brushstrokes, some broad,  
some as narrow as one fine hair,  
are often red  

scarlet and scattered
across the canvas, splattered
against a crumbling wall, where,
for no rhyme or reason, the artist
may place a wilted wreath of flowers,
pallid, yellow
      
horses and people, babes
and the ancient not spared  
their share of the crimson cream  
the painter heaped munificently
on their mangled remains

Paris, Beirut, Yola yet to be painted
but there is still time: in its abundance
someone else will need only lift a hand  
to spill the ubiquitous blood      

our palettes do own other hues
black for charred crosses, white,
the lightning streaked screaming sky
but  none so plentiful as the red  
none so plentiful as the red

i went about the down and cleand own b yth ec l ea n
lithe bony bay ribbing the asphalt skin chuckTaylors'
and by and by the astute angle of the seas daunting
tailored skinny notch a grommet of sun ****** through
the scaly tremble of wispy ***** clouds spunting and breatheing
casual volumes of aromatic fluid bumbling out their tired
mouths and ******* on the lax pavement some of the heavy
drops "sPloosh!' wenting the ocean did and going "
whOosh ! "     the waves are munificently scrambling all about the rough timber
of the agile dock sitting sorely all alonesome and fickle
    so i gave it my feet
and wattled to its precocious face
and slid into the big
       blatant crumble
:      THE WATER

Clear the room before we get brave,

Set aside our pride to enter a new world of our own.

Guileless I lay strapped in your arms

Helplessly we wish for this moment never to end…

Heuristic we penetrate each others body’s

With an endless cry

I whisper to you,

My love.

Sharing our souls with one another in a sea of passion.

I lower my head as my lips touch your neck

My teeth penetrates your flesh with a risible whine.

I can taste the lust dripping of your face.

A sleepless sound enters your heart

Our eyes fixed on each other’s hearts

The truth of your sweat leaks again

Hanging above my head like a guillotine

Awaiting to behead the broken hearted end we head for.

There is no such thing as “the end” with you…

There are morals in this life I would rather not live with.

Is my mind losing itself on your beauty again?

The moon light falls munificently on your lips

The same callous scars from the truth above

Down beneath the sheets where the skies seem brighter

A moan is stuck in your  throat

Is my fantasy becoming a reality?

Love survives the pervasive attack

I kiss you before my scars show

I take you away,

I’ll take you away

To a safe place of our own

Together we fight for unaccepted love

Chased by the pain the goddess of reality

Rumbling pain over turned page..,

Our new beginning…

But

I close my eyes which have lost their color in battle

Blind! To see the true color of love…

I’d rather be blind…

Enchantingly nonchalantly unfurling before
blind eyes merely able to gape in awe
ephemeral smithereens of expanding plenum,
the abyssal pervasive womb encompassing all

that exists, was is and will be, nurturing
emptiness with energy for nothingness not
to be. Swirling particles coalescing to breed
unfathomable incandescent spheres

radiating blistering lights in waves, hurtling
everywhither as beacons celebrating glory
of omnific productions till mirific explosions
scatter pieces crisping to bond, under laws

of attraction relentlessly spinning, rotating
an elliptic orbit at a distance, showered in eons
by debris enclosing drops of lymph, finely
elegantly tuned through evanescent time, to allow

the esoteric birthing of rare creatures gazing,
curious and inquisitively reflecting, recognising
mother does not contemplate repetition nor
perfection, as she haphazardly reveals inestimable

varieties, offspring of sweeping sublime
creativity with which she munificently shares
a comprehensive consciousness inspired,
suggesting the child indeed could grasp

the extent of infinity
despite blind eyes.

Why I am an Atheist......  


                   This is the way,
                   That is the way,
                   For all ages we cry,
                   Often lost in those minced glib,
                   Strangled to our souls death.

                   Why should I tread these 'Ways'- ,
                   In my paralyzed (pedestrian) state,
                   When all 'ways' are to that - If
                   It   Meets at heavenly abode?

                   If I harbor not -
                   Unsolicited darkly thoughts,
                   And exhume all my vile acts,
                   For whom should I solicit -
                   A for fending God?

                   Every time, in eons,
                   A new God is born;
                   In whose comprehension,
                   He dwells?    
                   In whose delight -
                   He charms!
                   And in whose folly -
                   He succors?
  
                   Not all the Gods blesses you,
                  Or resides in their crowns-
                  To wipe your tears,
                  Of toils and perils!

                  None can ever be at rest,
                  With life's gauntlet let.
                   No dead souls by their wont,
                   Tells us the truth-
                   Of impending days- or
                   To one who awaits.

                   Often, whose God dies young?
                   Brings no mellifluous life to breath.
                   A God, if lives within us,
                   How munificently,
                   He Strides.