#pixel
Spring upon the rose and live on the flow—
delve into the fragrance that goes full tilt
on petals that never drift with the wind.
Let it be—without form,
without a visual show.
Let’s not forget the truth:
even in pitch-dark invisible moments,
the Moon puts up a show.
Believe it or not—around that sweet spot,
the artistic paragon, Paradise, may be the next stop.
The butterfly paradise slips out to fly,
wafting into the enduring scent of a paint so bold.
Lo—on its picturesque wings it holds every eye;
where it reaches, no one knows.
It’s on the other side of the pool—
only Queen Fathima knows that sweet spot!
Any pause is deadly, heavy-handed on that route.
Death is no more; it’s unknown now.
And time—ripe for beauteous sight—is on for good!
If only one can hold their gaze,
walking the secret alleyways of God!
Oh, they flower in the fire,
dip into the sea in a single drop of water,
and pan out to another world within this world.
This time, Moses resists not—
his eyes peep beyond the burnt Mount Sinai,
gazing through burnt kohl,
across the shaded pollens
of the Ultimate Burning Beauty!
When it’s live in the true terra incognita,
it could be beyond the paradise rainbow—
the one show the true seekers sought the most.
Before long, all the rest may fade into the kohl.
Godsent, the most beautiful feminine paragon—Fathima—
lifts the black screen off at once, casting her gaze
from every never-blurred, myriad fractal pixel.
All in all, even the never-known pi digits in toto
soak into the one true description of reality's show!
Be en route—
it’s only the chosen eyes’ wonder-show,
where the handsome swans of Paradise stand on their toes.
Mar 21, 2019
Mar 21, 2019 at 11:17 AM UTC
My voice is not a font
My face is not pixelated
My life isn’t a snap
My emotions aren’t emoticons
My love isn’t a tap
My compliments aren’t comments
I am not down there,
but up here .
Jul 24, 2019
Jul 24, 2019 at 11:58 AM UTC
Look and see
it's right there, splashed upon the screen.
Pixel will dance,
pixel will craft, for those
within those means.
A whole world all
apart from worlds
where I walk less than wander.
Everyone looks dazzling,
and so together, too.
It was sad once, now the sad's passed,
and I'm mostly confused.
Faces on the screen share their
pointed lives like it means a thing.
Meaning lives in the thought itself. . .
Dazzling. And so together, too.
If this game makes so much sense,
what is wrong with me?
What is wrong with me?
Dec 4, 2018
Dec 4, 2018 at 12:25 AM UTC
10%-20% smile, if someone urges
30% smile, uncertainty exists
40% smile, escape the secrets
50% smile, a beautiful feel
60% smile, a flow of fuel
70% smile, a time to catch
80% smile, a beautiful truth
90% smile, about to blast
100% smile, tears in the eyes.
Feb 12, 2018
Feb 12, 2018 at 10:59 AM UTC
Moving here and moving there
Moving a million miles
With eyes red, eyes dead
Tapping a million times.
It's no teleport, no airplane,
No magical ride
Instead of walking out the doors
In the pixels we confide.
Aimless tip-tap like water drops
Ticking as sound of time
Punching letters, beating keys,
Trying to make a rime.
Lovely surfs, lovely speed,
Not so lovely is sleep,
When the ghost of eyes
Stuck in the mist of lies
Screen to screen takes a leap.
Pixels here, pixels there,
Pixels all around,
Life here, life there,
Real life all gone.
Dec 11, 2015
Dec 11, 2015 at 2:19 PM UTC
Leaving a love message
After the machine's beep
Delivery failed
I am in Pixel Maze's
Escape garden
With green grass
On Genesis walls
Flashlights are switching
On and off
Rapidly
Walking by ethnic purple demons
Their gold hands
Hanging
Over their several heads
Static at the summit
They freeze
In prolonged pauses
They don't even exist
But our eyes still torches
Consistently
Music is thundering down now
From the heavens
With electro nodes
Intertwining
Am I that out of it?
And I never really left
That haunted warehouse
Watching evil trees
Awake now
By the nightfall
They are dancing
By father's campfire
Slicking my hair
I am jumping
On polish mushrooms
We don't even like him
I hear him Tolling
Church's bells
Resurrecting guilt
On immature Sunday
But I don't want to listen
He is reading again
Those antique diaries
Hours fly by
Won't listen
Uneasy by his discomfort
I find that magic carpet
And i elude
Apr 12, 2015
Apr 12, 2015 at 4:04 PM UTC
Cascading pixels,
trickling over the arcade,
Eight bit drops-
Tiny blocks,
clumping together rise-
Digital monoliths.
Soaring up:
***** structures emerge;
Falling down:
begins to breakdown;
as the lines dissolve underneath
multiplying scores manifold!
Mar 17, 2015
Mar 17, 2015 at 1:25 AM UTC