I

O fairest flower no sooner blown but blasted,
Soft silken Primrose fading timelesslie,
Summers chief honour if thou hadst outlasted
Bleak winters force that made thy blossome drie;
For he being amorous on that lovely die
That did thy cheek envermeil, thought to kiss
But ****’d alas, and then bewayl’d his fatal bliss.

II

For since grim Aquilo his charioter
By boistrous **** th’ Athenian damsel got,
He thought it toucht his Deitie full neer,
If likewise he some fair one wedded not,
Thereby to wipe away th’ infamous blot,
Of long-uncoupled bed, and childless eld,
Which ‘mongst the wanton gods a foul reproach was held.

III

So mounting up in ycie-pearled carr,
Through middle empire of the freezing aire
He wanderd long, till thee he spy’d from farr,
There ended was his quest, there ceast his care
Down he descended from his Snow-soft chaire,
But all unwares with his cold-kind embrace
Unhous’d thy ****** Soul from her fair hiding place.

IV

Yet art thou not inglorious in thy fate;
For so Apollo, with unweeting hand
Whilome did slay his dearly-loved mate
Young Hyacinth born on Eurotas’ strand,
Young Hyacinth the pride of Spartan land;
But then transform’d him to a purple flower
Alack that so to change thee winter had no power.

V

Yet can I not perswade me thou art dead
Or that thy coarse corrupts in earths dark wombe,
Or that thy beauties lie in wormie bed,
Hid from the world in a low delved tombe;
Could Heav’n for pittie thee so strictly doom?
O no! for something in thy face did shine
Above mortalitie that shew’d thou wast divine.

VI

Resolve me then oh Soul most surely blest
(If so it be that thou these plaints dost hear)
Tell me bright Spirit where e’re thou hoverest
Whether above that high first-moving Spheare
Or in the Elisian fields (if such there were.)
Oh say me true if thou wert mortal wight
And why from us so quickly thou didst take thy flight.

VII

Wert thou some Starr which from the ruin’d roofe
Of shak’t Olympus by mischance didst fall;
Which carefull Jove in natures true behoofe
Took up, and in fit place did reinstall?
Or did of late earths Sonnes besiege the wall
Of sheenie Heav’n, and thou some goddess fled
Amongst us here below to hide thy nectar’d head

VIII

Or wert thou that just Maid who once before
Forsook the hated earth, O tell me sooth
And cam’st again to visit us once more?
Or wert thou that sweet smiling Youth!
Or that crown’d Matron sage white-robed Truth?
Or any other of that heav’nly brood
Let down in clowdie throne to do the world some good.

IX

Or wert thou of the golden-winged boast,
Who having clad thy self in humane ****,
To earth from thy praefixed seat didst poast,
And after short abode flie back with speed,
As if to shew what creatures Heav’n doth breed,
Thereby to set the hearts of men on fire
To scorn the sordid world, and unto Heav’n aspire.

X

But oh why didst thou not stay here below
To bless us with thy heav’n-lov’d innocence,
To slake his wrath whom sin hath made our foe
To turn Swift-rushing black perdition hence,
Or drive away the slaughtering  pestilence,
To stand ‘twixt us and our deserved smart
But thou canst best perform that office where thou art.

XI

Then thou the mother of so sweet a child
Her false imagin’d loss cease to lament,
And wisely learn to curb thy sorrows wild;
Think what a present thou to God hast sent,
And render him with patience what he lent;
This if thou do he will an off-spring give,
That till the worlds last-end shall make thy name to live.

Oh iOS, dreary titan of technology!
An SOS, hidden in secret typology!
Oh woe is me, tragic symphonic melancholy

If heaven had eyes, and hell had ears
Heaven would see, and hell would hear
The discordant storm, the miasma of tears

The screen is blank, my heart is dead
Error! Error! The bleak message read
Death marches slow, overlord of dread

Bright red head and monolith of Mac
iSurrender, iGiveup, Iambeggining to crack
Silent foot falls across the carpeted track

The darkest song of the darkest day
appleID.apple.com in the mindless gray
Hark! Hark! Once more into the fray!

March my brothers, to full lines and all!
Some may die today but the victors stand tall!
Monoliths of glory, providers of tech support call!

iPod, iTunes, iCloud, iPhone, iPad iknowitall!
Prices beyond reason, reset, restore and reinstall!
Kings of iLog, rulers of this bleak blue ball

Apple support for one! Apple support for all!
Unless your outside your support eligibility!
Sorry! Not my call!

Your sweet words melt a comet into a rose valley,
Where I feel to garden and breathe your fragrance.
Your rose buds often play with my fingers,
I feel to touch you and thorn bleeds my heart.
Your husky voice harmonies orchestra in my ears.
I flow into your heart , it is the same blood I used to pump in.
I feel to float in your veins, reach brain everywhere inside out,
So when you are diagnosed, it is me you are infected with.
I feel to blank your memory and reinstall me.
I will connect to your soul and chase it into my heart.
I will make every star name after you and reform the universe,
I will deep so much love inside you , it will take thousand years to make me out.

I often look in the mirror
And ask myself who I am
I then compare myself
To castles in the sand
I'm blown away by the wind
Pay for my sins
And the melancholy begins

I often look in the mirror
And ask myself why I let
People who hurt me
Take a fragment of me
All the pieces I need
Leave me here crouching
Gasping for air to breathe
No one to hold me

I often look in the mirror
And ask myself
Why I let weakness get the best of me
Why I let the tears fall
It decreases me
Makes me feel small
I have to reinstall happiness
In my life
Be strong through it all

But then I look in the mirror
I see a champion
Cause I've been strong through it all
My soul never breaks
I always pick up the pieces
And the strength in me
Suddenly increses
Solid with no creases
That's the power of Jesus

Write me an Ode,
To The motherland
That births black oil
Tell her, that her children
Have almost forgotten Her.
As her traits are traded
For the white mans knowledge
And  melanin is now bleached
For a bright glowing skin.
There is need for her,
To call her children together
Under the mango tree
And reinstall the black attitude.
For  mother earth yearns for her
To tell the story of our hero’s past
And instill our negritude.
Write me an ode to blackness.
-Rejibudu

Death comes to each of us, sparing none, to one n all

We for ourselves or our dear ones, death cannot stall

It's impossible to play this football match; one cannot pass on the ball.

However great a doctor is, a soul he can never reinstall

So finally, when a dear one passes away; into depression we may fall.

This perhaps is a re-awakening for us, a Heavenly alarm or a call

Our subconscious mind we have to stir n awaken; so that happily we enter Ahura's hall

Armin Dutia Motashaw

Eight thousand puzzle-piece
butterflies
fill the memory carded banks
of discarded blank
cyberspace Alzheimers.

An empty room with silhouetted views,
creating illusion imitating
hallucinations
of a promise to reinstall the words lost
to safety proof
false parachutes.

Without canvas-sized,
indestructible evidence
or ink-based remembrance -
only erasable by flames,
flood or
unsigned credentials
fallen hand in glove
into
overenthusiastic forgetfulness.

there remains to be seen
a virus immune to tonic,
vaccine,
or innocent naive dreams
capable of murdering,
erasing,
and deleting every letter
conceived by keyboard finger-*******.

Here sits a love sick ******
with his head in the clouds
which would rain purple-hazed
words on the handful around;
those who remain concrete laced
flat on the ground in silence
while the sky promises rain -
yet only delivers clouds thundering sounds
of yesterday's romantic morose cries.

The dreams and visions of publicized ambition
dead
to files of hard-drive suicide -
by pornographic escapism,
prism-shaped with temporary reflection
of a soul due to expire.
Teadless and tired
in need of eternal service with supervision
by technology and savvy technicians -
mechanics of the afterlife,
while sighs of a Leonard Cohen existence
drown out the cries
of a bad cup of immortality.

Red-eyed mornings with deleted history
control-shift-n
and go go incognito
of a different kind.
free of decision or any conscious mind -
without a driver at the wheel
deciding the turns,
for any burning yearning sensation to stay,
go, hop-off and arrive.

The destination won't be seen alive.
Even as stains of lead will remain after death
with every orchestrated fable and tale
told by its grey-eyed author immortal,
while multidimensional gurus of ancient fires have stories and songs
done wrong by sins
of broken-telephone
though burning in hearts, souls,
and every orifice available to spark -
still end up with the scent of unholy ****.

The blank void of all memory is all that remains
throughout every special momentous occasion with hard-copy refection
or recollection of that holy time and spiritual place -
I await judgement and punishment
or divine rejection,
for falling in love and forgetting to save.