Thoughts in fermentation.
The poetic kettle is bursting with an invigorating brew.

Say with conviction
that 'nothing hurts you"
You will get my poetic embrace!

If you weren't a Poet you wouldn't have coveted my heart; it's  beauty hidden from the naked eye.

Every day I worship life by offering my poetic flower.

I'm blind to anything that isn't poetic at its core.  

Seeking poetic grandeur in everything
I explore.

I squeezed the azure sky with my poetically charged fists.
The earth was covered in a blue ocean. Everything turned bluish! The one-color world blinded humans' criminally discriminating eyes.

I am slowly learning poetic manners!

Tell it straight

Without bending

the truth.

Readers often complain that my

Poems  lack poetic look, but rather

look like prescriptions

for ailments of Soul, Heart and Mind.


Is that valid?

Eyes of the poet,
Seeing worlds beyond our own,
Feelings overflow.

People call me poet in residence
because I am always locked up
in my residence.

What does a poet do if he becomes
the president of a country?

He would invite a politician to read
his poems on the day of his  inauguration as president!

Not telling it like it is.

A self-portrait in words.

The intricate and harmonious dance of emotions in tune with the beat of the heart.

A yearn to set us free.

Perpetuation of legacy.

Imagination's offspring.

An ornamentation of the soul by the human spirit.

Personal reminiscences.

An appetite of the soul.

A soul cleanser.

Words flow endlessly,
from my heart, cannot break free.
Trapped in poetry.

Poetry is painting with words

Poetry is Art.

All forms of Art
is Poetry.

Every line, stanza, and verse I write is a tribute to life.

I got to work on a poem in the moonlight. I made notes on a piece of paper of everything that came to me. My cluttered mind was not satisfied, though. The paper was shredded by me. however, I was drawn to a single line on a piece of shredded paper that read as follows:
"Poetry has a consciousness of its own.
It will become apparent "
I zealously resumed writing.

Where has everyone gone?
Nobody I know is visible here.
Will at least a few return?
What happens if none do?
Can I spend a long time here by myself?
Will it be worthwhile, if at all.
I want to remain because I need to motivate them to return, regardless of what happens.
Do I have a chance of success?
Well, I'm clueless right now, but I'm going to stay here to be available to others.

Nothing to believe in.
Everything appears fake.
Realism and faith are necessary for poetry writing.
Can't escape poetry, though; writing poetry is the breath of my soul.

Endless tales fatigue.
Poetry offers peace.
Words calm the chaos.

Cannot stop thinking

Father time is defeated only in poetry

The agony of those who refused to accept death in a futile conflict lingered in their ashes, which grew heavier with time as the pain became more acute as more ashes piled up.

Want to save money
on hair dye,
use shoe polish
Economy comes with ingenuity!

Take me out of the equation.
I  do not fit in anywhere.

A great poem from me
is still well within the
bounds of  possibility!

When Apple struck the head of Newton, he discovered Gravitation.

When the same apple fell on my head, I cut it and ate it!

I did that since Newton had already discovered Gravitation!

Silence is a prayer.

Lord;

Lead me from what is there to
what isn't there.

Just exist for me.

When my heart beats
It's my silent prayer to
God, even when my mind is
in deep sleep.

In between a life of anguish and fleeting bliss, praying and whining persisted unabatedly.

Life is precious because
you will lose it one day

Why look to future;
it is made
of the same stuff
as the present

Sincerely, the present is more meaningful than the past and the future.

Language is the vehicle of a culture.

Death of a language signals the death of a culture.

How many cultures have met their end by the invasion of domominant languages is anybody's guess.

Only native poets and writers can rescue their culture from destruction by dominant and invasive foreign languages.

Poets are the soul of a culture and its language.

When the Poet in me goes
on the prowl,
Words become prey!

Believe me;
You are priceless!

Everyone has lost the battle with their own mind and they are prisoners of  war in  their own mind.