I could speak in soft truths
and sell them as wisdom.
Wrap my wounds in silk,
and call it poetry.

But I was not born
to make comfort.
I was born
to unmask gods.

Every time I withhold the blade,
every time I dress the chaos in calm,
I betray the only thing
that makes me divine:

my truth.

Not telling it
isn’t mercy
it’s cowardice
in philosophy’s robe.

Socrates drank hemlock
for asking too much.
I drink silence
and call it peace.
But it poisons me slower.

Luzifer didn’t fall
he rose
against the tyranny
of unquestioned lies.

And I
I write
not to be saved,
but to remind heaven
it is not immune
to fire.

I don’t need a throne in the sky —
I am the temple.
I am the storm.
I am the question and the answer.

You kneel to gods who burn books.
I write them.

You build churches.
I burn illusions.

You ask forgiveness.
I demand truth.

You fear the devil.
I had dinner with him.
He said:
“They fear me because I offer freedom.”

And I said:
“Then let them stay chained.
I’m done speaking softly.”

So now I speak fire.
I speak rebellion.

Not because I hate god —
but because I won’t kneel
to any god
who asks me
to hate myself.

Please, don't be a perfectionist
Don't delude for the perfect twist.
Don't settle when hot; let it cool
Be more lenient, let it fool.

Let it burn, let it ache
Let your world have a little shake.
Look at the sky far above and wide
Make a wish that you glide.

Life is disjointed in space and time
Most virile when most foolish
Wisdom acquired only in hindsight
Inapplicable to ignorance past
And to shape destiny now revealed
And souls kindred but alas in flesh
Separated by distances and ages
And barriers natural and unnatural
Yet Spirit mocks not nor is futility
For surely Life's flaws but apparent
As a shard or fragment betrays a whole
A whisper of what once was, or to be
The anguish of unbeing but a promise
Of wholeness far beyond that glimpsed
But that glimpsed suffices for faith
Or for rebels to strive with hands
For earth and flesh is all there is
And two unfitting fragments joined
Soothes all brokenness' forlornness
And to forget disjointedness' promise

In a different way
In a different passion
My reason abrupts - being silenced
I fall - willingly - forget willingly
I owe for my indifferent state
In a different way
In a different fashion
I know the rising is to come

An act - of being just -
Of vomiting - for self-denial
And not to stay - in debt
Acquiring amenities - indulging in own flesh
Agreeing on being deaf and blinded
For conscience to be a martyr
For prayers in the haughty thoughts
Abusing right of strong -

In a different way
In a different passion
Betraying any act of love
And human nature
Sing songs - and fall corrupt
Do tolerate - injustice
And for the lack of words
Kiss hands of tyrants

In a different way
In a different fashion
I know the rising is to come

In solitude I am to seek the strength
I do look for the sky to clear
Abandoning the ties of slave
I harbor for support inside
I know I'm given all to rise
I know I am to rise

6 weeks ago I was unaware from where to buy scented candles
Till then it was a studio bachelor pad with random women and one tenet
2 weeks ago I was under the impression that
Table conversation was supposed to be mundane chit chat
Till last monthI lacked the company to hold riveting conversations on the Mandela effect
After our Labor Day weekend I caught a glimpse of the possibility that how life could be just perfect
On our second date I realized it is vital to confess that I had no best laid plans  
Similar to our colossal failure navigating the retreat from Vietnam
Until a week ago I did not have your fragrance lingering my personal space casting innuendos
Recent uptake in the “stay at home-order in “philosophy has reduced me in to a fading shadow
My absence in regular visits to the Gentlemen clubs local water holes and Venice boulevards
Have my village people in search parties hunting corridors and casing Echo Park
How a creature of habit evolves and adapt to extenuating circumstance
Before the music fades along with the final chance for that last dance
Time eventually catches up or exponentially runs out
Forward motion moving down range is the only response when in doubt
So best not look a gift horse in the mouth
In order to cohabitate, one must embrace new environments hence first move out

I wear
Mismatched socks—
yellow and blue.
Tie my hair off-center,

A quiet defiance
Against the perfection
Society demands

They call it chaos.
I call it freedom.
To me,
Imperfections are beautiful.

Standing and meditating at the crossroads, looking at a tree and the sky for five minutes.

Was it their fault?
Were they in the wrong?
She made her choice
Was it their responsibility?
She thought it through
Were they supposed to control that?

They did everything right
But some things are out of their control
Can they be responsible for everything?
She didn't follow in their footsteps
Instead

She turned away
She went against her upbringing
It saddened them
They tried to bring her back
Yet she would not return

'Where is justice?'
She would ask
But she'd never listen

Then she fell
Well,
She jumped
She tried to escape their loving hands
Forever
But failed
Thank goodness

It couldn't have been their fault
But they would have felt it
Nonetheless
They still feel it now
But they will
And so will she
I hope

Grief of a love lost, has no timeline sometimes its just you with yourself fighting to find solace between the raging momentary whisks of anger and pointless sedition of your soul that irks to find the once long lost peace, You wish it has an end and rebel against the never ending !