if you were to rise
against the lashes
your spine bears
witness to.i know you
could burn the cities -
echoing enslaved
cries of your mother. or,
the cities tainted in
red, with the blood
of your father.

but, you don't.

for you know what it's like to lose
what you love.




(such is your love for a city that turned into rubble everything you
ever loved)

Ghost Torch: Horse: Quiet Storm

When I was a baby I was sleeping in the night.. The indian chief walked into my tent to give me a name.. he then saw a torch floating over me. It was as if a ghost was watching over me holding a torch.. From that day forward I was known as Ghost Torch.. I was taken away from my tribe at a very young age.. I do not know what type of indian I am.. This is my first entry into the Hyperion Archive.. I am 2 of 4 in this world.. I hunt the Nightmare storms that walk this Earth..

Day 1, Year 1889, Month 10..

Weapons: Composite Long bow:
Helios Transformation: Lightning Phoenix Long bow wave series S.AWAY

She is a true blue living legend
displaying  many colors of love
there is no doubt about it,if only
you know where to look at.
But wait,in the way she expresses it
everything  would get reversed!
if one concludes she is demure,
think twice before deciding.
She did invent a new tongue
entirely of monosyllables!
write it in high  hieroglyphics
none could ever aspire to decipher.
Don't forget to take this fact in to account
in bed, she is a whirlwind
unlike  most Indian brides,
who wear shyness as an armour
tradition prescribes for brides.

Phoochkas to right of me
Phoochkas to left of me
Phoochkas in front of me
Garnished and Savored
Spiced with chaat this shell
A pani puri dunking swell
Into the jaws of yum
Into my mouth a spell
  Phoochkas by the dozen!

My mind revolves around the Indian Summer.
The same one where you and I first met.
I told you upfront that I’d never been a lover,
But you’ve become the photograph stuck in my head.

The music filled the atmosphere
And the world became our playground.
I’m trying to remember what it was like to hear
The instruments that never made a sound.

The colors were much brighter
Where you and I would dance.
I used to be a fighter
Till the first time I held your hand.

I cannot forget that Indian Summer.
The same one where I first saw your face.
It was only the earth’s surface that I was able to hover
And now I soar with the stars in the never-ending space.

A body of different moves,
seems wrong around here,
isnt it? how do you see it?
calling them with different names.

A person of different likes,
not given the necessary facilities,
climbing up with all their efforts,
to end up with all the basic things.

A human of different organs,
nurtured, loved, raises to be
a superhuman, just like superman,
hold the hand, lead the life.

A heart of different wishes,
patted on the back to buckle up,
is what is to be done, for it wishes,
here I am, to love the different cups.

We discovered a master painter
who hand paints intricate flowers
one-by-one to create
a picturesque landscape painting.

In his paintings, a cardinal sits
resting upon a tree branch,
and a monarch butterfly marks
His signature in each painting.

Indian blankets, greenthreads,
brown bitterweed, and Texas thistle -
all vitally important to his paintings.
Therefore, he paints bees to pollinate

the flowers, transferring life-giving
pollen from anther to stigma.
Yes, the master painter places
all of this in his painting with
beautiful intention.

I am from
Dark furniture within large rooms
Smells of curry,
covered with febreze and perfume

I am from
Ride a bike with one hand
But hold your plate for dinner with two

I am from
Red …white
And then blue
Meaning July 1st then July 4th

I am from no beef no pork
And no I don’t find cows holy

I am from hanging with cousin
Playing with nerf guns
Midnight movies
And dairy queen runs

I am from absent mother
And parents divorced