Thirty three years Alexander lived
Shakespeare wrote his tragedies
the teacher near our house
...in dhoti turned twice
still ***** with yesterday's mud
goes for another regret
what am I doing?

The play was staged
clowns and faces with paint
their age twenty
The man next door
his face well known
for the cycle he drew across the world
where am I here?
The lunatic
in house arrest wants to breathe
showing the foolish thumb
to people on lanes
but what am I doing?

What am I doing? Doing what? Doing what ?
Till half past three into the night
the question haunts my ribs
A inadequate path, oozing with men flood
but all headless clouds
Am I one in them?
All my life I have been placing this head
The weared out head of mine
In one body
in another
Trying to look into the mirror
On which body does this head of mine
look like me

I write these quotes from time to time...
I write for those who believe in love but have never felt it first hand,
Those who believe in the intimacy of lust but have felt the roughness of young love.
I write for those who don't fit in because they seem to be two steps behind every one else.
I write for those who fight their insecurities with this pen.
I write for those who life has taught there's no true disappointment without hope.
I write for those who have demons so versatile, they doubt the trust of someone they call a friend.
I write these quotes for those who believe they are that bad example so others out there live a better life.


I am The 7eventh Day, one of these days I might just write for you.

elms in the front yard
have started to exhibit
autumn's amber hues

The world's gone mad but my mind is made up.
Time to let ya'll into the darkroom of my mind,
A place where I'm the referee of a poetic world cup.
This is where I am creative even though I'm blind
Don't get me wrong I am not leaving from town.
No more radio or TV saturated with all the sad news,
I have got enough breaking news of my very own...
Breaking to me each and every moment as it brews.
Come and meet the hard drive of my creative doom,
That contains my beautiful and liberated mind.
Welcome to my one bright side I call my darkroom,
It's a place that's so special, I reckon it's one of a kind.

You have to know that I always act blind but I see.
In my mind, I can walk stack naked and levitate.
My mind is where I remain totally black and free.
Come join me set my poetic dial and help me activate,
The code that will outshine any power on this earth.
My mind is where I live and where nobody has access,
Here I can run a poetic marathon without taking a breath,
Call it my playground and intellectual fortress.

My mind is deep, a place of absolute calm and refuge,
Somewhere I will always see as the final frontier.
It is dangerous and toxic like a nuclear centrifuge.
In there, I am all alert and vigilant like a soldier.
My mind is a darkroom where I give birth to new ideas.
It is a vessel and place in which I do magic with letters.
It is my holy land of thoughts, my own creative Judea,
Where each idea is sacred and light as bird feathers.

Welcome to the epicenter of my creative mind.
This is where I turn letters into spoken words
A front line of creativity where no one leaves behind.
Come and see where all words become useful swords.
My mind produces powerful words like some light beams...
Courageous and powerful words for extra motivation.
Spoken Words that will light up people's faded dreams.
Now you know that up in my mind are no limitation,
There exists an enormous capacity of time and space.
Welcome one, welcome all to the darkroom of my mind
Take a seat and be calm, be quiet this is my place
For this here is my personal creative post of command.



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It's safer in the middle
It's really plain to see
If someone tries to pick me off
They shoot others before me

A platoon is led by leaders
Some who aren't around
While those of us out marching
Get picked off without a sound

You know it may sound selfish
Listen up, it isn't dumb
It's safer in the middle
Than with the flag or with the drum

It's safer in the middle
At the back you're in the hunt
If the parade should turn around
You now are at the front

I'm a ****** in a carnivore my martyr wants to craft in a hunt
where biting laughs make romance posit their knowledge or fact
if then skunk mull ground with graph only message hers affront

to slander this right and sleep in the courtyard
and chastise fortuity at baroness
when she'd attract communist lore till Angora
freeze her T & A all the way to Tennessee.

My thoughts don't escape me
They seek me
I avoid and they follow
I dip and they dive
Always over my shoulder

I've lost a train of thought, sure
But it always finds me
A high speed train
A runaway train
At the most inconvenient of times.

When do I control the thoughts
And the thoughts don't control me??
For such a mighty being…
It's a pretty weak display.
My thoughts tell me who I am.

But they aren't who I am
Mere fragments
(I beg someone to tell them that)
Moments in time passed
Past. Not Present.

When they come back though
…I must relive the moment
No matter how much I protest
They do not obey my requests
It's pointless.

Live in the moment
Embrace the now
Tactics of a desperate soul
All in vain
But they paint the picture

A picture that doesn’t belong to me
A picture that shows me
Or how I see me
And the colors are all off
It's so out of focus.

Focus seems to be the whole issue
I'm always on the inside
Sifting through strings of words,
Flashes of optics, pockets of sound,
Just trying to make sense of it all

Thoughts are altered upon each retrieval
Emotions invade unwelcome
Uninvited, they plant in the memory
It's altered. For the worse
The picture is shadowed once more

"That isn't me."
But it is, isn't it?
Or it was.
WAS.
I can handle "was".

"Is" constitutes different territory
I am proud of me
I am ashamed of me
I live every emotion about me
I'm not given a choice

I am given a choice..
As to who I will be
?Not who I was.
Not who I am.
But who will I be?