I weep, I smile
there are seagulls

अभी कुछ हसी बाकी हैं मुझमे,
मुझे जी भरकर हंस लेने दो।
वरना ये शाम, ये रातें तो बस कट रही है।

Your pretty pretty eyes,
Don’t look at me with them.
Your pretty pretty smile,
Goshhh stop it!!
The pretty pretty hair,
And the pretty pretty you,
But all I end up saying is oh cool.

I make them smile,
not for ease,
nor for the brief bloom of laughter—
but because the world is a weight,
and lightness must be carved
by hands willing to bear the chisel.

I have seen sorrow move like a tide,
dragging its wreckage ashore,
leaving eyes hollow, shoulders bent,
hearts shaped like doors
that open to emptiness.

I have watched the weary—
not dying, but unlit,
not grieving, but undone—
souls curled inward like autumn leaves
that never learned the grace of falling.

So I place joy like a candle
in the cavern of the ribcage,
let it flicker against damp walls of doubt,
let it whisper—however briefly—
that there is still warmth, still wonder,
still a reason to lift the chin
toward the sky and call it home.

A smile is not salvation,
but it is rebellion—
against the hush of despair,
against time’s indifference,
against the notion
that we are meant to suffer in silence.

Let them call me foolish—
say laughter is fleeting,
that joy is a trick of the light.
I will still shape it, scatter it,
send it forth like a dandelion seed
that does not care
where the wind takes it—
only that it was given,
only that it was free.

Have some confidence,

smile a while and think of cuttin' back,

think of how hard this winter is
most places where it is winter now,

and all the houses are rubble, we see
we almost…

in some ways…
on some levels… true, we can feel

we breathe the same winds, we hold
truths self evident, by faith we found,

sheer mind fog hedge hog white horse
chase minding, hedged bets,
we'll laugh every day,
in joy, for strength,
l'chaim
peace of mind is what we stalk.

We think we pray silently.

We think we all do,

hope and wish and pray all call
fix it make it better for all, eh

liberty, completely agreed to by
most…
we must imagine the old trick,
freedom isn't free, inside the fence/

----------------
How come we to be the first generation ever
to breathe dust from Alamogordo and beyond

co incident… in the scope of what we can imagine,

Earth, as seen from Saturn via global science access.

Any where such truths are not denied by law.

How come is not the same query as why, because

words mean things, ghost
of Limbaugh. Being causal

points, peak mind share,
Superbowl .64% All eyes worth, all the value
rushed
to all the advertisers and stakeholders
on the line,
oh, you know, it could be money,
on the line…
99.36% of all attention payers, paid none.
But… stop
think 127000000 or so, simultaneously hoping
that's a lot,
to high heaven they don't choke, oh, the thing
e-feared holy hell we say some stupid blessing

sneeze gnosisnot too fine
to finally think gesundheit, so fine.

Smiles are a peculiar thing
I find yours infectious
Crawling on my mouth
So when you look at me
I look at you too

If only your smile found its way onto mine
So that they can intertwine
Delicately and passionately
So when your hand is on my body
Mine is on yours too

Beneath my smile, things decay,
soft rot dressed in polite silence.
Hope is a maggot, writhing—
feeding on what’s left untouched,
too small to ****,
too stubborn to die.

Heaven would be sinned if I spoke of your smile,
The one that pulls you from trenches and throws you to meadows,
Makes the wind lush against your skin,
Like the world couldn’t help but bask in your grin.

It’s the kind of magic that could unravel the stars,
Yet bind you to this earth with a quiet, lingering grace.
I carry it now, in the spaces between each breath,
A warmth that could melt the coldest of nights,
A light I’ll keep, even when the world fades away.