Making her senses keen to discern it better , she realizes:
"This giant of a tree, is no less than a wonder"
on it age plays a game different, no one is able to gauge,
ancient times nurtured, wind and rains embraced it tight,
scorching sun, in all his tropical fervor, couldn't daunt it,
eventually sun and the tree must have fallen in love with each other,

From morning till night, this banyan listens to many voices,
long days didn't make any difference, every day is new to it,
the roots searching under the earth, the hanging ones above,
create their own world, the ones below earth search for water.
when they come up in certain places, they look like creatures
prowling crocodiles, reptiles, or even  imaginary creatures, without names

Hang roots defy all rules, prefer the shapes of snakes it seems
anacondas, vipers, pythons or cobras in search of prey.
This banyan is a catalyst,  from bird to humans here,
find a shelter,take rest for varying times. It's Grandma attitude
makes each seeker of  solace and rest go back with happy smiles.

Some times here, a pauper speaks to a pundit, roles get reversed,
experience speaks louder than the knowledge in the book,
the many voices heard under the banyan makes,
one awake, from slumber,  the orchestra of many voices,
builds a music, euphonious in its composition, pregnant with meanings.

hypnotic euphonious voice
summons
pulling me
deep crevice
inner darkness
unfolded
somewhere between
black hole
light folding out
absolute nothing
equals
something
take away
energy plus light
glue between
organic biological treasure
contained
skin cell facade
glowing from the inside out

just you

love that light

Crescent orb radiates its crystalline sight,
languid lips coalesce like a tessellation,
the vexing vines wilder the incandescent-
glimmer but the burning impression remains.
Celestial bodies affixes a soliloquy amongst-
a halcyon tongue that revelate a rhapsodic-
episode.

Quiescent ambience rings a plethora of-
sentiments stinging on the mellifluous
lullaby. The lithe wildflower murmurs-
the euphonious recital of a sonnet that-
is unacquainted to the mind.
Luminous assemblies of fireflies retire-
behind the myriad of evergreen forest
as the insouciance wildflower approach.

Precocious primrose locked from the
scorching sensation of a wildflower
exhibited a lassitude facade like a -
waning lantern fiery on its final residues.
In the distant a wildflower and in
the presence, an idyllic primrose:
so scarce and so strange.

I'm sorry
If I woke you up last night
My pen told me secrets in whispers
And I carved scars and tales
Of silly incantations and
old fallen trees
Of silver days in summer breeze
and tattered amber sundresses
Of apple bites and ripe grapes
near the broken glass on the carpet; they decayed
Ashes danced on my lips; sculpting poems on my skin
and flicking cigarette on my wounds
Smudged mascara and dulcet memories
Leather fabricated journals of vintage times
hiding crisp carcasses of yellow daises
Euphonious chortles and
early morning smiles
Forgotten tea leaves in the teapot
and ginger bread turning cold
Sun rays, like gold dust, sparkling in the air
Through the tall trees of a forest
hanging on the clouds in despair
First day of Spring, magical it is
like a caterpillar's fate
Silky cocoon, shiny chrysalis,
emerging out as a butterfly
Leaving as old and embracing the new
Igniting the sky over my purple roof

I will never be a poem,
beautifully written and composed
I will never be a song,
remembered and euphonious
I will never be a novel,
coherent and captivating

I will forever be the unwritten thought
the half-finished story
the long forgotten melody

i'm writing this letter for you.
you in the other room, i hear you through the wall,
talking
to yourself,
telling yourself secrets you never believe.
i have some i'd like to spill,
but every time i try,
the walls soak them up like
white cotton and
black ink.
i'd like you to hear something other than your own voice
and maybe you can hear me when
you read.
you brought me here.
took me with you when you left like
a trinket,
a memento of home,
something to hold in the night when regret is like
a knot of snakes
in your gut.
ibd driving you
to tangle limbs with another;
a facsimile of love
driving me.
i think now it was less love and more addiction.
less love and more stockholm syndrome,
a disorder i cultivated
to have a reason to stay with you, with you,
the most beautiful sledgehammer
i've ever seen.
euphonious dynamite.
you are thumbtacks in my eyes and dry clouds above my desert,
you drop through me like lead:
you are a pneumatic drill and i
am a porcelain doll,
a quail's egg
you shatter me and i know
i never had a chance -
who bets on a dead horse?
who spends all their faith on a pantheon
that rots as they watch.
you desiccate me decimate me and i let you.
you are a world war in the body of a girl,
and i am naught but
cannon fodder
and cotton mouth i read you poetry but the walls swallowed my words
and all you heard was breath
(isn't that enough that should be enough,
a gust of wind
a breeze;
and the spirit is nothing but air,
pneumatic:
cavitied and consecrated.
the walls swallowed its manifestations,
but you
felt my spirit on your skin)
but i am not
enough
you are tire tracks on my abandoned road and you
brought me with you whenever you ran and
never believed me when i told you that
(not every problem can be solved with a map
spread on the dashboard).
you don't care about solutions,  
though,
just avoidance and denial and
distraction,
you treat every vagrant
like god in disguise
you take every hitchhiker into your heart and carry them like tumors,
infirmity is contagious.
a gift the bodies share.
from you i received
an atrial septal defect;
a hole in my heart,
leaking  blood.
from you i received dysthymia and
a martyr complex.
from you i received knowledge:
[one: nobody is strong,
but some have reinforced their bomb shelters
with their own bones.]
[two: a baby doll, baby girl
thick wrists,
sick recurring pain in the form of mirrors,
bathroom stalls and naked form]
[three: a gasmask can't protect you from the poison in your veins.
believe me,
i tried]
[four: the gaps between your bones
will one day be filled
and you will feel whole]
[five: the blue lips of a deep sea diver
should not be idolized.
the only surgeries you perform should be on your own heart
so you wound no one but yourself
when your hands
shake.]
[six: i tried, i promise,
i tried,
i tried]
you are false sermons and i am a believer you are thumbtacks in my eyes and lightning flowers on my back.
when i perform self-surgery,
i will bisect my heart

take it with you when you run
i will stay behind
and speak to the walls.

Shades of orange and green and yellow
Settle upon the ground
Twilight wind blows through the trees
As the leaves dance, and twirl, around

Painting a perfect picture, the colors that match so well
The winds’ whispering chants, casting a shadow of a spell
Listening to the echoes of tangents of thoughts
Words moving quickly to avoid being caught

The rushed nature of the world and the words that move within
Leaves the observer waiting, wondering, where do I begin?
Inhaling crunchy autumn air as if tasting leaves from off the ground
Listening to the wind howl and tear while not making a sound

Time moves faster and faster, but at a constant pace
The preoccupying obstacle being the finish line of the race
But time seems to hold still as the trees bend with the wind
When you listen, take it in, you’ll know where to begin

Allowing yourself to see with both eyes is a rare commodity
Constantly changing subjects, society as comedy
Blinded by issues, the light in our eyes makes it hard to see
But I live with my eyes open and my being, free

Words
words to say
words to say for those who possess a quiescent soul
vibrations forming into susurrus breathes,
spun by Love.
Love is an oxymoronic, overly celebrated,
seemingly sempiternal happening that is eternally ephemeral,
lasting
a
very
short
t
i
m
e.
Love speaks with words that no matter how
dis-joint-ed
sound wonderfully euphonious -
a sonic euphoria
a billet-doux made from absolutely nothing
but
the very
rawness
of being absolute.
Love is a little more than
chimerical.
Love is a clinquant aubade that requires redamancy.

redamancy.

Love requires love to exist in it's eternal shortness,
to exist
in the mere seconds that are allowed
to exist in the ephemeral time frame of a blip in space
of decades and decades that no one will rememeber and that will not matter to the masses
and
will mean
absolutely nothing to everyone else except
for the one that is awake enough to look directly at
Love.

Flesh scaling mossy rock,
trepidatious toes clamber on.
Seraphic sunlight beating down on naked back.
Approaching the edge of all fears.

Standing on the pinnacle.
Surrounded by the best friends in  the world.
all there is to do is let go forever.
brace the fall, elongate with majesty.

Rhythmic heart, beating on all cylinders.
Di Dum: Fear
Di Dum: Anxiety
Di Dum: Stress


End of celestial descent.
Arrival in ecstasy.
Piercing icy blue water,
rinsing away all woes.

Circles of smiles,
and unprecedented unity.
In nothingness,
therein lies the foundation of all things.


Euphonious drum of waterfall.
harmonious chimes of birdsong.
Velvet blanket of heart warmth.
Soul soothing of clear water.

Utopian infinities crystallizing.
Dream't like folklore and now realized.  
Naked as born with no things and everything.
Tight clothed and old with many things and nothing.

Streaming sunlight and horse tails lightly swaying in the breeze, flicked lazily at gadflies.
Hoarse dove cries echo hauntingly as I wander across lush grass, towards the murky pond.
Dry, splintery boards of the rickety grey dock creak under my feet. Stone still, opaque brown-green water lies beneath. I close my eyes, resting my hands on the railing, letting the euphonious melody of rasping doves, cheeky robins, and other chirping birds blend with the bubbling sound of running water in the distance, and wash over me. The water bubbles and froths, it has a foamy sound, not as clear and ringing as streams and fountains back home.
Carefree.
Bullfrogs splish and dart into the silty pondweed.
It’s all as if this little world requires no purpose, it’s enough that it simply... is.
If only I could find peace in simply existing. Freedom to just be.

far across the scintillating galaxies,
a dying star fulminated, blasting celestial fantasies.
then, a pulchritudinous nebula was born
and woven constellations she wore.

the moon hung like a chandelier in her eyes,
studded with jewels like diamond stars.
splendor interstellar dust swathed around her ivory skin,
virtue and intelligence she always has from within.

her mellifluous voice sends you to a place full of gentle breeze,
where azure firmament embraced few puffies
made of cellulose fiber and soft creamy cheese.
and with a touch of her fingertips, you’ll see cerulean seas.


she’s someone that you’ll always remember
for she makes learning as her adventure.
and her euphonious words
that shakes your mind and your world.

she’s the universe’s child.

Lover, I was never a creature of euphonious language, but, in the sincerest way possible, I want to trace the lines in your palms with my fingertips I could blindly transfer them onto paper like my native language; there is something that tells me that there are otherworldly creatures that breathe life into every speck of dust floating by your window in the early morning so they can be assured that every particle feels the blessing of seeing the loveliest of nonsense spilling from your lips in a low mutter; I have dreamt of a world where I am stringing harps with every word you said that I grabbed with my grimy hands and condensed into velvet strings and in this world I play you a melody and I do not tremble and you are immortal. However, I do not quarrel with this reality that is given to me, for I know that it is an honor to have been placed on this earth in the realm of your existence, to have the privelege to see the way the sun glows this new shade of warmth when it is bathing your shoulders — like a lover with kisses made of milky light, it kisses you into a divine sort of oblivion that I cannot help but envy and admire, I know we do not realize the true beauty of things until they are broken but I have haggled my soul to never see you crack, and God knows I would extinguish the flames behind my eyes so that they are reduced to low-burning coals, in the hopes that you and everything delicate that follows close behind will at least hover just beyond my grip, still not too close because I have always had trouble keeping a gentle grip on heavenly things and you are a piece of every form of divinity that I can bear to break down into fathomable thoughts; so, here I love you from worlds away — yes, from worlds away, I love you.

“Uni” consisting of one - one God of consistence
“verse” - His expression to all existence

The universe is finely tuned in mathematical formulas
The Maker’s way of coordinating an euphonious orchestra

No algorithm can describe - It’s undreamed of!
no song can measure the depth of His love.

But there is method to His heart
an ensemble He has chart

He had the future  calculated all along
Jesus Christ- the bridge to His heavenly song

To save the lost - He paid the cost
And wrote the words which cleanse - Unwashed.

Through covenant He’s derived a relational endeavor
In hopes that you and I will make music with Him forever!

Dancesong soul your
gentle yet competent –oh so competent—
fingers are mesmerizing with
chipped baby blue nail polish
adorning the clear keratin
you often forget exists.

you also quickly cease to remember that
You Exist.  kaleidoscopic and symphonious
tremors of life can break
you in violent waves or soft
eucalyptus scented embraces
oscillating between ecstasy and
euphonious melancholy
is Okay.

raging with life
stay vivacious and full of
sweet scented oils and soft yet strong
--oh so strong—
unrelenting
music.

Into the masquerade
Of her unyielding dream,
I see her flash into ambiguity.
A vestige of fluorescent
Transcendental light particles
Rising into the zenith,
Through a liquescent portal,
Into the reminiscence
Of her fanciful bloom.
I meander through the enigmatic
Labyrinth of her
Never-ending rumination.
Through the postern door,
Into a frolic of festivity;
A jamboree of her
Effervescent frivolity.
A sudden vision
Of our exuberant youth,
The romantic tryst by the fountain.
Our souls interlaced,
weaving in the wind
As we gaze at her fragrant,
Celestial moon.
The ambience of her earthly silence
Conjures the emergence of a stairway
Into her intuitive star.
Our ephemeral dalliance,
In an evaporating mirage
Of unrelenting fortitude,
Of what was once forgotten.
I take my enamoured bow,
With ardent strings of burning light
And fire fervently to seek
Her euphonious heart.

You scare me… but, it’s not a bad thing. You make me feel this feeling that’s indescribable. It’s unreal. There is positively no way to even describe this feeling. I crave you. I crave your presence. You bring me to a state of extreme euphoria. When I feel vacant, there’s only one thing that can alleviate that absence of feeling… and that’s you. You’re everything. I know it’s only been a few days, but oh, God, have I fallen in love with what seems unreal; fictional, really. I can’t seem to fathom how I could possibly cross paths with somebody so alluring; so euphonious, and felicit; someone who could convoke such a feeling of incandescence inside of me. I chose you out of everyone else, quintessentially because I long for your affiliation. I am enamored of the way you make me feel when I’m around you. I feel safe with you and want to be with you above all other people in this world. I love you.

Head on my chest as she's dancing to the cadence of my heart. The colors of our auras wraps us In a blanket. The euphonious sounds of your moans replay in my head. The act of our bodies crashing still vibrating your hips. Gravity dessolves along with lights from clapping. Transition supine your spine becomes the mattress. Coitus embraced you as we cascaded into a golden basin.

there’s a lullaby the wind chimes used to hum as i sat outside my house. i observed synodic epiphanies in the sky until all i could do was make a dot-to-dot of your face out of the stars that were almost as intangible as you are and as you always were.

i always found myself searching for traces of you everywhere. the sound of your voice as a symphonic ultrasound echoing from the wind chime to me, just for me. your effervescent hazel eyes (you always insisted they were brown but i’d studied them as a psychologist studies mental health) but you never came.

and trust me, i waited --
i waited for so much as a murmur or a rustled blade of grass when the world stood still and i waited in the morning, the afternoon and i waited all night.

i waited all **** night in nothing but a pair of leggings (you told me i looked “pretty sweet” in them once) and your jumper, the jumper you left at my house on may 16th. hummingbirds were the highlight of your morning and the highlight of my morning was always you.

you made scrambled eggs with milk and only a dash of pepper because too much gave you an itchy throat and then you took my hand and we slow danced along to the sound of the microwave; it was like a heavy duty drill begging to explode but we didn’t care.

i wore your jumper then the way i’m wearing it now, except i’ve tucked my hands into my sleeves because yours aren’t there to hold anymore.

i always found myself not only searching for traces of you everywhere but also searching for you in everybody i've ever met (and probably everybody i ever will meet). where’s that succulent sense of humour? where’s that desirable distaste for all humans besides me? you were intangible but somehow tangible to me and i mused over your ability to turn me from a servant into a queen but my gratitude overwhelmed me too much to question it, or you.

your name is euphonious;
i swirl it around my mouth like expensive champagne.
my stomach can tolerate neither.

Victims of circumstance
A slow lovely dance
Fire ever consuming
Ever blooming
Grass always growing
Water always flowing
Find your direction
Walk through the intersection
Find your voice
Make a choice
Not everything black and white
You need insight
Read musty books
Listen to babelling brooks
Learn the wonders of the Earth
For all it is worth
To learn that it is utterly harmonious
It is simply euphonious

In the midst of regal red
Orange flaming like a ****
It sneaks out
Euphonious as rain on a pond
Mellow sunlight,  warm days
Cool not chilly nights
Roses bloom anew
Nature takes a breath and sighs
The second Spring holds back;
the tears of time

I adore everything about you.
And I hate that I do.
Because it makes everything harder.

It makes me shake.
I can't even write a euphonious poem anymore because the thoughts in my mind are no longer so.
You're absolutely everything to me, yet, in all honesty, you're nothing.

It's that slightly shorter tooth.
It's that dimple in your chin.
It's that smirk I know you make when you like something I say.

It's when you said you'd like to steal my lips.
It's that moment when you said you'd dream of me after I sang for you.
It's that time you said my skin drives you mad when you think about it.

It's how you're the only one who knows about the hidden devil.
It's about how you love the way my tongue illustrates words bewilderingly so.
It's the way you want my mind just as much as my body.

It's about how you love dinosaurs and your dog.
It's the way you message me 4:00 in the morning with only a heart and a smiley face.
It's how I would do absolutely anything for you.

Like a drug, how I would sell my soul for just one more hit.
It's a lie, when I tell myself I love someone else.
It's the truth, when I say I would wait my whole life loving and waiting just for you.

It's how I pour my heart out this way,
Knowing,
I can never have you.

A Paris night, with all it's sweet endeavours,
Blurred by a face with emerald eyes,
Out shadowed by the shades of her hair,
She must be the truth of beautiful lies.

With a cup of warm coffee in her hands,
With the gentle wind unfolding her hair tress,
The waiter with bewildered bones,
Greeted her 'Buenas Noches'

She grinned and with tender steps lead her way,
While a pair of eyes was at sea.
In the wild calm of her imperfect picturesque,
The shackles of his heart were set free.

Behind the looking glass, the boy stood subdued,
In the utter waves of her essence,
The euphonious ripples of the angel's visit,
The graceful gift of her presence.

The night turned into a hopeful day,
With the pair of eyes still seeking in the streets,
Searching for the beat of his heart,
The earth to his feets.

With desire clocking to despair,
Those eyes grew wet,
With the clock beating seconds,
He had a journey to get back.

The bags laid still on the room,
The food untouched at the bed,
With eyes lost in that night,
He raved the streets of Paris till a miracle shed.

And his eyes met that lovely face,
The girl you can't stop from falling in.
The blood rushed once again through the veins,
Working the muscles to bring a smile,
The smile of an answered heart,
The smile that explains the mystery we call Love.

But the face was lost again,
In the same old Paris streets.
With a hidden smile, he turned back,
Hoping their small worlds would meet again,
In a place where hearts reigned.