There came a time when I realized the river flowed outwards The west became Sahara and east Bombay. The golden chops grinned in greed. My lips were full in windy cold winter, and you became hoarding supply-less supply.
you are my forbidden fruit so sweet until the notes of bitter bubble up so perfect for me until your other side shows up duality, inability to see beyond your own body, beyond your own needs what am I to you? what am I if I do or don't? you tried to tie me down, tried to quiet my own voice, displeased with my need for reciprocity to engulfed in your hypocrisy I almost lost me, in your rapids, distractions too many factors, actors, and games too much struggle, rebuttals, and vain so much vanity you drove me insane and I have never driven a day in my life
Sing the song of gratitude, should the grass grow. Felt beneath our feet, the soil breathing its song. Let it growl a languid tone, for its tongue rests underneath its greenth overflows and wild creatures. A picture of placidity it draws, hidden under its overtone of yellow kingdom. Don't let it loom over you, for its stature is everything but onerous. Tell it why you fear not the soil nor its engulfing sky, and it shall move the winds easy. Speak with candor and imbue it with your love. Because when it hears your song of gratitude, it too will sing.