You wish for the good hours
When the sun wasn’t so eager to run away
But they’ll come again
When the daylight breaks through dawn

And you are granted another day

As I stand,
Starring at my own reflection,
I peel back layers.
Layers of lies, deceit, manipulation;
Layers of empty promises and half hearted attempts.
Layers of misguided hope and hollow happiness,
Layers of shallow expectations.
What’s left is the ugly truth.  
A story of abuse
In which I am the victim
And the villain.

I have a Dream,
I see myself in a rose garden,
Dancing to my beloved music,
I see the jazzy birds and butterflies
dancing with me too,
Their colours lure me,
I have a Dream,
I finally have the lust for life,
I see myself celebrate living,
As a festival,
Lighting the sparkling firecrackers,
bright, 'cause they're looking
for hope in the dark night,
And I was on cloud nine,
Like it's the only thing I want forever,
I want the time to stop forever,
'Cause I felt like a Queen,
I have a Dream,
I paint the world in my favourite shades,
Violet, blue and black,
I paint it red too,
And I see the reddening,
As the only way I could
Be a part,
Of the art,
I have a Dream,
I was the most beautiful,
beauty queen,
Shining bright as the brightest
and the prettiest star,
The night was my bestest friend,
But the dark was gone,
I illuminated,
I felt more alive,
I have a Dream,
I see the world changing,
I see myself being a part
Of that change,
I saw the awakening,
From dawn till the dusk,
It lasted,
It was just a dream,
I have a dream,
My poetry had got a soul
And a life,
The words got wings,
And it started living,
Through everyone,
It contributed a small change,
However so short,
made a being think,
I have a Dream,
I see myself with each and every thing,
That I've always wanted and wished for,
I saw that I felt so serene,
With the things I never had,
And maybe won't ever have,
Then I looked at the ocean,
Oh, how I move so fast,
Out of the black,
Into it's blue,
Diving deep down,
Till I just drown,
So deep I can't make my way up to the top,
But the top,
It was just an illusion,
I have a Dream,
But, now I see my dreams,
Turn to a Nightmare,
My rose garden was set to fire,
My life lost all its lustre,
I tried to paint the world,
But the world is so colossal,
My colours fall short,
And I was never
a part of the art,
The world changed,
Leaving me behind,
I always kept drowning in the ocean
Of unethical ecstasy and fantasy,
I have a Dream,
I want the nightmares to stop.
🖤

How do I begin to pick up a pen?
How does a thought take me to Neverwhere?
They never can ever tell us the reality
of the realest questions
and, for some, it’s just fine.
The rest need more.
Something? Not a thing.
Someone? Quite plausibly.

Won’t let go the tap tapping
or drumming or the pokey poke.
It’s there. But, you keep your head in the game.
Cuz, ya know, what else is there around here?
Spiritual desert with no substantive food.
Like biting into a juicy hamburger
and tasting sawdust only.
Only if those ones
could just keep their blinders
in proper position,
proper place to look and stay
and march along on
in single file lives
to mark one existence onto the next.
Who though?
All for who?
Or, what?
Surely,
God needs no marching ants such as these?

They who can’t see
will surely deny the real world
you know is here
and call you a blind fool. Ha!
Jokes on jokes on yokes
of jellied stroke marks.
Get off my back and let me live
how I see. Not through your grimy,
filthy, streaked and yellowed seeing.
But with clear and pure eyes
you hadn’t touched yet.

What happens to those ones?
Where have they gone?
Looking, looking close and away
and all eyes sense
is dust mountains and cave dwellers
and absence of light.
Where are the true ones
filled with the light of the rising Sun?
Come home!
The place with the voice pointing out cracks
is singing a song so longing and sure
and cannot look away.
Not with COVID and all of this world
awakening to see what they -
the blind ones -
have done while the rest have been sleep.
Blinders melt in sunlight
and aren’t needed
by the light of the moon.
Here one finds the way by heart.
Here one sees for real
where we truly are. And then?
Ah! And then,
what else can one be except
free.

a giant once walked this land
gautama, the Buddha
a giant, if ever there was one

hearts this parched,
minds this feeble.
for such a tribe,
why did he walk
the walk?

he saw -
clear,
and loud

each of us
has the spark
to be -
the giant that he was.