As I stand beneath,
sky's embrace,
open arms,
claim me as its own.

each drop,
cold,
yet warmth blossom in me.

each raindrop,
feels as a caress,
a lover's kiss,
as it drenchs my soul.

I see the summit,
A challenge, it seems,
Lying at the top,
A million shattered dreams.

I bid my loved ones farewell,
I promise at the end it will all be well..
But deep down I know...
Stands infront of me Satan,
At the doors of hell.

The climb is hard..
My body is sore,
The mind says no more...
Martial blood answers the call.
Death to Satan ,Victory be to God.

I pass the shattered dreams,
Names long forgotten, enroute I meet.
All that remains are bones and some skulls,
But the emotions say it all, wanting to yell....

Finally I reach the helm,
The air is fresh,
I have conquered the realm.

I look up and the joy disappears...
I take a deep breath,
another trail  appears,
I start walking, tightening my gear....

Another summit stands tall,
Luring the travellers , for the fall.
We chase them like moths to flame.
At the end , what do we gain?
For our loved ones we leave behind,
For our dreams, their sacrifices
We do not mind...

Wake up O great warrior,
This is Satans Game,
Do not be blind...
Do not be blind...

On misty moons, I wander free,
Escaping life's cacophony,
The world's too loud—a fading sound,
As nature's peace enfolds me round.

All alone, my spirit grows strong,
Visions of a hidden world beyond;
Shadows of the past still linger near,
And now, my soul will find me here.

For in this land, I'm never alone,
Nature's heartbeat echoes my own.
Let me dwell here, where wisdom flows,
With a world of wonder that grows and grows.

My brother is an angler
devoted to the stream
that pools around long boots,
making the slow cast
that gently whips and
ripples the surface with
a reel that knows
the proper weight
of the scales below.

Gone are the days when
he fished Crandon Pier
while sitting on
an overturned paint bucket with
a cheap red and white bobber
and a cane pole,
competing with the gulls
for the punniest sea prize.

Now he fishes
the Rogue's eternal flow,
its waters murmuring unseen truths
far from shadowy gray terns’ jeers  
that steal his peace—
fishing in steadfast streams  
that let his boots
anchor him to
the quiet pulse of home.

I walked into
An old building
Vacant yet
Lived in

I opened
Door after door
Peering into
New air

I realized
I was searching
For what was
To be

There were
No windows
On the doors
For a reason

I could not peer
Into the future
The past
Was futile

There was
No knowing
Left only to patterns
Or engagement

I could stop
Walking
The corridors
Of this wood abode

One more door
To go
What was next
Solitude or sorrows

As I stood alone
I met the room
With nothing to lose
No compass for death

I stare at stars waiting patiently,
For it to come to me as it blinks,
Through My eyes which is humid,
I wait in the dry wind.
I stood up tired , as I wait the
Clouds to be  cleared , and the stars
It Hid,
I want the stars again to shine
And the moon to dwell the sky as it
Caress it , all I do now is longing for
Peace that bestowed once upon me !

Thrown into a space,
dark, frivolous, and suffocating,
sealed, with air
stale and unrenewable.

With every second that passes,
the feeling of exhaustion
pulses and oppresses,
with contractions of despair.

I despair. In a burst of energy,
I hurl myself against some exit,
invisible, intangible.

Waves and sharp surges
of despair overwhelm me,
flooding my soul—
restless and energetic,
tired and drained.

I seek, restless, to find
some way out of this place.

But stone walls
only echo my scream.

The futility of my attempts
corrodes my hope,
but a tiny crevice
opens in one of the walls,
pierced by the light.

It rekindles what remains,
killing despair -
partially.