3 years
no drafts
a sketchbook full
of practice deep
sketches weep
still I will follow free
the path
for me

a dream that broke
so much to choke

discrimination it is
but I won't miss
they made a choice
but I have a voice
write it down
with rhyme, not frown
the truth I speak
without a leak

This poem
I want it to show me the way
These days, how can I nurture my love more?

What kind of a poem would truly help me?
How can I be helpful to others, too?
I choose my words pretty carefully.

Should I write about life?
Should I be avoiding strife, and holding on and feeling off?
But it all belongs here, I can't make it disappear...

Feeling stuck and trying to move,
Listening to one's heart's groove,
Hoping for an answer in the distance...

A white boat sailing towards the sun,
Those last seconds before it disappears
In the ocean, or the sea...

Darkness comes and the red goes away,
We experience change anyway.
Nurturing my soul by giving hope to others,

Writing from the heart, late at night in bed.
Instead of healthily falling asleep,
My mind was searching for a place to take the leap,

To express concerns and worries to me,
To make me want to let go genuinely,
But I ever slow begin to understand,

What it means when I don't need to pretend.
I don't know how I would handle that...

Isn't it a spoiled life:

picking flowers on the edge --


of the precipice?