I tried so **** hard to forget you, so hard.  But you telling me how long you've been here waiting just shows me why I held on so long.  
It just shows why I scavenged ever piece of the shipwreck that floated up to the top.  Those were the enjoyable memories, but the anchor is still at the bottom of the ocean.  
And that is why we can't fight this any longer.  face it, neither of us can pull the anchor out of the water anymore.

At the back
of the coal wharf
you and Fay
picked up coal pieces

that fell through
the iron railings
and put them
in an ******* from home

Fay looked
at her blackened fingers
and said
if my daddy sees

these fingers
and finds out
what I’ve been doing
he’ll spank me

for sure
you gazed at her
beside you
and said

you can wash your hands
at my place
she looked around
at the bombsite behind you

the evening sun
slowly going down
behind the railway bridge
and nearby buildings

what if someone sees you
she asked
picking up these pieces?
no one worries about this

all the kids do it
you replied
my daddy says
it is evil to steal

she said
you put a black piece
of coal in the bag
and lifted it

to feel the weight
that’s enough
you said
too much

and I won’t be able
to carry it
Fay stood up
and looked around

at the darkening sky
you held the bag
in one hand
and scanned

the area around you
let’s go
you said
and so you both

walked away
from the coal wharf
into Meadow Row
by the public house

where piano music played
and down towards
the flats
where you lived

and after climbing
the concrete stairs
to your landing
you opened the door

and put the bag
by the indoor
coal bunker
and showed Fay

where to wash her hands
turning on
the cold water tap
you both washed

your hands
with the red
Life Buoy soap
her hands near yours

her wet flesh
touching yours
the black water
running away

and another adventure
and another day.

Hell with Manu! Manu go to hell!
The wrath of your interpretation,
Put us under an inhuman subjugation.

You turned a group,
Dictators of a merciless culture,
Transformed us worse,
Than a scavenging vulture.

You gifted us the psychology of the worst slaves,
And robbed our culture, worship and God,
Who is there to get us out from these graves?

For centuries till now continue our struggle,
We are forced to live with worst strangles
In the poisonous jungle,

We the humans treated much worse,
Than dogs insects and poo eating pig,
Our scars wounds and blows,
Still remain untouchable and big.

Poisonous **** declared the crops untouchable,
Proclaimed itself the most unconquerable,
Less than a second it takes,
To **** the poisonous weeds with a cutter,
Throw them into the useless gutter.

Landlords, who rule the land and hill,
Put the lives of untouchable crops to a standstill,
Multiplied the existence of poisonous ****,
At the expense of the healthy crop seed.

Our journey in the doors of
Movements, struggle and legal
Was quite a win,
That proved out to be absolutely lethal.

We won successfully in the battle of right,
Till the end of the topmost administrative fight,
We lost to erase your caste ridden thought,
That is useless rigid and tight.

With your caste names,
You remind and hurt us, with useless exhibition
In hearts, we created die hard flames,
To take up the long term ambitions,
And get us out from these addicted inhibitions.

From mother's womb to a cemetery,
We have a same human life,
But when it comes to temple sanctum,
You **** us with a political double edged knife.

We built the temples,
You played a gamble and created troubles,
Pushed us to convert,
Got our identities to subvert.

World belongs to everyone,
Our life does not hold value.

Nature belongs to everyone,
We do not have access to water by Vedas virtue.

God is equal to everyone,
But we are restricted entry, as an oppressed queue.

There is no use to argue,
Of course it is untrue,
Let's put ourselves to the rescue.

What's next? What's next?
Let's create a new humanity societal text,
Let's create for ourselves new religions,
Let's begin to reach out to the next generation,
Work with them to build new revolution.

Let's create a new religion,
In nooks and corners, all areas, rural and urban,
That treats humans as humans,
And give life to the humanity slogan.

Change the rules! Yeah change the rules!
Throw into gutters all these useless fools,
For human lives, there can be nothing to tally,
Human life remains invaluable and holy

Being human is my true breed,
Crows and cuckoo belong to our creed,
Mountains and sea belong to our human group
Be proud, you will belong to this peaceful troop.

Let us get up, where we fell
And put this curse to the hell.

Vibrations of steel block engines have been lulling me to sleep lately
Eyelids swaying up and down like the back and forth of seaweed on the ocean floor
I count yellow dashed lines like others count sheep
Feeling my consciousness slip away, I’m drowsy, I’m dreaming
I dream of a golden city
A golden bay along golden grass rooted in golden soil
Golden streets with golden stop lights
Golden cars parked in golden parking buildings
Gold Telephone towers powered by gold electrical cables
I begin noticing something strange about this city, as it shone so brightly with a golden sun setting as the city’s own back drop.
There were no inhabitants.
No pigeons.
No stray cats.
No dogs scavenging for spare scraps on starving stomachs
Business Men in suits are found littering streets all around the globe. These streets lay barren
Little girls playing hopscotch and jump-rope gone as if the city misplaced them all.
My stomach dropping as I drop to my knees
Panic attacks bring back memories of family and friends
The beautiful faces of girls I once loved, and ones I may never be able to
Questioning if reality was the dream
I am alone in a wonderful Jungle
It’s not easy to be alone in a City of Gold

I don't know what to think
when i'm staring in your eyes
more akin to speak
in blind lullabies.
than logistify
my heightened
surmise
in flight
to somewhere nice
if only for tonight
come with me this night
ignite
the cindered fires
of our desires
and incite
the throws of light
in **** obscurity
moaning through the sincerity
of our oddities
gleaming in the rarity
of our academy of lust
all or bust
entrust the accounting
of blaspheme
to the enemies
of poverty
and shove me
all the way down your throat
fill you
instill you
with the hope
of a million
grinning in *******
of the tangled mental merchants
of pretty lights and custom curtains
drawn at first light
dispersing
amongst cursing pedestrians
prior to *******
of forceful *******
with an another human
lightened strikes the truant
in 9 months of fluent
agony
just imagining little Timmy
has me scavenging for a shimmy
to escape
its social ****
to a blind ape
still patting his head
don't be mislead
by ***** carriers
pack your own barriers
and prepare for the scarier
side of a mans mind

Inequality is something that should be preserved.
Else who will wash my clothes
and who will wash the sink full of utensils?
What if we all got the same number
of eyes and hands?
We have created inequality with wealth and education.
I cherish this inequality as I am above of some millions,
else I would have been standing in queues and footpaths, begging, sleeping and scavenging.

It never ends, fragments of visions collapsing upon themselves painfully. Her swollen eyes opening, and bursting with orange fire. Then closing just as fast. In between those agonizing seconds she sees everything. Thousands of years cycling over and over. Visions of visions within visions.


Cassandra saw her city razed to the ground. The wall which once stood firm against the onslaught of enemies crumbling with the ravages of time. She closed her eyes. When she opened them again she saw her own grief. Her cousin had fallen in battle. She closed her eyes again, and scratched at her itchy eyelids.



Ten weeks passed without a blink, not even a fraction of an opening. She was disciplined, but the longer she fought the more her eyelids would burn. One blink to ease the agony and she was forced to see her father’s skin. A purple mass of dead flesh bubbling swelling, exploding, and rotting, with maggots squirming in out and around till flies formed and flew away. Another corpse left out in a burning city. One among many denied a peaceful death. Buildings crumbled to dust, the bodies became one with the earth. Cassandra cried without opening her eyes. Her father stroked her long soft curls, whispering reassurances. “It’s all right my child.”


Another three or four weeks passed. She had become blinder than Tiresias the blind prophet. Unable to recall if that was a story she had heard, or would hear in the future.  She sobbed spilling each and every sorrow she could. Every tragedy yet to come. Her father smiled gently placing a warm cloth upon her brow. “Shush my child these nightmares will fade soon enough.”


The young girl opened her eyes again. This time a years’ worth of history unfolded. She saw soldiers gathering arms. Battlements born of the Bronze Age burning with righteous rage. Steel blades clanging against bronze shields in preparation for war. Boats fully loaded departed.


She closed her eyes once more. It would be another two months before she opened them. In the meantime she pleaded with her father to leave the city. Day in and day out begging, sobbing, and screaming until she was sent away.


It was becoming harder and harder to keep her eyes closed. There was a burning force aching to escape. She managed five more weeks until she could bare the pain no longer. As her new sisters bathed her pale dry skin with the sweetest scented oils the young girl recited all that she saw and felt.


The first footfalls of the first soldier’s feet to touch the beach. The feel of the sand as it swirled in, out and around the soldier’s sandals. The general howling commands. The green eyes hungry for battle. The faces contorted in controlled rage. All that intensity burning under the once civilized façade. She closed her eyes again.


Cassandra sat silently in exhaustion, as the sisters slowly brushed the knots out of her long brown hair. They brought her a blindfold, which allowed only a small comfort. This time she only managed to resist for two weeks. The vision came upon her with such force that she cried out and collapsed.


Now the city was burning. Citizen screamed as they ran in terror. Brave men rushed forwards to be impaled on the spears of other brave men. Arrows swallowed the moonlight picking at the earth and scavenging for some bare flesh to devour. Blood ran like red rainwater. Streets streamed thin crimson pools diluted by warm summer showers. The stench oh, the stench, it made Cassandra ***** up chunks of soggy bread and half-digested beef mixed with red wine and stomach acid, while she tried to force her eyes to close.


Finally, she closed her eyes again. The sisters tried to sooth her sorrows, to no avail. Within a years’ time the young girl lost the ability to close her eyes. Cassandra eyeballs slowly burnt out until there was nothing left but charcoaled eye sockets. By the next year she could no longer speak. Cassandra became paralyzed by the futility of her existence.


In her mind the war had come and gone. The sieges were no longer an issue. She no longer felt the urge to cry for the dead. What was, will be, and what will be cannot be undone. What cannot be undone has already happened. Apollo had cursed her. Her beauty had enraptured him, her wit had charmed him, but her will had enraged him.


She was only thirteen with brown eyes and long hair of rare quality, soul so powerful that almost anyone who met her could feel its energy. She shamed the gods with her purity, and unwillingly ensnared their affection.


At first Apollo came with strong arms and tender words. Wooing to the point of painful pleasure. Her eyes could not handle such radiance. His skin burned as his chariot burned. Hair golden flames, skin solar yellow, eye orange as the sun. Each kiss burnt like the worse fever, taking her against her will, savaging her sanity. As if, as if being a god gave him the right to take such liberties.


Apollo viewed her early rejections with whimsy, believing them to be some cute token of her modesty. A god can afford to wait, after all eternity was on his side. After the first hundred no’s his affection gave way to anger. Until his desire could not bear rejection any longer.


At last he cried out to Cassandra. “I will have you or else.”


With a firm but fiery hand he swept her up.  Forcing his mouth against hers. Parting her pursed lip with his powerful tongue.  He shoved his tongue into her mouth, until tears streamed down her cheeks. She could not resist with words, because her mouth was occupied, so she took the only action she knew available to her.


She bit down as hard she could. Lava spewed from Apollo’s lips, roughly singing the inside of her mouth. Without realizing what was happening she swallowed. Her skin began to glow, tiny childlike limbs lengthened and tightened. From her eyes radiated the most powerful light ever seen by man or god. For a moment Apollo cowered beneath the awe of her power, stumbling backwards to the ground dumbfounded.


Regaining his composure he slapped her aside. Scowling in rage “How dare you. You. You worthless *****.”


Her lips parted now of her own volition. Her voice raged with a deep and powerful resonance. “How dare you, you whimpering fool.” The power still flowing inwards filled her with confidence. “I see you for what you are. A tool, a man made invention.” The radiance of her skin was slowly fading. “I see too much now.” She cried out in an ******* fury. A smile crossed her lips. “I see what will become of you and your ilk.”


With strength previously unimagined the young girl thrusted her small hands out throttling Apollo’s throat. He trembled in fear. “You cannot hope to contain the power of me. I am generations incarnated. Passing power from one age to the next. I will not be enslaved.” Her skin began to blink, her voice loss much of its force. “I am Cassandra, and you a merely a passing phase. I will tell the world of all I have seen.”


The last bit of godly energy faded from her skin. Cassandra collapsed. “I still see it all, and you will never touch me again.”


Apollo brushed bits of earth off his person. “See all you want, I care not.” He lunged for her. A flash of thin white light flung him back.

Confused, Apollo rose. Glaring he screamed “You may see all now. It is a gift my blood has given you, but soon it will become a curse. For no mortal wishes to believe that the fates have already written their story. They will ignore you, and in doing so you will find that this power you have gained will be for naught. Thus will be your curse to see all, with no power to stop it.”


Cassandra’s eyes opened wide, seconds split into eternity. She felt the passing of all those around her. She felts time’s stench and rot all around her. Her skin would wrinkle to a certain degree but she would be eternal. She saw cities rise and fall. Some to rise again others to be forgotten. She saw herself seeing each of these visions again and again. She lived her immortal life over and over, events unchanged be anything she said.


The only real comfort was that she saw Apollo wither away. As the old gods fell to ruins weakened by the rationality of new gods, then the rationality of structured reason. Then came the rise of something new and better. Reason with abstraction, abstraction with order, a cycle of energy which emboldened and empowered man. She chuckled.
“Go away little godling.”
And like the little thing he was, Apollo ran.
Her father shushed her, wiping the tears from her face.
The sisters bathed her; singing songs of love and adoration.
Troy fell under the onslaught.
Apollo came and went again.


Cassandra’s eyes opened wide closed and open wide once more, seconds split into eternity. She felt the passing of all those around her. She felts time’s stench and rot all around her. Her skin would wrinkle to a certain degree but she would be eternal. She saw cities rise and fall. Some to rise again others to be forgotten. She saw herself seeing each of these visions again and again. She lived her immortal life over and over, events unchanged be anything she said.


The only one real comfort was that she saw Apollo wither away. As the old gods fell to ruins weakened by the rationality of new gods, then the rationality of structured reason. Then came the rise of something new and better. Reason with abstraction, abstraction with order, a cycle of energy which emboldened and empowered man. She chuckled.
“Go away little godling.”
And like the little thing he was, Apollo ran.
Her father shushed her, wiping the tears from her face.
The sisters bathed her; singing songs of love and adoration.
Troy fell under the onslaught.
Apollo came and went again.

There’s a dark grotto
Under the sea
With shelves and shelves
Of bottles
Clear, glass bottles
All of my secrets

A carefully watched castle
The middle of a concentric series of impassable walls
Surrounded by a forest of kelp
With razor-sharp teeth
And then the narwhals
The narwhal guards
Armed to the teeth with halibut-slicing knives
Their three-meter horns
Gleaming in the moonlight
Guarding
All of my secrets

Skeletons, trespassers of yore,
Strewn about the seafloor
Bones picked clean
By the scavenging *****
No one can enter
No one can leave
The grotto with the shelves
Shelves and shelves of clear, glass bottles
All of my secrets

But as for the *****
For the first time in centuries
The sunlight warms the waters
Melts the kelp
Kisses the narwhals
Buries the bones and torments the scavengers
Clearing away the darkness
A nonstop route through the castle
Protecting
All of my secrets

The tendrils of photons creep along
Wary
Ready for a fight
The grotto growls menacingly
Unguarded
For the first time in centuries
But upon the first touch -
Light meets stone -
The sea shudders
Ecstasy
And in repayment for salvation
Out come the bottles
Floating to the surface
Bathing in the light
All of my secrets

Children awake to sizzling butter and fresh eggs
Birds chirp and settle on their windowsills
Greeting them with the sound of nature.
How lovely it must be!

Childhood is all about the games and the play, they said.
Buttons are pressed,
Video games begin,
because violence is but a pixelated projection for them.

Two extremities of this earth are facing each other now.
Darkness lies on the opposite side.
What a shame!
Home now bleeds images of destruction.

Childhood is non-existent there.
Children awake to the nauseating scent of gunpowder,
Anxiety has filled their minds,
The future remains vague
Lives hanging on a thread
The drones set off missiles to cut it.

They are worth the entire world to their mothers
Young souls who are the lens from which their parents see happiness
but sadly,
survivors scrape the rubble off their ****** feet
scavenging for the roots they once tried to protect
wetting the ground with utter despair.

Home now bleeds destruction
and constant chaos.

God, if you only knew the things these eyes have seen. I feel as if I’m the only one to have felt this heaviness in my soul. It breaks me down. I’m scavenging for survival. For hope, for humanity. I wait patiently in the dark hoping to watch as the light breaks through this darkness I live in. Will the sun rise? Will the moon give in to its brutal blows? Or will I be left again, left wondering where I’m meant to travel to next. I watched my family torn from the places once called sacred. The treasures they held once before meant nothing, their lives were the only treasure they had left. The only treasure I had left. Some tore their way out of that hell. The mental affliction that caused them to drown in their own murderous screams. They moved on with their quest for a purpose, ripping away the flaws and scars left by the pain experienced. Becoming something new, remade. Still beautiful, they didn’t break. They persevered. I watched as others tied the fear and pain to their ankles, always dragging it with them. Others would notice the chains they pulled, but never say a word. Never reach out a hand to search for the key to these aches. Just watching them survive, I watch them survive. I survive. But the worst of all to watch was The Interpreter. The ones who fell for the lies that got them with me in this black hole. The ones who never coped, never wanted a purpose, they wanted revenge. Revenge on the ones who tore their soul apart, piece by piece. The ones who took every bit of sanity they had and laughed as it fell unreachable by any man. I watched as something once so beautiful, miraculous, pure and true turn into something that made me want to cringe. So hungry. Always remembering the starvation they suffered from and using it as a crutch and weapon to fill the hole that cannot be filled by things as such. I try to help but they snarl in defense, forgetting that once I was their friend. Only thinking of the world as an enemy, and everyone in it an enemy as well. I try to stop them, plead for them to stay, just to here a few words. Just to know that they aren’t alone, I’m here in the darkness too.

This town is crumbling.
With dust turning into ashes.
A judgmental life built
to the apparent lackluster rhyme.

Trembling lips, forced proximity.
Eyes on fire, the vile toxicity.

Trouble.
A simple motto to live by...
Mockery of shared stupidity.
Continually circling
to the timeless tune
of a love struck fool.

A fool, within the rubble.
A fool of love, scavenging for a heart.
A love-sick-fool, standing with empty arms.

Love, it can't be held together with gum found on the bottom of a shoe.
Nor can it survive with lies told by you.

Hey!
You, yes you,
The one looking for love.
Searching, scavenging,
every opening and cavity,
shifting perspectives from high to low.
From sea to sea, coast to coast,
textbooks, blogs, looking for an explanation,
Why have you not found her?
Where could she be?
For you won't find her,
simply because there is no "finding" necessary.
She's been there the whole time.
You think of her as your friend,
but she knows of you as more.
Open your eyes man!
Just look around, stop your despair,
What if she's already there?

The aroma of coconut milk
permeating the frost
of the windshield.

Vague scent of cigarettes and Febreze
in your hair.
Your teeth between my thighs.

Your tongue
circling mine
like two hyenas
scavenging .

You taste like
the tea you drank
half an hour ago.

Neutral
This car has been hit before.

I am frightened by your
automatic seatbelts.

Some days you surface into,
and there's no distracting yourself from
that irrefutable inevitability that
- ultimately -
entropy will win.
No quantity of
authentic artisan coffee or online memes
or juicing can
pull you out of the
black hole gravity
of that one truth.
The evidence is everywhere:
the spiteful confusion of electrical cables
your sleep-stupid fingers
fumble and fail to untangle;
the mold on the bread you
swore would keep a few more days;
the putrid, burst-open remains of
a pink armchair, left to rot in a
stranger's front garden;
the scavenging army of crows that loiters,
waiting for you to die and, in the
meantime, walks ****** little footprints
around your eyes;
the oxidation of
so many dreams.

It's inescapable.
Might as well root for the winner.
Embrace the decay.
Take photographs of
rust, smashed glass, peeling paint, dead flowers.
Learn to love faded colours and the feel
of broken things.
Catalogue your most
interesting scars and mutilations.
And, while you can,
write poetry.

The story takes place on a September day
back in that simplistic time of freshman year,
drenched in the sun and sweat
of late summer in the afternoon,
voices calling and adolescent bodies intermingled,
the stench of hot lunch and ****** conversation.
All of us, stuck and contained
in the most undesirable place to be
on an uncomfortably sunny day.

There were seagulls scavenging
and circling overhead above the Quad,
picking at garbage cast aside, scattered along the floor,
or stranded around nearby trash bins,
as if our school wasn't filthy and ghetto enough.

In a bored state, I sat
and watched them from within the cafeteria
occasionally looking over at Russell, Pokemon cards in his hand,
as he conversed with his nerd friends in nonsensical terms and phrases
and as the tediousness of the situation mounted
my patience did just the opposite
so without a word, I picked up my things
and left.

Now, before this sudden turn of events,
I have to mention
that you and me,
we hadn't spoken to each other in a long time,
not since school began,
which sounds like utter blasphemy to me now,
but this is what I remember
and this is what I realized that day
and if it was otherwise, I don't think
seeing you again would have made my breath
catch in my throat
or my heart palpitate excitedly
to the extent that it did.

Do you remember those benches in the Quad,
encircled by small trees and draped in their shade?
Many times after this very day,
I would stand on the other side by the cafeteria
and find myself gazing across the stretch
at where I knew I would probably find you,
distracted by a desire so tremendous
to be where you were.

Perhaps chance had wanted me to stumble upon the place
or luck found in itself the need to grace me with its presence
enough to allow me
to spot my two friends headed toward those benches
as soon as I walked out of the cafeteria doors.
And so I hurried to them
as relief flooded through my system
because I wouldn't have to endure being with Russell
nor have to walk around for the remainder of lunch
friendless and without a companion;
so thank goodness Russell decided to nerd out that day,
thank goodness I had not developed a love for Pokemon
or had even a vague, minuscule knowledge of its terminology.

As I approached those benches for the first time,
nostalgia filled the atmosphere in waves
and it mingled with the draping heat of summer
so that the result was electrifying.
My eyes glanced over all those I had seen so frequently
during our middle school years
but had not seen as of late,
and then I spotted your curly-haired head
and forgot everything--
all the events that had culminated to that moment--
because suddenly, there you were.

I staggered ahead to greet you,
leaving my friends behind without so much
as a glance.
And then all at once, I was swathed
in your quiet murmurs
and magical blend of words.
Smiles and laughter inflated my lungs and
seeped into my thirsty veins
as I felt time wrap upon itself
so that it became one single, solid, whole piece
and I could not believe that,
for about a month or so,
we had not spoken;
that the profound sinfulness of such a thing
never once crossed my mind.

After the bell rang
and we parted to go our separate ways,
I found I needed to see you again,
I definitely had to see you again
because I had not been touched by words
that warmed and tickled my insides
like those that escaped from your lips
in an incredibly long time,
nor had I felt so fresh, so at ease in anyone's presence
as I did in yours.
You filled me with a gentle, sweeping sense
of happiness and joy
that I came to crave intensely as much as I did your being
which is just a more embellished way of saying
that I realized I loved you that day.

What's one day in the grand scheme?
mistakes branding bland dreams
realities - future and past halves of me
split personalities
splitting these arteries
the artist in me
scavenging what I can
to understand, why smile
wasting time
tasting wine
erasing mind
until basically blind -
OTC's won't assist this OCD
thinking of insanity, no it won't be me
I refuse, to let this fuse
run out of room - I say, Let it burn.


https://soundcloud.com/the_mjv/ogcjm


.

i've been running for months now
searching for what has been missing,
trying to find my way
to a home that does not exist.

i've been crying for months now
searching for another soul,
one as lonely as i
that can understand my pain

i've been scavenging for months now
searching for a way to survive,
selling the old me
in hopes that the new one will thrive

i've been loving you for months now
not that you'll probably ever know,
for your eyes draw me in
and your lips awaken my soul.

It is almost five a.m.
With each thump of the echoing bass,
of the synthetic revenge and heartbreak,
angry percussion wraps me closer than your arms ever could--
tremulous and heavy,
more absolute than the sunset fictions
you contentedly let me cling to.
A venomous chorus drips from my lips,
once-swollen eyes now itchy and dry.

This is the still serenity of the predawn slumber,
the yearning of the yetsummer,
the quiet before the birds begin scavenging
through grass, trash, and recycling.
I protest--
tongue, fingers heels teeth and lungs
restless in spite of themselves.

You have chased me out of bed,
across dew-dampened grass,
over uneven pavement as treacherous as your voice.
You follow me.

Sleep is merely a forlorn memory
peering sadly from a forgotten heap of warm cotton thread,
whimpering futilely against the anxious pulsing
of overworked headphones
and overthought peculiarities.

You introduced me to this time of day.
You summoned it once with impatient chords
and a staccato keystroke melody,
casually ignoring the plaintive honesty
I willingly accompanied you with.

But the sunrise casts a strange glow, I guess--
rosy and well-intentioned,
fickle and fleeting, like your grin
or the capricious depth of the summer sky.

No one remembers that wandering blue
the same color as her eyes;
but it seeps through your pores,
curls into the caverns of your chest,
an aching in azure only because you let it.
You have bathed too long in the sun.
As the scarlet sunrise erupts across your shoulders
the sky settles into your lungs.

But don’t trust that sky,
that constant companion.

That sky is a cannibal
and it will eat you alive.

You are still outside
of the roadside convenience stand
offering apathy
for a price
the tag for clearing bad memories
can be considered expensive
smearing everything in view
the confusion is
narcotic
getting hooked is like fishing down
at the pier
the pier you have thought of
throwing yourself over
time and time again
the clockwork is a revolving temptation
that reminds you
your days are numbered
and you’re not very good at math
so dig the change out of your pockets
scavenging for a fix
throw away the receipt
and pick up your feet because
“I’m giving up” isn’t worth it’s 4 syllables
so sell it
and purchase
“I’m not done yet.”

Under the sun, you shine like the incarnation of youth

At nightfall you glow, like you just made love to the moon
You are elegance, you are patience, you are reflection, you are still

Your beauty shines from your inside out,
Reaching outward upward into the skies,
Your branches know no realm too high,
Your roots know no soils too deep
There are no limits to your courage

Under the sun
Your fruitful seeds spill out over your skin
You are open hands and generosity
You are selflessness

Under the moon
You are wisdom, enlightenment and truth
You are humility and grace

But your sacredness is undervalued at best, neglected and challenged
They raid you, from your insides out
Deep inside your mines and your waters so deep
Scavenging for a dollar
exploiting all they reap
******* the air right out of your lungs
You are exhaustion, you are bare
You are forgotten

Yet still your tides rise and fall with the moon
You are forgiveness, you are hopeful, you are inspiration

In your image I will teach my children to grow
Through your eyes, I will show them the world
With your hands I will build their home

The smell of mint and clorox steaming across the face,
Under the epidermis,
Flying in the room like swarming mad no-see-ums,
Shooting up the nose and around the nasal hairs in blasts.

A distant garble, advantage one.
Pulling from limb and lattice of the mind, scavenging, advantage two.
The prediction and observation, advantage three.
Assertively convinced, advantage four.
Being rooted, advantage five.

The smell of mint and clorox,
So patternless,
So striving and belligerent.

I follow your eyes,

As a traveler follows his compass;

Cruising through the tides

Searching for the enormous.

He began the journey,

Thanks to his wanderlust,

Mine, chanced on being scorny…

I count on being the last!

Twists and turns adorned the track,

I scolded them

As my thoughts went scavenging a snack

Right on the hem.

She boasted her 120kmphs,

I could only smile.

Didn’t she see me at all?

Where I was all this while!

They sprang from both sides,

Adoring her fair

How could she even see through,

The symmetry worth a care!

You caught the wind,

As a kite fluttering, does

Eyes closed, lashes twined,

You smile contagious!

Careless you were,

As I asked for the plan,

Grooving in slow motion,

Ignoring even a sun-tan…

Now I wonder if

The windows are open,

My thoughts are shy, they can’t shout

Wanting to collide with yours out!

You went out,

Telling me to imagine,

Since, my pen’s been my spoon…

Even as I went on to dine.

Someday I will drive,

Or just stare at you, driving,

Unless you have your lovelocks

For your face-hiding!

And sing to each other,

Some songs as rhymes,

Check out on the trees afar

If even a single bird thrives.

Eat terrible food,

Feeling them to be tastier,

Laugh quite like insanes,

Hoping to feel hungrier.

Unending roads with us meeting,

Breaking into a jig

Again and again, as

Mirth and joy go on knitting.

Light or dark,

I really don’t care,

Go out with whosoever,

But won’t you stay true to me, dear?

I attempt to quiet my mind,

Caring not to look behind,

I promise, imaginations won’t be a hype

For, you are the roadtrip of my life…

There Was Always A Fall Feast,
Way Before The Pilgrams Even Came,
Squanto Was A Prisoner,
Taken Over To Europe,
And Worked As A Slave To Spanish Monks,
He Was Captured From His Village,
And Returned There 5 Years Later,
Where His Tribe Had Died From The Disease,
The Europeans Had Brought Over,
The Pilgrims--Savage And Starving,
Were Rading Near By Villages,
Scavenging In The Tribe's Food Storages
Since Squanto Knew How To Speak English,
He Befriended The Pilgrims And Taught Them,
To Fish And Hunt Off The Land,
When The Fall Feast Arrived,
They Did Not Eat Turkey (Yes You Read That Right),
Squanto And Some Other Natives Brought,
Venison, Crab, Lobster, Fish,
And Feasted....
So You Can See--That What We Learned In School,
Is Not True,
It's Just One More Common Misconception,
Just Another Secret,
This Country Has Tried To Mask

All time bird can be crow only ever
Black in colour scavenging all day long
Caring nothing about neatness or anything!

Dogs eat the bones they throw clearing flesh
Efficiently bringing by hovering everywhere!
Full meals or bits of meats they share with all
Going by the policy of united we stand ever!

How healthy and active the crows are ever
I see standing on the balcony of my building!
Jack of all trade these guys do hard work long
Keeping their noise heard all round the place!

Loitering round us they pester us to give food
Many a time when we come out to see the sky!
Nothing we can do but offer some leftover foods
Obviously irritated to avoid their bickerings!

Popular among birds like mynah, sparrow, eagle
Quixotically crows overshadow them by numbers!

Regularly they start their chores like we do
Surprisingly very early in the morning itself!
Tickling nook and corner of all materials all day
United they raid everywhere sans rest ever!

Verily they are indeed hard toiling creatures
Whether it is summer or winter in the whole year!

Xerox copy of black crows reminds of uniform dress
Year after year without change or colour fade ever;
Zealous lot these creatures indeed we have to imbibe!

Packs of men
like hyenas
scavenging the bones
of a long lost cause
poor beautiful girls
hounded by the eyes and tongues
of men, for it's women on their minds.

Going back out,
that's what he fears most.
To resume his last
miserable drunk,
homeless, loveless, broke.
Scratching up money for a fifth
of whatever he's drinking
- ***** when he's semi-flush,
cheap wine when he's not.

Lacking the guile to beg or steal,
he washes dishes in a dive
for a meal and a bottle,
sweeps out bars for drinks,
knowing he can't hold a job
much longer than a day.
Scavenging cigarette butts
from barroom trash cans.
No place to get out of the cold
except for the missions
and flop houses.

And he hates the flop houses
with their toothless managers
spreading their ****-eating grins.
He dreads the city winter
as the cold seeps in and wraps
its tendrils around him,
and he fears seeing one more
sooty gray dawn with grizzled men
like himself mindlessly shuffling,
searching for the next drink.

He fears the back alleys,
fears he's destined
to live in their filth, huddled
in whatever hole or box he can find.
No longer caring for himself,
just craving alcohol.
That insatiable craving.
And it's the grayness he fears,
the empty, pallid expanse
of his remaining years
and losing people who
used to love him.

He's frightened of going out
and not coming back.
And he fears thoughts of suicide.
He has no answers to why he drinks,
why he gives in to the bottle.
His mind cannot or will not grasp
that final thought.
---

Wandering the ridge line
alone on high alert,
I kept my head on a swivel
as I moved down
into the humid-cool-mist
toward high camp.

Boulders strewn about
the size of Volkswagens
littered the landscape
as I walked
cautiously
expecting to see
Teradactyls in flight,
scavenging for their
next meal.

This place was the real deal,
barren, rugged & brutal,
the place where flying dinosaurs
could ruin your day.

It's no wonder most
people never come up here
to play. Alpinists say
they love it that way,
the fewer the better.

But I have my doubts.
I read something somewhere
about being able to outrun
your mates in the event
of an aerial carnivore-attack.
'Cause out here all alone,
I was an easy meal,
a sitting duck,
fodder for those
vicious-creatures.

I was overjoyed
when I saw the yellow speck
of my nylon tent.
I jumped with happiness,
thanked the mountain-gods
for my safe passage,
warm soup & gossamer feathers,
a restive-stronghold from
hungry reptiles!

The clarity rings,
Straight out from your heart.
You know it just,
This is your only calling.
Digging in deep,
Scavenging for the answer.
You lost all hints,
Seeking a treasure unrecoverable.
The roads get erased,
Sand storms final decision.
Random messages,
Sending you into frenzy and confusion.

Desert and mountains merge into brown haze
in my recollection of those days.
The smell of gunpowder or paupers' fires
could ignite a conflagration of memories
if I would not extinguish them
which I do.
But one burns ever clear, even in the fickle fog of memory
—the mongrel and her pups
scrounging for scraps around our camp
and the Afghan village below.
We watched them in their scavenging and their play
until one crystal blue and frigid day
when Randy captured the runt of the bunch
and fed her some of his meager lunch,
and placed her inside his jacket
where she slipped into rabbit chasing sleep
and did not make a peep
until I heard her whimper
as the bullet that sliced through her gut
lodged itself in Randy’s young heart.