Sky opens
Slides down her face
Wondering, wandering
Lines of Consciousness
And reality
Somewhere between
Intention and frailty

Stay true she remembers hearing the words
But not their meaning.
Go with the flow
And your ship will come in
They told her…

There’s a truth
In the window
And smiling faces
Look back
On grey worn places

Hopeful, little
Eager to be wanted
She dances on streets
That will never run dry

She feared it might never return
That feeling of why?
Purposeful
Like bricks to cement the day
But it wasn’t in her nature to say…

There was a mystery then
A sliver of a patch
To stitch your own
In the quilt of life
They called home

Read and work
Say prayers before bed…
There’s always an answer
Except she’d never know it

Time, an old friend
Had a strange way about her
That was the thing;
She didn’t care.

Awake, she wandered, lonely
Blinded by the blur
Hoping for desolation.
Expecting a word,
Smile or reason in turn.

Except it never came.
Only the rain.

Consciousness aside,
In my thoughts the ghosts reside-
Never enough time.

I have the tendency to ponder reality
In this tangible world
I question duality
My mind and body
Once again disagree
The facades of perception
Versus intuition i can't see
My body a shell
Consumed by limitations
A universe in a vessel
Haunted by these sensations
As Conscious thought strains
For truth it cannot reach
In these dimensional chains
My soul continues to beseech
Through its holographic game
Past this curtain of deceit
To a knowledge I must reclaim
It's myself I must defeat.

more worried, more conscious
knowing more, but using less
that's what life became
despite the sadness

more of a change, less of something
building an identity
identifying as nobody
the randomness about causality

more of a why, less of a what
curiosity causing more stress
yet ignorance always knocks on the door
"yes."

I am
and I know

the change I have become

I ventured deep in to the mysteries of mother forest alone,
when I was free from fears of every kind and sweet delusions,
ancient trees recognized me instantly, from some other life past,
and sung me songs when I sat exhausted,their fruits tasted sweet
made me realize how aftermath of every karma returns to one
at a time unexpected; fruits either sweet or bitter they bring.

Under the shades, of trees,hearing the  lullabies they sung
I slept forgetting the wars won or lost in the past, immaterial
all that now seemed
                                Those trees in their love reminded my mother.
I didn't care when I lost the path,in fact, is there a path in the forest?
All paths lead to one destination, there isn't any other,nothing to worry.

Forest with her thousand hands embraced me and said:
"Every king one day, has to take his heavy crown from his head
put down and walk this path wearing dress made of leaves"

There weren't any footsteps fallowing me here, I didn't expect any.

I only think about you
at night
when consciousness
surrenders to regret
Madness then swims free
in a polluted oil
of memories
we call sin

Truth is believed, revealed
and experienced.
Experience. Experience. Experience.
Difficult, arduous
but yield, I must.
I beg you to listen...
for to a mortal, it can be lethal.
But I must oblige
to a Great Majesty's declaration.
Move in trance,
there is no other way
for the energy is extreme,
intense and sharp.
So I implore for your ears,
because this is God!

I feel the call from the oceans,
the voices whisper from its breeze.
Snow and satire can't label the mindfulness of
memories slowly coming back to me.
My mountains have missed you so much,
my legs miss the warmth of your thermos,
I miss your gentleness and subtlety.

Priority one. If you don't think you will make it by Tuesday,
I'll travel back in time before we were forty degrees,
you can read the seraphs on my signature
if I can lay in your sheets for a week.

Chrysanthemums all over the hallways, Irises in azurean hues.
The charter won't take us all the way to the break wall,
I'm at the airport trying to reach you by phone.
I'd take the flavor of your spirit,
over the sweet coolness of truth,
Slide my fingers into the holes in the jeans you always wear for me when I come home.

The only thing I write off are pages,
Tables marked with the ends of so many words.
Who are you to know what you can do without
The more I've learned, I realize I'm happier with the less I know.

we clock in, out
every one of us--that has ALWAYS
been the contract

the Tyrant has us all working
at minimum wage; some complain
others don't think about it

though at one time
or another, we are all grateful,
and terrified, we have a job

beggars, billionaires both
servants to the hours, His strange
circular command

but I will be dead ******
if I'll give Him a minute more than necessary
watching the hands spin on a timepiece,
eternally there to remind us, we are
temporal slaves, every minion
under His reign