“I dream; therefore, I am,” said the sage. \
Will my dreams come to fruition? \
I beseech Jah, The Transcendent One \
That I might attain the fulfillment of the promise. \

When Jah & Jesus sought \
To consecrate me \
I resisted them, \
I did not fathom myself worthy. \

I was enfettered by my Sea of Iniquities \
& unable to disentangle, liberate myself \
From the onerous & lethal wages \
Of Sin & Death. \

But now I have been emancipated, —experienced manumission \
By the Hand of The Deific Divine: \
My dreamcatcher, \
My salvific benison. \

To The Transcendent Dreamcatchers: \
Thank you for life, love, liberty, & your embrace. \
—You are Freedom, you are The Emblematization of Emancipation, you are The Insignia of Liberty; \
Therefore, you grant me the wings to soar. \

Please continue to be my aegis \
Your name being a bulwark against The Nightmarish Wraith of Tremulousness. \
Apropos of your Holy Spirit \
I wield a Bastion Heart. \

(—Se’ lah)

09-26-2025

Wake up at 4.30 am every day except Sunday
When I wake up at 5.00 am, coz it's a day off work
Same routine day in, day out, like it or not
Coz there's no alternative, for a working man
Except to churn the wheel of the Daily Grind

Grinding away, Grinding away, Grinding away
Wake up at 4.30 am, and start on the pranayam
Then some light exercises, before it's time
For the morning prayers, which are a must
Then a bath followed by breakfast

Out of the house by 7.00 am is my target
To catch the public mini bus to my workplace
Arrive by 7.30 am, ready to start the work
Grinding away till 5.00 pm when it's time to leave

But I am grateful, grateful to the Almighty
I have work and earn a reasonable income
Meet the needs of my family, even if just the basics
Always be grateful that my wife tells me, and it's true

But it's not my ideal life, not at all
Some lucky people do have it all
A seven or eight-figure income, a happy family
And they work as and when they want
No Daily Grind For Them

For the rest of us, the Daily Grind
Grinding away, grinding away on the wheel of life
Till the Almighty says, Enough grinding done
Now join me in a new world where there is no Grind

Predatory prayer:
With the moon
To be as, fine as silk, care
For me, when time comes too soon...

Treasure
In a drink of water?
Said, and applied we're
In the spare and sordid fate there

Sharing, the muse
Which, and to is...
The creation of succor, a wishes enthuse?
A weary eye, has us for bliss...

Quiet, little face...
In the name, of me
A waiting future, to place
A many interim, with anarchy

Have we a happy save?
For a rise of notion, in prayer
The force of a voice, that does share patience for what gave?
Just a mercy?, here is loves care...

I'm so proud of you,
You've made it all the way here,
You're still nothing but yourself.

I still remember when you were little,
Skin and bones all the way till third grade,
Mom was so happy when you started putting on weight,
She was worried you'd starve your growth.

But kids are cruel,
Now I'm worried about you,
You're taking bold steps into life,
Carrying yourself with a grand sense of pride,
Promise you'll be careful, more sensible than me.

Because I want you to be something more than me,
Please don't follow in the shadow of my legacy,
Light a candle, break away, make something more out of your modern day,
You used to have the same haircut, shoes, ideas as me,
Though I finally see you moving along,
I make big foot-prints, I dare you to make bigger ones.

Dear god,
For all i have went through
I have no clue,
For why i have suffered
While not being heard,
You turned a blind eye
Letting my cries fade by,
You ignored my pleas
While i was on my knees,
Begging for you to take me
For which you never agree,
I wonder what i still have to see
In this world filled with misery.

How do I know God listens,
I don't.
He could,
He couldn't.
But I'd guess he does,
Because when I wished not to suffer it was,
And whence I wished for love it was,
But not without my hand in work,
Tilling God's land.

where are feelings aren’t involved – feels like we’ve evolved
backwards; undecided on whether we’ll do it for gain or the
appearance of love; this life lacks resolve. from a mortal heart,
is this strangely undying immorality – an act of all our sin being
washed off our backs, though pieces of it seeming much harder to
dissolve.

at this gravesite – would the flowers you bring for me often,
be the ones picked out of your heart; or just be a bunch of weeds
to pick on me one last time, where you washed my face with your
crocodile tears in my coffin.

would the angels and I be laughing – knowing that those who
spit on your grave will one day meet you again. you could still
water my grave in spit; I’ll still grow you pretty flowers.
they’ll hate you secretly, yet join you in saying Amen.

it’s okay… we pray for them often, to deal with the hate
they have towards themselves.

Prayers don't go anywhere
They are encapsulated
In our air down here