crosswinds            meet            alone,
         |                         |                    |
        at                    night;      ­       they
         |                         |                    |
     dusk                  once           separate

Parachutes billowing,
floating
above the abyss
though we all once knew.
Parachutes colliding,
landing
upon the barren land
that man once had.

They came by the millions
     drifting from heaven.
Their reason for being...
      a mystery to all.

Parachutes flaunting,
opening
to reveal themselves  
so that man might learn.
Parachutes lifeless,
wafting
through cloud speckled skies
when man was glad.

They came by the thousands
    dropping from heaven.
Their reason for being
could not be explained.

Parachutes lingering,
meandering
toward their spacklespace
of the damaged sphere...
Parachutes multicolored,
sized and shaped
caught in the crosswinds
and turbulence of man.


They came by the hundreds
crashing from heaven.
Their reason for being
was not understood.

Parachutes traveling,
transporting
the essence of life
for all to perceive.
Parachutes tangled,
snared and collapsed
by pettiness and greed
of those who wanted more.

They came by the dozens,
groping from heaven.
Their reason for being
was a little too late.

Parachutes hanging,
lifeless
not realizing their fate
but expecting the best.
Parachutes sputtering,
idling over the masses..
too blind to see...
too ignorant to know...

They came by the millions
but now there are none.
their reason for being
will never be known-

Flowers in the spring
Jumping
Is an action
Of my mind's scene
Beauty is subjective
In the beginning
Not when it's love at first sight
In the brightest day
And the darkest nights
Shared in the evenings
Understood
That it's for each other
That love brings you
Hither
To angel's without feather
But love's a surrealistic pillow
As the romance billows
The moon above
The sky
Shone
From above
A heaven's godsend
A love i can't afford
Regarding which I can pretend
Understood that this is the end
To a journey longer
Than the peripatetic
feeling
A feeling stays
After the path comes to close
So I guess we end with roses
On the casket
But I'd rather be buried next to you
Rather than be alone
And alive
In all the same
Either way
Alone the crosswinds

And That was it...  
an ever growing chain of chances
Each shrunken sick in manners
down to the pitiful  size of mud dancing bugs
Finally foiled and boiled alive
in blood soaked tribal chants
to nothing but some cruel joke  
In which I will craft myself some hazardous home
But with You
Your handsome and enchanting charm
Always and forever squirming unpleasantly  
Framing My holy and collapsible sense of purpose
Leading me to be caught in those crosswinds
And with not one pathway left
To lead to another
Yes
That is it...

What might be or maybe is not necessarily so,
events have a habit of freeforming horizons
shifting the mainstream and altering dreams.

When we're down on a minus we need a reminder
and someone to find a new way.

souls
take
their
shapes
from
the
woodwinds clouds
and
the
crosswinds
that
sweep
through
the
Serengeti plains

We walk the floor to sarabande
Bare hand touching glove
While gliding past like two crosswinds
Choreographed by love
Round and round the maple floor
This ballroom of romance
The ****** sensuous magic
Of this periodic dance
The wondrous thoughts of what might be
The four four beat of hope
The interwoven bonds of fate bound by cupid's rope
My silent passion  eats at me
This long shot possibility
Swaddled in a timeless shawl
Like a naked helpless child of fate
She throws sad caution to the wind
Who runs before they crawl?
We twist and laugh and share and scream
Against the massive odds
And leave the outcome of this dance
In the hands of makeshift gods
The crescendo beating in same time
With a heart so filled with hope
That any moment might explode
And  blood soak all who try
To woo the heart of innocence
In this world of succubi

I remember the first time we met.

It was a festival. We were crowded
out by breathless bodies bouncing but we rocked the night away.  And I like how your eyes caught me amidst all those blank stares.

It actually started in the train - the
sharp curves of your smile pierced
through the naivety blanketing my
soul. I never breathed so sharply
before. But I didn't mind it.

We were seventeen and all we cared about were loud music and growing up.

Not realising that growing apart is
a part of that - taking up more space
around us as we add more days into
our life till the line between distance
and time becomes blurry. And we
find a home for each other in our
memories.

Naivety got the best of me. I chased
the seasons on southern winds while you
marched on with your soldier heart
searching your true north, saving us
from a civil war. And we parted.

Only to meet again.

And I am glad that we met again because my heart never understood the meaning of pain until I spoke your name.

It took some time for me to realise
that I was in love with you. It wasn't
hesitation. It wasn't fear and it certainly
wasn't doubt.

I couldn't tell the difference between
distance and time. I forgot the time
I made a home for you and I didn't know
time made a home for you while I was
there looking, for you. At you. Looking
into you. I am into you.

I am into you so deep your eyes become
the kiddie pool where I forgot I used
to play. The pool where I learned how
to breathe underwater. Talking to you
is like breathing underwater - I hold my
breath for every word you say. That's
how deep I am into you. That's how I
feel inside every time I'm with you -
Like a kid having the time of his life drifting around in his favourite kiddie pool.

Every girl I have met was a passing
season. I was always caught in the
crosswinds. Love never stayed and
they always came in second. And
I just realized that even after all these years you still came first. Number
one

two

three words that I realized I had always
wanted to say. Words that that we both
knew but I never realized. But you knew.
You always knew. And that realization hit me like a sharp breath. Like how it did back then.

The festival. You are a festival.

Truth be told, I am still deep in the pool of your eyes.

And I am in love with you. And with
great faith, I hope you are too.

A cresting wave then descends
and somewhere, distant bells toll.

It is the twilight of the palabra.
Soon word falls at last
when ripened.

Gild this image and come back
sullied. We have no use for memory.
Your presence less than total.

The mutiny of this calling is the
silent margin dividing the dark – how to awaken
the sleeping when dreams sit still as cold chair
punishes the floorboard?

This is how its ripeness was felt.
Surmounting what remains to be, a fixation
of a parched region. Grazed by the crosswinds
in front of the decrepit hut staring with some
kind of hunger for a visitor.

Failure masqueraded as conquest,
gravity of no gravity is but levitation – or the cost of
listening. No sound will be absolved.

In a short instance when to lean into everything,
the round vicinity of the ear and a plummet of hush
reaping underneath a swollen moon,

It was how it was felt, and began
a refusal worth mentioning. What’s seen by the eye
is nothing the hand cannot reach, say the horde of cirrus.
The intolerable sky tender with silence, afterwards we partake
    that one word still nameless.

The thunder got locked into the dreary sky
Knells, kettles, little nullified and filling voids rather easily
I in the waters had some hundred men, with fibs and pies
Who was looking for a way to make waves with rib-steaks
The beast wandering the houses reeking of suicide
Take me, don't be afraid, grab me by the neck
The sea next to the northern droning ocean
Take me through the cloudy crosswinds, running far
Beyond adventure and danger beyond the Tenerife bay
Take me down like the killer down best friend lane
Friendly with the rider in the south
Stormy with the strength of the crowd
Fluent with the crime, knowing of the curse
All this knowledge is in vain if you suffer from being unloved

Sunshine fills my hollow bones,
I lay outside beneath the stars,
I learned to make this earth a home,
Founded it from broken parts.

Crosswinds get the best of me,
they direct me towards fledgling things,
I know not which road to take,
I fear a tragedy either way.

But Tuesday follows Monday's luck,
the fate that I had used up already.

I take the left road, I walk where I can see,
pause a time,
I bargain with destiny,
I know the path that is for me.

I let the sunshine fill my bones,
I learned to make this earth a home.

we
need
wings of courage
to
fight
the
strong crosswinds
until
we
conquer the truth

Light of illumination
filled the tiny vortex of my mind
A world colored river earth cloud and storm
Forestry crosswinds and fire

Ah natural madness beautiful madness
A sweet perfect chaotic choir
So I can drown snug in a sublime mire
And stand under waterfall of senses and bathe

Only to replenish the infinite orb of me
The glow of life this heavenly orb
Kept within everyone's old locket of sight
Then express I into free and walk into flight

With burdens plus pain hung from swift wings
Exploring portraying recording
The when and the being
Holding inside

Emotional spin time keep in heart beats
Thought sweeps and breath leaps
Yes forever in glide
Another man holding time

Using soul as a guide and breathing in deep
This life my soul reaps

The gray ghosts
of men
Stand tall
Throughout history
Inscribed in these clouds
Ride their chariots, ride
Through the crosswinds
Then, mark each
River with their golden wings

Shimmering silver globules
Like painted teardrops
That leak
Onto her once silken wings
Fading echoes
Of fanfares
From a now distant past
Where she once glided along
On the soft zephyr breezes
Of a warm Summers day
Now she is caught
In tumultuous crosswinds
Floating haphazardly
Like a drunken wasp
Or a fallen Autumn leaf
Yet she smiles
At her halcyon days
Of sunshine
And the nectar of life's promises

by Jemia

The gray ghosts
of men
Stand tall
Throughout history
Inscribed in these clouds
Ride their chariots, ride
Through the crosswinds
Then, mark each
River with their golden wings

like two bookends
back together again
old friends
and
i
am still sure
it does not matter
where we have been
or
how
good it has been
for us
to
spread our wings
and fly
through
the crosswinds
and
around the world
but still
we remain, old friends
with
heart and soul
and
the
joyful tears roll down
between the
timeless faces

the
gray ghosts
of men
stand tall
throughout
history
inscribed in these clouds
ride their chariots and ride
through
the crosswinds
then
mark each river
with
their golden wings