In a dusty magic orchard, my soul lost its worth.
Where a garden of poison fruit called from the Earth.
There, a tree stood, it was beautiful and dark.
But when the glare from the moon revealed me to its bark,

Its branches took hold. I knew I was ensnared.
Ripped out my intentions, as dust filled the air.
Its trunk overtook me, no matter my strain.
I was trapped in a euphoria, divine and insane…

Beyond the veil of roses, we know of the thorns.
That omnipresent sting of need, that slowly adorns.
All beauty seen, only masked an ugly face.
In a statuette state, watched my world shift its shape.

Each petal a facade, each leaf was a lie.
This enchanted tree, has now silenced my cry.
My soul, now ensnared to its beautiful spell,
My search in desperation, formed a path straight to hell.

Deep In this garden, I remain without vision.
Controlled at its will, my roots bound in addiction.
Only one tale unfolds for my soul. I’m too deep,
As my cries become screams, I’m as silent as sleep

Adore not this garden. oh sad, starving heart.
For this magical garden will tear you apart.
Never eat from her harvest. Never mask your own dread.
Run far from this soil feeding my life to the dead.

it was  
             a fine spring  
          day, and we thought  
        to take a walk in nature  
      barefoot on the grass, it felt  
     so refreshing, such a lovely day  
         it was for us, but we crushed  
             and killed tens of  
                  windflowers...  
                    |||| ­ 
                    ||||  
                    ||||

In the calmness of the morning light,
When the sun shines and darkness exit.
Birds chirping through the trees,
A gentle hum, carried by the winds.

A lonely bird begins its song,
Notes that pop, sweet and strong,
Awakens this sleepy earth,
Giving life an amazing birth.

Each dewdrop on the petal's edge,
A tale unsaid upon this ledge,
Of night's comfort and suns first kiss,
In moments pure, we find our bliss.

The world awakes gently, starting its day,
Colours blend in a perfect sway,
From amber gold to azure, blue,
Nature beautifully painted as new.

The fading beauty with essence,
In every flower and in every face,
Time unfolds its tender tune,
Moments like these are divine.

When sun sets, doze for night,
In the twinkling stars so bright,
Let us pause, and deeply see,
What gives us hope to be.

By
Sanji-Paul Arvind

Through ages, the carbon released by the pained,
From countless sorrowful, pale, and weary souls,
A deep, long sigh that eventually rolls...
From it, carbon refined, slowly, by and by,
Gathered and set, beneath the sky...
Forming these lines of lemon trees, standing tall.
Beyond a tree's might, its very all,
A tree of poignant sorrow, a vibrant grove of ache,
A mystical plant... Rupananda's wake...
Rupasanatan's grace...
Behind each leaf, in the spaces unseen,
Fruit ripens, a clustered, fiery, hidden sheen...
Explosions of passion, in rainbow's bright hue,
With a mesmerizing beat, they push, bursting through,
Reddish lemons born anew.
I sit in faded scent, by the sorrow-tree's shade,
In the afternoon's quiet, a sacred glade.
Before me, a lemon, its halves unfurled.
Inside, seeds of pure pain, a sorrowful world,
Dense cells of anguish, I know, nothing more.
A blood-shot gaze from eyes, tears brimmed to the core,
A whipping glance, a questioning stare.
Among these seeds, which one, I wonder where,
Was born from the carbon of my mournful, fruitless sigh?
It whirls into illusion's realm, as years drift by...
Slowly, persistently, a long, quiet flight...