The sun began to fall from the sky
The moon turned a blind eye
The ground crumbled beneath my feet
The trees died out when I touched their branches..
The people sought to erase my chances.
The animals whimpered and growled when we’d meet
The clouds didn't make shapes anymore, just grey, depressing things floating atop me every day.
My house fell apart by one knock on the door. I hoped and prayed it wouldn’t be too expensive.
The building fell to dust when I needed to step on the roof, away from the ensnarement of life, and its cycle of despair.
The electric wires burned out only when I thought about the rest of the world, only faint radio sounds cured my curiosity.
The knife in my hand turned dull in a pinch,
So soft my skin couldn't be pierced.
The car exploded into flames when I walked by the street,
“Poor guy” I thought, “Poor guy..”
And soon every stone with the capacity to **** me,
transformed into chalk.
Why was this happening to me? I couldn’t tell you.

Until, one day, on Fairway Road,
an old lady, in an antique dusty purple coat stopped at my feet
I laid there starving, refusing to eat.
She introduced herself as Marilyn Scott,
Who loved her earl grey and the petunias she cared for so dearly.
Mrs. Scott went on about how there was a war in Europe,
One that threatened the lives of the people in my state.
Then, again, changed the subject to her profitable farm
down the ways, in the fields.
"The freshest milk in Montana!" She'd say.
Meanwhile I remained on the cold cement, wishing for this pain to end.
But she kept on chatting, and chatting.
"My husband just passed about a month ago.." She said
"My dear son Rob just graduated from his studies" She said.
"Bread prices are down, this week." She said!
and she said, and she said, and she wouldn't stop saying.
Meanwhile my mind was rotting, decaying.
Then she finally stopped, and gave a large sigh
And looked me dead in the eye.
"Mr. Arthur" she said, point blank.
"Mr. Arthur, how have you been?"
I froze and stopped breathing.
All feelings of hunger dissipated.
The cold air, like her, was comforting to me.
I realized, she acknowledged my existence, like no one had before.
"Mrs. Scott," I nodded my head,
"I'm doing fine."
With all my energy,
I leapt up, and brushed down my chalky knees, like a gentleman would.
And finally, taking my chance, I asked her: "Say, where could I purchase the freshest milk in all of Montana?"

And she said.

This has all happened before
And will all happen again
Learn from the past we are taught
But the same mistakes made, lessons ignored.
The hate of humanity stings
No common ground found
Yet brothers and sisters we are
Lives taken, persons slandered
Ideology trumps common sense
There is no love, no understanding
Centuries of hate, coveting what the other has
Demonizing beliefs because they are different
No filters, just hurtful words
No compassion, only disdain
No understanding, just demands
No helping, only greed
No forward-thinking, only the here-and-now
Humanity is doomed
Repeating the same mistakes
Unable to break the cycle
This has all happened before
And is happening again

Whirling of blades, clouds of dust
Screaming, suffering, litters of men
Crimson covered deck
Water of red flushing
Rinsing away the horrors of man
His uniform is ***** and wreaks
Dirt that isn’t dirt
He stumbles into the showers
Dazed in a trance, shock
Dropping his rifle, pistol falling to the ground
Standing under the cold rain
Dust and dirt, wash away
Water of crimson
Mud that isn’t mud
Guilt so heavy, he cannot breathe
Death all around him,
Yet he lives Why?
Brothers and sisters, gone
Yet he remains, why?
Guilt overwhelming
Pain, searing pain.
Yet he lives.
Unworthy, full of guilt
Crumped in the shower
Unworthy
He weeps for the fallen

अहतराम करना मेरी बातों में,
ये अदब , ये लहज़ा, सिर्फ तेरे लिए है।
औरों से थोड़ा सा बंधा हूँ,
ये खिलखिलाती मुस्कान सिर्फ तेरे लिए है ।

The cadence of the drill sergeant, a ghost in the present,
echoes in the rhythm of my pen.
Discipline forged in the crucible of steel,
now fuels the fire of my art.
The enemy then, the fear, the loss,
a distant memory, yet the weight of loyalty remains.

My love, an artist, paints with colors I cannot name,
capturing the essence of the soul,
a symphony of emotions, a dance of light and shadow.
She is the muse, the inspiration,
the reason this heart still beats with a fierce, protective rhythm.

The scars run deep, both physical and unseen,
reminders of battles fought and won.
But the greatest battle, the one that truly matters,
is the fight for her, for our love.
This fragile, precious bloom,
deserves the fiercest protection.

The Marine within, dormant yet ever-present,
would rise, a silent guardian,
against any threat, any darkness that dares to touch her.
His loyalty, once sworn to the Corps,
now belongs to her,
a love that transcends all boundaries.

In the quiet moments, when the world fades away,
I see her eyes, reflecting the stars,
a universe of emotions, a love that knows no bounds.
And in that reflection, I find my strength,
a renewed sense of purpose,
a love that would die for her, a thousand times over.

The poet and the Marine, two sides of the same coin,
bound by a love that defies definition.
A love that heals, that inspires,
that gives life new meaning.
And in that love, I find my peace,
a solace that surpasses all understanding.

In memory of the fallen heroes, I stand
A US Marine who bore witness to war's hand
Bravery and sacrifice, are etched in my mind
As I carry the weight of the ones left behind

Medals shine brightly on my chest
But they feel heavy, a constant test
For I did not earn them, not truly
The real heroes are gone, so unruly

Gallantry, Valor, Honor, Hero
These words now feel so hollow
For it was my brothers who truly deserved
To be honored, respected, and preserved

I fought in battles afar, and I survived
While they lay on the battlefield, deprived
Of the chance to come back home
To their families, where they truly belong

I am unworthy of these accolades
For I live, while they lie in their graves
Their memory lives on in my heart
As I carry their legacy, I am never apart

So here lies a US Marine
Proud to have served, yet still unseen
For the real heroes are the ones who fell
Amid the battle, where they dwelled

Rest in peace, my brothers in arms
For you are the true heroes, with all your charms
I will never forget the sacrifices you made
And I will honor you, until my final day.

Sitting pretty on the window sill
Perfect and pleasing to the eye
Facing the rising sun
On a clear blue cloudless sky

Do you dream of open spaces?
Of stretching your arms free
Spreading like the mighty oak -
Or the lofty banyan tree?

Would you your leaves be swept by winds
Your breath carried by rain
Growing in the wilderness
With flowers wild, untamed?

And if I hold you close to me ...
Would I hear your soul cry?
Sitting pretty on a window sill
The perfect potted bonsai

In the garden of emotions, love may bloom wild, a vibrant flower, tender, meek, or mild.
But deeper still, beneath the surface lies, the soil of respect, where true love’s root abides.
For love without respect, a fleeting flame, may rise in passion, but wanes the same.
Yet when respect in love’s foundation dwells, It forms a bond that time nor trial quells.

Greater than love, respect does stand, a silent guardian, a steady hand. It nurtures love, allows it space to grow, In the warm light of acceptance, it glows.
So let us plant respect first in our heart, for where it lives, true Love shall never part.

I walk these streets, silent and still,
Faces pass by, each chasing their will.
No words I offer, no call, no cheer,
In their worlds, they dwell—so far, so near.

Let them wander where their visions lie,
Beneath the same vast Nepali sky.
Dreams of theirs I do not intrude,
For in my quiet, I find my mood.

Am I rude to pass and not engage?
Or just a soul, freeing their stage?
Each moment they craft, I let it unfold,
A mosaic woven in threads untold.

Beneath these hills, in Kathmandu's grace,
I honor their rhythm, their time, their space.
For in this stillness, I see more clear—
A bond unspoken, yet ever near.

Let their paths shine, let them be,
As I journey within, just silently.
Nepali hearts, vast and deep,
In quiet respect, their space I keep.