In the new world of books,
Where the hungry mind's meal is cooked.
Laid ancient artifacts.
Golden treasure that the unborn yearn to behold.
This treasure caught my busy sight,
Which hungers for root of the rare gem.
My legs drove me here like a fast bike.
It covers 5 meters in a second,
Just to take a glimpse this diamond.
A mountain of books.
An ocean of map, a guide to today's writers.
Their quills had dried up long ago,
Yet their words still drip ink on our tongues.
Scrolls of Aristotle and Shakespeare won war.
The war against time that makes things lost.
Your words are not trend that are visitors.
But your ink is like the earth that never stop.
Your ink shine as though made now.
I use your ink in writing this scroll.
Ink men of today still drip your ink on their scroll.
Will our ink still shine if time tests the scroll?

I.
Lain down, unconcealed
toward the window
shoulder to hip -- a shadowy cursive
perhaps penumbra

II.
Seated, face in utter profile
standing, sorting laundry
washing dishes, guarding
the radiator

III.
Hair eschewed in
conjugated waters
double-exposed
roots and
foliage -- wisps
of sugarland
in subtext
their dark net
cast over a pearly bright sea
discovery left
to the imagination

Did you hear about the stark raven?
A conspiracy they got to know.
Heard of the lonely crow?
****** killed what was alone.
The orphan doe?
A stag that grew antlers.
Hog runt of the litter?
Boar of the bog - grew tusks & got a bit bigger.
The tiniest elephant?
Trunk like a trumpet, ivory like horns.
The smallest hummingbird?
Sharp as a dragon in precision, quick as a griffin.
As for the prairie dog?
Town; coteries & clans a̲r̲e̲ the wards.
Of the marmot?
A burrow whispers of whistles.
The tortoise galápagos?
Variability shines spectrums of different rays -
Amid waves, like amber will age.
The Axolotl?
Regenerative & able to metamorph -
Like a phoenix.

Adaptation is their wisdom.

Lost at home drifting through the sea,
What once used to be thriving,
Annexed by unsighted debris,
The ice moved on feebly.

Nature has her magical ways,
Growing and changing the weathered days.
Despite the beautiful scenes she can provide,
Her magic is no match for mankind.

The ice wonders why it cannot fight.
It wonders why it has to survive.
As it floats around, it begs for the life
It once had in its past time.
As it is slowly shrinking in size,
The ice wonders why, oh why.

The ice’s foe enjoys his fun,
Living wildly under the sun.
The foe knows his materialistic behavior,
Does no good for him nor Mother Nature.
As the foe carelessly continues his unruly rights,
Why, oh why, wonders the ice.

With no defense, the ice moves along, hoping its past life will return.
The sky looked down at nature’s work. It too, mourned and yearned.
Slowly shrinking and passing by,
The ice wonders why, oh why.

...
You see them hazily dancing,
like in a fever dream
shades turning to dust
in dimmed neon lights
ghosts of a past, wieghtless in flight
you watch them dancing in the haze of the night,

Engine sounds cut the dew Of the dawn
You are too young to sleep
tangled up in roadside oleanders
All trying to live a dream

Once cannot teach
Because One is still a student,
This is because we are always learning.

One cannot study
Because One is still a teacher,
This is because we are always guiding.

Developing,
Like three rivers which join & fork -
Only to re-join in course.

We are always trying & changing,
Doing & reaching.

In the pursuit of understanding,
Truth is achieving
And knowledge is victory.

Compassion & patience -
The keys to all things.

How tiresome it is to hang on to fleeting things
Not really feeling at what moment they losen their grip
Realising that finally they don’t need you with in
Realising that it was just a fleeting thing .

How tiresome is seeing depth in everyone , everything ?
In a way that makes your hands ache from the aimless digging
Just to not find what you search for in it
Wasting so much time for a fleeting thing

How tiresome is  trying to be perfect in everthing?  
Failing miserably addicted to sin .
Drowning so deep, sorrow eats you within ,
craving to be more than just a fleeting thing

How draining is being nothing to someone who’s your everything ?
How much does it hurt one’s soul to be left vacant of it’s heart ?
Desperately filling it with everything and anythings
A pathetic attempt at fixing-

-what could be mended with a simple kiss.