the ripe winds
perch upon the threads of
western disturbance












days dissolve in sadness
find me when this ends

tell me about your
experiences

lets go for a walk
before it's too late

i'm awake just
for you

and i never sleep when
you are not looking

i stay still until the
alarm rings

and it is your time
to leave

early morning when
the songbird sings

there you are
never here

you've loved me in
the spring

and i've been in love
with you ever since

dying of sadness on
a tuesday








trading through the
vastness of liquid turmoil

flowing and cutting
across the narrowest
of vengeance

that has laid upon
this land flourishing
under a disguise:
of mere nothingness and
certain similarity;

for who knows
what converses with the
frigid north

and talks to the
passes of the mighty
peaks of middle Asia

walking past the grandeur
of the Himalayas, and it's
many ancient towns

where no other
has been of any importance
whatsoever

there in the sweet solace
of solitude and crisp sunrises

i find myself dreaming
of the tranquil winds, and
ancient passageways:

far from Nazareth and
the cradle of men

where the old brick
roads now sleep in dusk

and there's nothing
left to conquer

built upon the spectacular
-- on this olden earth

i find myself yearning
for little things.

I’m nothing coming through.
A ******, a let down.
I’m a plan turned mistake.
I slipped out into a world to be forgotten in it.
Cold, slimy, smelly, and stupid.

I’m the putty they use to fill the gaps of history.
The time between now and when.
A time where something, anything happens.
Walk on me, I’m here to move you on.

It feels as though we’re nearing the end.
Centuries before, fate was branded.
In its burned flesh we made our mark.
It’s come time to slaughter.
But we’ll be the squealers.

I’m coming through into nothing.
A mother abused by her young.
******* dry and sagged from their greed.
Fat, weak, and stupid now from gluttony.
Next winter will bring their snuffing.

So pull me out.
This pink portal.
Into somewhere I belong.
The nowhere we are right now.
The nothing we’re going to be.

Not yet, she did not show up, didn't rhyme
playing her headline acts on the face of earth.
Donned in the body born on Earth a new soul
is the flesh and bone part of it or its Earth's own?
She didn't take it with a pinch of salt, came with her own.

Clustering 360 degrees around it Earth draws closer
Holy smoke, eyes are on the pristine mirror of herself!
The sun raises the candle in east to the west
but it won’t expose, a name is treasured in the chest!

Playing chiaroscuro beyond the rainbow’s end
the Earth with her painting in light and dark  
let alone connecting the dots it couldn't bag
her footprint even at her death.

A millennium and half passed masses still wish
finding her grave wasn't like painting the wind.  
Not a firefly nor a butterfly in Medina knows it where
yet a name generation after generation is a buzz!
Sayeedatun Nessa, the feminine Queen in Paradise,
Fathima shifted the feminine mystique from Earth
enwrapped back into heaven veiled and intact
the wonder is now paradise’s gold dust!

Acceptance that in this life
Blood and sinew define me
And yet my mind can fly,
Doesn’t come easily.

To find the pivot point,
The sweet spot where form and fancy
Co-exist in perfect balance,
Eludes me most of the time.

To lose myself in the dreck of daily life dulls my spirit;
To reject the limitations of my reality
Leaves me stranded in the in between spaces
Where discontent, longing and self-doubt flourish.

Engaging in this power struggle
Between my earth and my ether
Leads me to gainsay one half of my whole,
Either or, vice versa, within or without.

To find a ***** in my own armour,
To prise open the gap,
To embrace the paradox which is this person named “I”,
And walk the tightrope with panache...aha!

Look, we’re the victims here!
You said multiply.
Well – that’s what we did.

You said fill the earth.
Well, it looks pretty full now, doesn’t it.

You said subdue.
Well, that’s what we’ve done.

You said never again.
Well, looks like we’ve taken that out of your hands.

We’ve increased and multiplied to bursting point.
We’ve subdued this earth with a world-beating chokehold.
We’ve out-numbered the wilds into a final submission.

And no amount of talk about stewardship,
or responsibility, or choices and free-will
will change the facts:
We are not responsible for flawed design.
This earth is not fit for our purpose.

-

What?
What manual?
What users guide?

-

No-one reads that.  Have you seen the size of it?
It’s full of technical details -
I don’t know anyone who could understand all that!

-

What Quick Guide?

-

You mean Jesus!?!  
Okay – fair point.

But can we have our New Earth now?
Please?

Quinine is used as medicine
to treat malaria in humans,
and quinine was originally derived
from a species of plant
named Cinchona;

I wonder
haw many new medicines
can be discovered
in plants, animals, insects, bacteria and
in all the species
of living-beings
on this wonderful Creation
we call Earth?

will the pathways that you take be a maze that you make for me
can the days that you take also be my days to take for free
will your own home safe place feel like a home base for me
will your fast and hateful race leave the hate to face for me

are the bad places you create the only way to relate for you
i may have a date to tryout my own fate so i must wait for you
is your dying day just a replay of another day's date for you
if thought was heaven's gate would that be another gate for you

will truth have any use or lies beget what lies bring to us
will the dove that dies leave a love that flies to sing to us
will the eagle's mangled wing even look like a wing to us
will the bees that are leaving at least leave a sting to us

will the faces change and the names always stay the same to us
will the things that you save seem like just a shame to us
can the game that you play leave the rules of the game to us
will you win your game by saving time and passing blame to us

Now that winter comes
and the trees have not been
in full leaf
I shiver from what will be

from the shivering people
in a winter of possibly
forty years, as end times
of the rampant growth

and also from the winter cold
in our hearts, because our life
costs more and more lives
and more and more sorrow

If we do nothing about it
our tears will freeze
to a crust around the earth
and there will be a spring

without us