Volitional Cageling,
Lightling
Amber agony of in prisming

Show me a way, then
    from the baseless lines
    from my binding fears
    through the blinding menisci of my tears

Take me a way
    from this tangle of yield,
    from irresolution,
    dewhipped web of timid hesitation...

How does one escape from
    "rationalessness"                                          How does one escape
from this cocoon of "here"

Truth is life
Life is flower
Dew is you
Fragrance is smile
that goes to the last mile

green hills, rolling green
i like you
with fresh dewy innocence
you speak in hushed voices.
your sides are guilded
with coral white
your tops are crowned with clouds.
green hills, rolling green
i like you for the majesty
you wear your verdant vestment
forever stretched your arms to the blue
forever sheltered by the stars.
green hills, rolling green
tell me, do you like me too?
would that when i harken
to the trumpet call, when there would be
no excuse to tarry
i should lay spattered on thy peaks
first touched by the divine finger
piercing the nimbus mantle.

When I go in search of You
In the rain of my tears too.
                                  
During walking, talking so
I meet every friend or foe

No left any inn or cave
Each one prisoner and slave

So I am too weak to do
When I go in search of You

At last I find lovely sign
Like a bliss to soul refine

Transparent and sacred You
Reflecting in morning dew

I see you seconds a few
When I go in search of You

You owe to play with sun
O’ my heart!
But it burns everything
There’s no effect of tear or dew
Me or you!

Dew and birdsong
are two of the words
that came to mind
when I woke up blind
to clouded sun
slivers through slits
of the parted shades
following fits
of fruitless sleep.

The wetly kissed paths
with lines of living
or withered grass
and robin cardinal
whistle, hopping
limb to branch
wondering if walking
isn't so bad though
I've never been on a plane.

I would have seen
the sunrise this morning
but clouds and trees
obscured my yawning
eyes and so did
the crows, staccatos
in skies that are really
pretty pretty anyway.

A plucked and crushed flower
Emits the fragrance
and goes to the last mile
With a smiling and dashing face
At last!
It leaves rosy scars, behind.
As the victims do
With the message
"Do and Die for others"
"As the inner soul of a good one is always the good"
"There is no change coming
whether you oppose or appreciate
"As tears often turn into morning dews
and the morning star is the witness
The message chases the killer till his last breath
In such a way
When one conceives and feels
Neve can forgive his self
"As the impossible task in the world is
Forgiving own self."

its old tale
they come on train
it was, it is as raining
drops of tears
or
pure dew drops
same and, real and natural
look them, feel them their free fall
as many times, you recall