It wakes up to the warmth of the morning rays,
The dew starts evaporating from the grass blades,
when the first joggers and pet dogs make their way.

As the day progresses, it becomes a playground
for young lovers, artists, birds and nature’s sounds,
Kids join the drama after school, and many more *** around.

My park is loaded with innumerable memories everyday
but all that is left is trash and dog poo at the end of the day,
Only to wake up again to the warmth of the sun the next day.

Untitled because it is not about any one thing. It is of the stuff written about, untamed, undiscovered… un yet. That which is just beyond. Before the hand reaches it, before the eye sees, before the mind pours it into the shape that is comprehensible. It is pure. It is debauched. It is half and complete. It is the blind mice playing a symphony with small instruments in Schrödinger's black box where he suspects a cat to be. It is the mother of “Ah Ha” and the father of “Eureka” that is this tear.

Be neither this nor that
He nor she thin or fat
Be and being not
From any given lot

That grail of poetry
That makes it be
This lightless paint
What tis and taint

Who may choose may
Find who chooses say
It choose me instead
I am and was dead

Be rabbit or sacred star
Do I follow and how far
If I am weary I resume
My fleshy wick consumed

So big… yet so small
So… yet… so it is all
Great be in my being again
Now at least I have been

You can see it in a drowned man’s eyes
In the pawn shop window I just passed
Frosty truths that come to the table uninvited

The poet and the truth
Face to face, one whistles, one listens
The napkins fill with cognitive snapshots

The poet drowns in words
Just wanting to say something
Or hear it said at all

The dying words from a poet’s mouth
Blow about in autumn color
Drifts and piles that shape the years of practice

What's worth saying has to be said by someone
So a poet goes looking and would suppose
That words rubbed together right would produce

Word museum sentences ripe with meaning
Phantasms haunting great books and minds
Torches lighting the way for all

The poet takes aim and fires
At the fog of meaning
He tugs at God’s coat tail

Carry a big ego,
And the Universe won't give you a go.

Only when I realise, that I am an utter fool,
I can truly learn and sparkle like a jewel.

My bare feet touch the morning dew,
The grass feels so new,
Air is cool and the sky majestic blue,
The worries are far and few,
I bow down to you.

I saw leaves on the ground,
Some yellow, some green, some brown,
What's their story, I ask around,
Nature answered- don't judge, just observe, its my playground

The world is moving fast
The things are sliding too
Ohhh what to say about time
And don’t forget your will for it

In this hustle bustle
The time stills
Starting with the fading voices
Zooming into people’s expression
Somehow feeling what you inhale and exhale
As the mysterious power raises your spine
Powering every hair on your body
And
Its strike
Than and there.
And suddenly everything is at pace again
Everyone is racing for their share
Even you.
But you feel
You feel the calming urge
You feel the heart soothing
You feel the breath slowing

You feel
What it is
You feel
what to be

And you know
You just know