Sing to the stars,
And they will sing down to you.
Harmonize with the melody,
And you will recognize a chorus or two.

We are the children of the stars.

Selfish are the flames of the candles,
They don’t want to share their light.
They are waiting for miracles,
In the coldness of the bitter night.

The light will come,
When it suits them.
They are giving,
When they are receiving.

Bare the light for those who wish to seek it,
Hold the hand of darkness and bring it into the light.

Holy meditation. My fingers tap against the keyboard. The stars linger above my cross-legged, country trance spilling across the indigo campfire sky. Jasmine ransacks my senses dazing my context of the red, wooden bridge, and my head tilts upward both in flowering pleasure and earnest reverence. The stars become you. We bathe in naked sunlight. The heavens fall to earth, and I capture its ecstasy  in bodiless waking moments.

After years of trying to find yourself
You found everyone else instead,
And found out what kind of people they are,
So you took that knowledge
And a silver ***,
And you put the knowledge in the ***,
And you put the *** on a stove,
And you cranked up the heat,
And language boiled away,
And you cranked up the heat,
And eye colour boiled away,
And you cranked up the heat,
And preference boiled away,
And after 9 days of tending to the *** –
A charred smell hit tired nostrils,
Because all that remained in the ***
Was the burnt and brown mess which is human nature,
And in the metal walls: your own reflection.

Golden eye of eras
Reads destinies the bent motive
Changeable image of the house
The unbidmost flight of Love

The call proceeds tin on shadows
Expression of nameless
The beam exactly falls and creates a story
Drawing hopes the bridge, destroying sufferings.


Foreseeable adventure
Way on the island, whom as if is not present
For what the second consciousness of milestones is opened
When to the first measurement century
An opportunity to rise to the provision of the purpose.

warped,
weird,
whirling,
wonder-filled,
a garland of words
eulogized by occidental cosmologists today
to deify the milky way

for five millennia,
in clandestine chambers of
the temple of the lord with a lotus navel,
oriental sages, finely tuned into
ultimate mantras of the cosmos,
initiated ‘twice born’ namboodris of kerala
into a mellifluous sanskrit verse....

a potent heart melting hymn
where our star-studded galaxy,
milky in complexion,
is seen as a spinning jagged-edged discus,
worn as an ornamental ring
around vishnu’s slender index finger,
from whose whirling lotus navel
originate the birth of inseparable twins:
warped space intertwined with flowing time

now this is a garland of exquisite beauty!


© 2019