Of all walks of life in the world
This is the most undemanding
And it carries a sense of fascination.

Prophets, otherwise known as
Soothsayers, or vaticinators
Or prognosticators are rare in true form
The ones influenced by
Transcendental reality
The ones endowed with balanced duality
They are obscured from the eyes of world
And only operate in sheer privacy.

But the other kinds,
Let's call them imitations,
Are scattered around in numbers
They satisfy their so-called calling
Through fear, fraud and hellfire
Think of it, if such multitude of prophets
Were benevolent in words and actions
The world would be in a better shape.

To prophesy simply means
To foretell future events
There is no hocus pocus involved
No claptrap about it
No need to swamp
The conscience with guilt
Just tidings whether good or bad
To release the emotions pent-up
Due to anxiety, doubt or dread
The fact remains that no prophet
Can always be right but even when
True prophets miss the mark
Their non-success should be regarded
As blessing in disguise.

True prophets never promote their gifts
For they do not value worldly possession
Their profit is spiritual satisfaction
In helping others to better understand
Themselves and the world around them
They fulfill a lofty purpose
Rooted deeply in their nature.

Calm down my heart
You have fought many fights
And won almost all
No more shall you be encouraged
To fight others' arguments
You have proven your warriorship
To war birds above
No more should you battle
No more should you be in the middle
Fighting for justness and honesty
This world shall never be entirely right
So rest and enjoy your remaining days
With the magic of your soft side
The side that can make a horse
Whinny with pride
The side that birds vie to possess
The side of forbearance and virtuous vibe
You were tossed into valley of shadows
And came out in one piece
Yes my heart you've earned your feathers
You were never afraid of dying of death
And at times in solitude
You sought quietus
My beloved heart
You were thrown into madness
To be trampled on to be subdued
But your resolute rebellion
Saved me from caving in
From giving up my free spirit
Now my heart you deserve quietude
Your peaceful time is on the horizon
Bask in the spirit of Sun
Settle in the silver of moonlight
And explore the skies
Of impossible dreams

Many doggedly believe there is one God
Ruling as a divine singular entity
Stamped with omnipresence
Omniscience and omnipotence
Agnostics take the safe route rather than
Shouldering such unclear creed
Atheists do away with
The existence of God altogether
And there are others who put
God's adversary on a pedestal.
It wouldn't be off base to say
Their views are self-satisfying
That they pick and choose according
To the depths of their understanding
Of course external means have a hand
In forming their ideas that may
Or may not transmute over time.

Nobody can confidently establish
The existence or non-existence of God
Whether it is all good or not so good
In terms of actions and directions
But the crux of the matter is that
Some force must represent the good in us
It might as well be God, the Almighty
The Creator, Allah, Father or any other
Handles that we may come up with
To exemplify goodness for mankind's
Perception of Devil is not all favorable.

God's spirit can be omnipresent
Only if it is residing in everything
And if that is the case, it stands to reason
That such spirit be omniscient as well
For it can sense what you and I
And other life forms are aware of
So its omniscience could be a package
Of ongoing knowledge so to speak
God's spirit can be all-powerful
Only if the entirety of human beings Resolutely believe in its omnipotence
Which is another way of saying
Fear of God begets good behavior.

Is it not wise and practical to pull God
Out of the grips of religion
Out of the clutches of theologians bent
On furthering their versions of theism
And isn't altogether safe to do away
With God as peak of authority
Perched high upon the clouds
Prepared to punish or to reward.

God's spirit can be thought of
As the epitome of collective goodness
An instrument for thwarting evil deeds
Good spirits do not give orders nor do
Intimidate and nor do misguide
They deal in uprooting mental weeds
Which disturb the thought process
As well as blurring the vision
An amazing feat sustaining flow of creed.

God's spirit or the existing goodness
In the world, serves as a shining beacon
Waiting to bring home
The vessels lost in the mist of pessimism.

Guardrail of goodness goes far and wide
Even in territories suspect
Curtailing the range of danger
And evil's prospect.

Of course bad things happen
To good people all the time
Nature's calamities and Fate's tragedies
Cannot be mastered neither can
The atrocities of unrefined minds
But the important thing is
The sustenance of goodness
For without it
Our world would sink into Hadean abyss.

To survive simply means to prolong life
And for what?
God's plan or the Devil's program.

I survived many plights
Many traps I escaped from
Though I didn't know why
Was I supposed to be doing God's work?
Or was it the Devil's device
That kept me alive?
I might have been acting on instinct
Or doing the bidding of some
Unseen force interested in my survival.

I can honestly say
That I'm liable for misfortunes
Arising out of my continuity...
Why couldn't I just be laid to rest
And avoid all displeasing circumstances?
Well, such is the way of the world
One is totally unaware
Of creation's objectives
Though some may argue that the purpose
Is the flow of all living things
If so, then how do they justify
The extinction of certain species
And what about a useful tradition,
Belief or culture no longer extant
They did not possess life but
Certainly gave rise to a way of living
Others may say the intention
Is to live a long life
To reach a ripe old age
Which effects expansive experience
All the same, old age presents
Many complications
Not worth putting up with
Besides, so many young ones
Experience the butcher's knife
Through no fault of their own.

It is a given that some are born
Luckier than others
And the ratio favors the unlucky ones
Some of whom fall short of surviving
Despite their earnest efforts.

Oh, the agitation of survival.

I can straight out say that I'm a survivor
That I have passed the test of evil
And to what end:
Desertion of beauty
Exclusion of excellence
And the application of chicanery.

My life has mostly been
Foolhardy and footloose
I hardly ever follow man-made rules
How to experience Elysium's ray
When felonious fools
Govern the pulse of day

Life's waves are packed in a whim
Or waltzing rocket of a fantastic dream
Life spills art into potter's clay
Or the canvas making the painter's day

Life's wagon is steered by fact and fiction
Conveying mysteries and mores
Who knows of tomorrow's scores
When today's order ends in suspicion

Life may be a heavenly enclosure
Rolling round the belt of blessing
Or a dungeon dull and depressing
Illuminating the dooming share

Life of a bird, an animal or a plant
To Nature's beauty lends a hand
Whereas humans commonly defile
Mother Nature's artistic style

Life could be a balloon ride peaceful
Or a runaway ideology generating war
Life tailors tragedy purposeful
Or fashions fortune going far

The looks of Life
Are numerous to fully mention
Besides, I'm not wise
To the entire dimension.

Where I come from
Is still a mystery to me
By "I" I mean my essence of course
And not the flesh
For flesh comes from another flesh
Going back all the way
To the Neanderthal human and beyond.

It is difficult for me to pinpoint
The origin of my whereabouts
I have only notions here and there
Which are only self-satisfying
And do not observe logic
Or scientific principles
However, logic and science
Are not quite mature as yet.

When I give free rein
To the drift of my thoughts
Letting them be carried here and there
In the sky of identity
I could come up
With a host of possibilities
Each more visionary than the other:
I could be the offspring
Of the Man on the Moon
I may be a bundle of dazzling photons
From Sirius for others think
I have a brilliant mind
My fire may have originated
From the bowels of a mountain
Due to my spiritual strength
And rebellious nature
I could be Nietzsche's Overman
Transmitting Zarathustra's ideals
I see myself as the egg of freedom
At times hatched by Archaeopteryx
I may be Mother Nature's anti- hero
Come to set things aright
I might as well be Pax's posterity
Setting back the circus of Life
My core may have come
Solely from Mother Earth
Or come from an alien nation
Beyond the Milky Way
My nature may have erupted like lava
Out of a falling meteor
Sometimes I get the notion
That I have come from a magical sphere
Promoting the *******
Of some sorcerer's scheme
I might be all of the above
A votary of Universe's infinite philosophy.

Colors of origin cannot be painted
In black and white
Despite Night's image
And diligence of Daylight.

Only you are more beautiful than you
Thousand flowers can't beat your bloom
You are a mystifying marvel soft as down
An awakening airing the gift of dawn
Gods must have been high or highly fine
To fashion something incredibly divine.

With lips of rosy gold and emerald eyes
With dusky hair and shapely eyebrows
With sonsy face and alabaster skin
With chisled nose and voice of serene
You are the lone star in the sky of mortals
Shining with fantastic materials
Your flaming aura captures vanity
Topping the height of urbanity.

You are a work of humanizing art
That keeps your mind open
And enriches your heart
Your spirit wanders like the breeze
Spreading the wonders of your kiss
They would lay silver, gold
And diamond at your feet
To inhale the fragrance of your heat.

When twilight settles and shadows rise
To assail the magic of your eyes
Your guardian dragon spews ancient fires
Extinguishing all iniquitous desires
For you are the epitome of natural glory
Portraying Love's genuine story.

Hens scampering in the village of Parma
Appeasing the rooster's pride

An acre of corn nestling
The soft serving Earth

Some light years away
The explosion of a star
Extends the reign of darkness

Kristina in her T-shirt
Looking at her **** in the mirror
Wondering how much firmer they get
She is nineteen years old
And wants to become an artist
But her mother has other ideas

The clock chimes the midnight hour
And Tom is sitting in the dark
Debating whether to do it or not
Whether to dispel the itch or wallow in it
He is idyllic and knows nothing
Of politics, nothing of religion
And nothing of death

In the street corner
Harlots talk about tricks
Talk about positional preference
And talk about cunning
One day they are the masters
Of their worlds and the next
Objects of subjugation

A ****** of crows circle overhead
The pitch of their cawing growing

The clergyman wearing a purple robe
Pays tribute to ****** Mary
He is positive that his moralizing sermon
Would enlarge his drove of disciples
His submission to the Cross
Is double-edged: one about God's work
And the other about mammon

An osprey swoops down
And catches a trout

Silver and gold are bought and sold
In the marketplace
Asteroids surge through
The incalculable Space
Time effects and erases
Prospects of understanding

Mason is an obscured poet
He admires Rilke's philosophy of writing
Even though he is well educated
In aesthetics of language
His own poetry verges on insanity
He says: either mad or dead

The General brushes his mustache
He is about to give a farewell speech
To his subordinates
He is not going to ignite them
With bravery or his achievements
Instead, he is going to stab their spirits
What do they know
These fancy pants of generalship

The lioness fails to make a ****
Oh, but there is another prey

The Heart aches for peace
For eternal release from the binds of
Temporal tricks
The Mind, whether a master or slave
Miscalculates the essential needs
And the Body, sanctuary of soul,
Craves for food, ***, rest and breeding

Czeslaw Milosz would have been
The President of the World
Joseph Brodsky:
His Secretary of Independence
Robert Frost:
His Secretary of Freedom
William Butler Yeats:
His Secretary of Peace
Pablo Neruda:
His Secretary of Pleasure
Only if Fate had been kind enough.

One cannot perceptively
And comprehensively write about death
And the obvious reason is
One is alive when doing it
Death remains an idea
For as long as breathing exists
And ideas are as innumerable
As the grains of sand
Even when individuals,
Preferably adroit writers or good poets,
Who have undergone
Near-death experiences
Can't fully set forth the ins and outs
Of death because they were not
Privy to the total experience.

The fact remains that we must all die
And be done away with our ****** forms
And transcend the physical world
And where our souls go is up for debate
They surely go somewhere to become
Part of an incomprehensible whole
And whether we come back to Earth
Or remain out there is another subject
Giving rise to theories or assumptions.

Death is favored by the ones tethered
With terminal illnesses
Unwavering cruelties, emotional agonies
And a host of other circumstances
Involving evil
So contrary to the popular belief
Death can be gratifying even magical
And I would go as far as saying
That death is a cure a panpharmacon
For implacable sufferings stemming
From the imperfections of this world.

I do not have a preference for where I go
After I die as long as it is not
A place described by world religions
Other than that, the road to
Indistinct reality is wide open for me
My spirit maybe zapped
To a poetic paradise
Due to the curse of being a poet
Then again, I may end up in Dante's
Inferno which wouldn't surprise me
For I have not been a very good
And upright man in my affairs
I wanted to be decent and virtuous
But I couldn't, I couldn't because
The world around me wouldn't allow it
Despite all my efforts
To disentangle myself from its reality
That wrapped itself around me
Like a vise grip
I'm a human, weak and unpossessing
Of iron strength after all
So I surrendered to pressure
And entered the turf of temptation.

I am nothing but a speck of light
Striving to examine the dark
The spell that I cast
Upon terrains and waters alike
Spread the legacy of my spirit's mark
In my dreams I see sanctuary of joy
In waking hours, only a ray of hope.

Father of all fathers Lord of the Universe
Are you alone or have companions
My feelings lead me to believe
That you are solitary
But my reasoning says otherwise
My reason and emotion
Lock horns most of the time
Is this where madness come from?

I only possess a modest strength
So I turn to imagination for uplift
I imagine of flowing
Toward the center of Universe
If such thing ever exists
I imagine of being a star
In the deepest dark
Glowing with everlasting equanimity
Which soothes the rebel in my heart
I dream of me wandering like the breeze
Hoping to strike the meadows
Of undisturbed peace
Where humanity blossoms.

I'm free of hate but fighting
With reasons of fate
I'm free of chain yet faced with
Seasons of pain
Shadows that surround me in despair
Are too many to defy
So I listen and absorb the craft
Which renders me exposed
But the hopes of Hope lie in the loop
For no minutes and seconds shall pass
Without terminating the past.

After all the fleeting years
I'm here breathing still
And nothing to show for
Except the strength of my faith
Embracing the unearthly temple
Of spiritual fire.

Poetry is a gateway to salvation
Where day is subjugated
And darkness reigns
Where dying drains
And spirituality, illuminated.

Tongue is derived
From striking feel
Fusion of words
Portray the deal.

Poets whether inferior
Good or great
Unload the gratifying freight.

A loving touch of a lion
The spark of a smile
A sudden burst of laughter
The paintings in sky
A lone traveller
Bound to nowhere
The drizzling of autumn rain
Stillness, flow
Detachment, devotion
Testament to poetry's motion.

What songs should we sing
In praise of sunshine and
Magic of moonlight
In praise of Nature's beauty
And Animal Kingdom
In praise of solitude
And matrimony
For speech alone
Cannot be captivating
We need Music and Poetry
The twins of creation's kindness
The reasons for hope and peace.

Poetry fuels the fire of fairness
Preserving humanity in life.

Colored clouds furnished the sky
Pink, yellow, orange and white
Imparting mystic images
Stimulating the view
The messages my heart decoded
To be from fire eroded
The gods and goddesses of yore
Rejuvenating my calor
The caress of passing breeze
Seemed no longer mundane
Flock of birds wafting above
Deity formation in disguise
The rays of Sun a rapid river
Flowing into ocean of air
In high plains i heard a song
Soothing my wounded crown,
Inebriating my spirit
Such calmness i had never felt
Such state far beyond pain
As the moments began to last
Intensifying my soul's goal
Time admonished the Earth to roll
And diminish the light fast
Where day endured becoming past.

A thing of beauty
Is a joy forever
Don't trade hues of paradise
With dyes of duty.

Life is lavender and garnet
Or is it green and white
It could be what one sees
In spite of the obvious.

No calla lily grows in sky
Be it black or blue
Yet both views can inspire
Beauty's bloom.

Deep into the turns of being
The stranger rides with masks,
Carting the curve of rainbow
Over enchanted tracks.

Gonna keep away for few days
From the eyes of entire town
From the lies and outcries
And the depressing vibes
Wanna go and be earth's companion
Be friend of rain's fragrance
And out of the purity of wellspring
Inhale a new expression
Gonna leave my soul
In the hands of wind for a while
Gonna give a bracing hello
To the Sun and get past
These ill-lit days
I need to feel Nature's truths
And be bathed by its variety
I'm tired of all repetitions
Tired of all smoke and iron
I feel breathless in open air
And need a little window
A little change of construct.

Love is a cloud
Roaming the sky of dreams
When it rains
Originates flowers of passion
Driven by solar bridge
Fueled by Moon's grace.

No rule can stop the reason
Take it easy and enjoy the breeze
The stimulating melodies
Validating your rhythm.

Years don't make wisdom
They just make old age
Generations have passed
Through the turned pages
Yet I'm no wiser
Than credulous kid of past
Who charged everything to heart
Whiling away the hours
No, the years don't make wisdom
They decelerate celerity of youth
Compromising clarity of Love
Years are but bricks building walls
Between factual and imagined calls
Between relations of understanding.

Our house is far away
Beyond barren deserts
Behind unexcitable mountains
Where golden meadows thrive
Our house is other side of sorrow
Other side of restless waves
It's behind cypress forests
It is in dreams, in sleeps
Near that sacred garden
Past pear orchards and vineyards
Our house is beyond the clouds
Other side of hopeless pains
At the end of moistened roads
Behind the rain behind the sea
Our house is rich in story
Tales of sour cherry and mulberry
Our house is amidst
Assuring laughters
Full of drowsy souls
It has ponds with patient fishes
Alleys with coquettish cats
Our house is warm and sincere
Old pictures hanging on the walls
Picture of paradise on the veranda
Picture of shoreline in summer
Picture of that day under the rain
Eyes full of tears and a suitcase
Leaving loved ones behind
Leaving kindness behind
Our house is far away
Hidden from world's despair.

God's winter is cold
Making my earth a ball of ice
No loving person in this town
Big-ups to vagrant lover
Kudos to highwayman
I betrayed my pride again
Though nothing have i taken
I feel totally drunk and wasted
Oh God let her not say no
For i become more terrible
Than i already am
God's winter rolling
Oh how cold's the weather
I'm afraid that my sweetheart
Won't come back no more
My heart's no longer a heart
But a knot of pain
God see what she's done to me
I betrayed my pride again
Look what her love
Has handed my soul
Temper of a fighting fool
No tolerance in God's custom
My head is full of smoke
In the midst of freezing fate  
I got a fever from sorrow.

Keep me away from higher truths
Let me cope with mundane ones
Or reveal to me the highest truth

With an old secret
I sank into her endless eyes
Pondering over laws
That effected such marvel
And leased me to madness
Words were melting in my mouth
She, refraining her turn of phrase
A tear rolled down my cheek
Stirring passion's tongue
A tear rolled down hers
Wielding my soul ablaze
I rejoiced in silence
Lest i betray my confidence
She handled my eyes
Spotting my inference
I could no longer bear
The fruits of my fear
I leaned over and touched
Her sculptured nails tenderly
Freeing my emotion
She smiled coyly
Sealing my devotion.

Like myriad others
I was born crazy
A blessing bestowed
By Moon's grace
And a curse slotted
By Sun's paradise
I was born crazy
To take on two things
Shift for myself
Amid worldly plagues
And exhibit my perceptions
With opalescence of my dance
I was born crazy
In light of squares
There are not enough stars
That Darkness can't sway.

As transitory as breeze
Are the afflictions we encounter
Which will sabotage like termites
The integrity of our fabrics
If we try to despise them

Accept them wholeheartedly
And wrap them all in a bundle
With curtain of season
And let it float
In waters of survival

History is a basin of mistakes
Supporting the river of ultimacy
What that might be
Remains a mystery
Which gives credence to intimacy.

Of one essence in creation's mold
Our souls are organs
Of a cosmic whale
Swimming the ocean of Time
In search of destiny divine.

When an appendage
Is suffering in pain
Others must apprehensive remain
If some members show no pity
For another's afflictions
The appellation of Human
They can not retain.

I'm not a seasoned poet
As standards go
I have neither the will nor wit
To assemble words that exhale
Sensuous truths of beauty
I have been tossed in poetry's net
To serve and protect its fate
I'm not sharp enough
To detect Moon's climb
For I'm not Archibald MacLeish
I'm no master metaphorician
To equate yellow fog to a cat
For I'm not T.S. Eliot
I'm just here to release the waves
That load my pen to barrage
Their organic ammunition
I cannot delve into the dark show
As smooth as Edgar Allen Poe
I'm not one to sing of love, of wine
For I'm no Rumi nor khayyam
I can't settle music's dust
For I'm not Robert Frost
I can only write what I'm taught
By the shadow rulers of Art
If Yeats is awake
And Shakespeare watching
If Whitman, Dickinson, Keats
And the rest of the sublime ones
Happen to be espying
They would regard me
As an underling
And that would be a win
For I shall never reach
Their poetic spin.

Ravens shrill and doves coo
Round the taverns of rolling day
                     Where
Gnostics listen to darkling whistles
And every *** enjoys his bray.

Days are passing faster
Than I can recall yesterdays
The unobservable speed
Taking its toll upon my youth
Leaving me half hearted
In pursuit of relations.
Is this the way of the world
That strips you of all your verve
For a debt that must be paid
To compensate the privilege
That creation offers?
So what does it all mean
Here today and gone tomorrow
After a lifetime of reflections
I have yet to understand
The true meaning of my own life
Let alone life as a whole
Are we just moving in circles
For the pleasure of unseen forces
Or is there an invisible rhythm
Pulling us like magnet
Into unmistakable finality.
Either way is an insult
To our creative capacity
To our potential as intelligent beings
Then again humans are cursed
With dichotomy of perception
And perhaps this is the reason
For our misguided attempts
To invent utopias and distopias.
Just like water though not as swift
Energy must level itself
Far too few come close
To balanced frontiers
Far too fewer
Experience the coalescence
Of Heaven and Earth
While the rest struggle
In a pool of mystifying policies.

Praise to Modesto members
Of this radical society
This medicinal space
That tolls the bells of fellowship
And heartens creative release
Tribute to stalwart members
For each a cog
In a global clock
Turning its handles onward
Toward a loving world
Each a cyber tallow
Melting morsels of care
Keeping the wick of hope aflame
Each a feather
Of a mystical bird
Lifting its wings
To pleiades presents.

Think not
That the journey is fated
For the work remains
And the future's serrated.

Thursday might
The height of mystery and chance
Gods gather the crops of their dance.
Within halls of universe
Harbingers travel
Telling of newborn hells
Of blazing beacons
That steer survival's Florence
Thursday might
The light of spirit's night
The shield of current's horse
Sad ones rejoice
In ***** of verse
Happy hops forth
To north of levity
Meanwhile the rotation journeys
Through the deep, dark
Marmalade matter
No telling what the disguise brings
But the next day's around the corner
Appearing more and more certain
At every turn of the clock
Time is soon Isabel
Pushing toward feminine Friday
Toward love, beauty and fertility
Leaving me lost in Thursday.

Celestial blessings are abundant
Competing with worldly curse
Which shall be the victor
In tours of Human Race
That entirely depends my friends
On the number of dreams
Sailing the rough waters
Or floating on halcyon seas.

Poets are strangers in roads of life
Turning hither and thither much
Striving to even the odds

The tale in their gift of hours
Unfolds verse by verse
Trickling their insightful airs

Off which heaven falls the light
That straddles their perceptions
And hooks a halter to their rides

Some reach the realm of stardom
Some swallow the pill of obscurity
Some meander in limbo of words

Would it be worth their while
To buck and unload the reasons
And abandon noble cause

Would it be worth it to discard
The strings of lingering lyre
In favor of earthly cards

Would it be worth it after all
To chase the wind and not catch it
To rig the wings and not match it.

There shall be white words
To praise Love's creed
Ruled out by courts of reason
And traded saint by saint
To merchants of salvation

There shall be black words
To mourn the season
Rising out of ailing credence
Turning healers into dealers
Under the tubes of  loaded laws

There shall be red words
To brand Love's defeat
With scars of history
while tenor of last lines
Chase an undying dream...

Good deeds and bad deeds
Whatever they brought
To the hostelry of Fate
Another page turned
In the book of life
Another leaf tumbled to ground
Off the tree of Time
How often
In the midst of graceful shadows
I have been tempted to trail
The vagaries of a moonlit mind
How often
Amid sobering sorrow
I have been led to shed my wings
The road is unknowable
And not knowing takes me home
May your days be springtime
And your spring eternal.

Let us flow
Like a wafting feather
Smooth as kitten's fur
Let us flow like an arrow
Into the heart of Fate
Let us flow with day with night
With natural satellites
The whole universe is flowing
Into what we may never know
But the sure thing is to flow
To flow with all our being
Toward starmight opening
Toward the zest of life
That throws us a sign here and there
So flow to deceive the end
For nothing ever heads nowheres
In stagnant bordering.

Forsake me not Love
For I need your flame
When desire dims wisdom
And conscience yields candle rays
Forsake me not
For I need your fuel
When my blood wilts to climb
The precipice of salvation
Forsake me not
When I stray off your path
I'm just a lowly creature
Amused by the woods
Forsake me not
When pride gets the better of me
I need your cloak of kindness
To ward off evil attire.

You are a mystic night
Impeding sweep of disaster
Keep me nigh and let me linger
In the magic of your trust.

Don't know exactly who I am
And what I'm meant to be
Just following the hello signs
Laid upon the trail of my being
Keeping my feet loose and raw
In calender of surprises.
The day that I stop learning
My heart's magic weaves a cocoon
The day that I stop teaching
My mind's ocean becomes a lagoon
I have a tender spirit
That won't stay a minute
In trawls of social mood
Or the chains of pendant feelings
There is a spell on my candle
To surpass the air
Leaving behind earth and water
And merge into incorruptible fire.
Nature's law is my shield
And its grandeur, my sword.

I have one thing
That God does not have
And that thing is NEED.

Sometimes without faith
Things work out fine
Sometimes even God
Can't unravel the vine
Sometimes wheel of Love
Arrives on its own
Other times century of priming
Won't tailor the tone
Love launches without introduction
Myriad advice make it ill-sorted
Sometimes a thousand prayers
Fall prey to breeze
Sometimes without a word
Fortune finds your lap
Sometimes you are a total beggar
And luck is not your friend
Sometimes the whole town
Petitions you
Sometimes I miss the joy of laughter
And my heart becomes
Metal shavings
Sometimes our clear blue sky
Turns suddenly turbid and colorless
Sometimes my breath
Becomes sharp as sword
Sometimes I become fed up
With all of life
Our youth passed away
As if in sleep
Sometimes how soon
Our chances are late
Not my business
Where you are and what you do
Don't go on without Love
For your heart shall grow senile.

Chattering of china
Twittering of utensils
The scoop of melting grease
Manifesting the release
The smoke of sizzling meat
Saturating the nostril
And the waitress
Half slavish
Flirts here and prattles there
To dodge the malice of moment
In the ring of endless hustle
Where refills are free
And rewinds obliged.

Blanket of poetry
Shelters all
Be not coy to clamber
The semantic wall
Like a drop of dew
Indigenous insights brew
In lonely and dark places
The star-studded skies
Carpet of evidence.

Has many lamps
Yet wanders the dark roads
In search of luster
Unbeknown to its core
Let it hit the walls
And burst its flaws
Let it fall and break that lighter
Delusion is darling
For interim glory
Self realization
Anchors the wealth of story
Alterity is a sweet high
Disguising the mind
But true honey
More bitter than walnut's rind.

My doors open
To pain of evolution
In her sibylline chamber
The curves of heroine
Divine and devilish
Imprison my piety
In shadowy corral
Rendering my calculus steamless
Left untasked of masters
My thoughts waft like gossamer
Toward pointed hills parted
By aphrodisiac crevice
Her silent words caress my ear
Whispering ******* bliss
In grotto of mystery.

What is a feeling
And where does it come from
Is it a vibration
From the earth of your being
Or a joyous image
Of leaking tears
Is it a ping
In cerebral engine
Or a sting off psychic mirror
Is it a continuum of living signs
Or a spectrum of ancestral mines
Whatever it is
Two things are sure
Once it is owned or disowned
It never leaves you alone.

Resonance of words
Sway to-and-fro
In the dead of night
The deep sea welcomes
Swimming oar
Splash metaphores
Fertilizing the white leaf
With bird droppings
The right is a wrong
And left, stone flower
Heaven lives next door
Her eyes a wilderness
Hell is downright here
Blazing a roar
In stillness of poet's pond
Moon reflects
The passion of Truth and Lie
As Morning star waits
To outshine the darkling grace.

Let us open with wine
The window of mind
Toward God's breeze
The sea of halcyon dreams
With ships of golden shadows
And pearls of dusky hue
Let us ditch compass
And sail the dark
In formless fleece of faith
Love is winking
Through the clouds
Of pride and spleen
Waiting
To patch our wounds
And dispatch us
To autumnal bliss
Hallelujah...

With branches bolts of tinder
And leaves to hide the Moon
The sacred cedar globed the grove
Without an inch of hope
A pyramid of sadness
That prayed to stars at night
In outstretched emerald limbs
To be uprooted and laid to rest
In the woodlands of paradise.
It was the tallest and strongest
The haunt for deadly birds
Who drew passion off its hate
The hate that grew in its sap
Was once rivulets of love
Enthralling it to climb the air
And canoe the clouds passing by
It climbed and climbed
Higher and higher
But came up short
To claim the magic of sky
A disappointment it could not take
For the song of truth was so fair.

The truth that captured its vein
Was but an epiphany of pain
Its monument remains a stump
As Love's riddle's type.

Rustling of Da Di Da
Me Me needa needa
Shaper shooper shida
Head dead tumble tun
Riddle ****** Moon
Chirp and chirp and chirp
Da Di Da Di Da
Wing feather beak
Tangle mangle sick
Claws flaws tiny tiddle
Woozy coozy for little
Weather thither turn
Me Me in pain

It is the dumb hour of night
Bereft of all maneuvers
Shadows have come and gone
Spending their agendas
The canvas bland as space
Drapes mute and motionless
As hidden truths
Not a stroke felt
Not a single word flickers
Off intersecting ink
There must be a gale
Deep into the mind
Winnowing
Chaffs of memory.

Truly gifted poets
Straddle their crafts early on
Some even in adolescence
They have been cursed or blessed
To be kings and queens of utterance.
I never dreamed of becoming a poet
It was furthest from my mind
Then in a sudden twist of eardrum
It happened in my mid thirties.

Out of the recesses of Time
Came the lure and a hook
Shining in enchanted brook
And before i knew it
My heart was snatched
And my movements flustered
When i bit on ambrosiac bait
Drenched in Muse's wine
Drugged and drunk
On sounds and images
I struggled in a pool of words
To assemble what held me infused
To make sense of orphaned views
Swaying between shade and light
Like dancers deprived of audience.

My poetic rapture began
In frenetic rain of ink
preposterous in direction
A poetaster rapt on vapid rhymes
With sounds of poetic crimes
But my craft developed
In piecemeal fashion
And rendered my pen composed.

A minnow of long ago
Has grown into a mackerel
And longs to become a whale
In the ocean Ars Poetica
Though it seems a pipe dream.

A fleet of Moon's spears
Swoop down on shadows of night
Like silver dragons

A ****** of crows
Rupture the sky asunder
Devoid of mercy

People scatter IFs
In the most fertile farmland
They refuse to grow

Hop on a train to nowheres
Where no kindred souls reside
And you shall find ebbing cares

Get away and defrost
Your turbin of independence
And electrify soul's ******

Leave and don't look back
Your hut is an allocated rut
An ever-widening crack

You are born free of chains
A roving verve of stardust
Exploring firmament's veins.