Certainly our city with its byres of poverty down to
The river's edge, its cathedral, its engines, its dogs;
Here is the cosmopolitan cooking
And the light alloys and the glass.

Built by the conscience-stricken, the weapon-making,
By us. Wild rumours woo and terrify the crowd,
Woo us. Betrayers thunder at, blackmail
Us. But where now are They.

Who without reproaches showed us what our vanity
has chosen,
Who pursued understanding with patience like a ***,
had unlearnt
Our hatred and towards the really better
World had turned their face?

Who knows? The peaked and violent faces are exalted,
The feverish prejudiced lives do not care, and lost
Their voice in the flutter of bunting, the glittering
Brass of our great retreat,

And the malice of death. For the wicked card is dealt and
The sinister tall-hatted botanist stoops at the spring
With his insignificant phial and looses
The plague on the ignorant town.

Under their shadows the pitiful subalterns are sleeping;
The moon is usual; the necessary lovers touch;
The river is alone and the trampled flower;
And through years of absolute cold

The planets rush towards Lyra in a lion's charge. Can
Hate so securely bind? Are they dead here? Yes.
And the wish to wound has the power. And tomorrow
Comes. It's a world. It's a way.

bang against
the glass and break,
sun against skin
porous thin,
window pane.
we begin the same
no name, no shackled
weight, no net we
seek to escape,
each word yet
unlearnt hangs
unheard
in some unknown
air, waiting to be
plucked fresh
from the vine
imbibed like wine,
into a part of
the heart that learns
the word 'pain'
too often to remain
the same.

Admonished to partake,
This world I forsake,
And chirp over their cries,
For it's befit to realise,
Everything is bound to cease,
For none is there a release,
Dogma prevails over a soil to which tomorrow has no avail,
magnanimity subdued,
For our ******* ways has us all induced,
The way of life we have confused,
Authority is misused,
Enchant Misdemeanor craze,
Endeavour to earn,
Alas,
A salvation remains unlearnt,
Sea of hypocrisy and blood left awake,
A whim has lead me askew,
To simmer no hope,
To wilt In no lies,
To not be loved to conjure in a hearty demise,
"The earth is a blemished mess",
The sun sings to the skies,
Stuck in repentance the stars nod,
Bitterness espouses,
As i unearth in my creed,
A fabulous truth,
To which man pays no heed.

fall down in new town
and break down while unbound
laughing while melting
and smiling making no sound
finding things hidden
and riding things unridden
while taken long lost unbidden
but leftovers are long given
from raiders undriven
and nonlooking foes unsmitten
burning the smithies
with weeds so pity
the trade and grade
of long lost givings
and unlearnt ideas
melting down in the smithing
because clothes so ripping
cause morality dipping
and effort slipping
and real gifts ungifting

Seasons go and seasons come
Daily we seek dawn of victory
Like we did the day before
Out again, lust for glory
Like the people long before us
Our destination remains cloudy
But as they did deep in the storm
We push with brute and paddle on wildly
Hot days and cold nights
Vain expectations,self inflicted pains
Lamps burnout,we wallow in the dark
Seeing nothing but memories of the past
Like shadows cast,our progress relapse  
New dawn and our eyes are clear
Partially,again, we retrace our steps
Away as earlier on a new route
On course for old lessons unlearnt.

I am death
I am breath
I am the everless
that sweeps the hollows of whats unkept
devouring and burnt
broken and unlearnt
turn the page
turn over and sink
and drink heavily
into your sleep
I awake large and deep

A child assumed adults' superiority.
Hero worshipped older members of his family.
Absorbed opinions overheard over pints.
Tried them on for size at school,
As he did an Uncle's cool leather jacket
- comforting, macho and confidence-giving -
But he outgrew the jacket,
Cast aside those learnt opinions,
Tough, stubborn opinions
With rugged exteriors
Lined with seductive silken narratives
That, thankfully, perished over time.

Root of all evil, starring lito rodriquez, on the marquee,
too quick to see--
ah, ai knows, lito is
the latino, a, non procreatorrerior-ole'
in sense 8,
the series
sense seven is this one
you sense something has not yet
sequentially
been true, but ever
was so now has come, and the trick
is knowing when
the game ends,
and
life in the realm of reasons to be
that have remained reasons to try
to be, succeed the wish
to itch, as you can imagine, a
hair shirt sin-def fed acolytes, c
students of lessoning the unlearnt…
the itch that is successfully scratched
static elect, yes amber shades of evening,
yellow lensing, shooter lense, see the point
focus, mortal mind best self,
taking matters in mind and making
mothers of others that wish, hope pray
ah, ai knows, lito is/
no spoilers/
only notice-t by the sorted few
who watch matrix four during its elite
HBOMAX thirty-one day, hook
to the reason for the season,
leveling, all creed need
to see the his, of the season for the eternal
effectuality of constant
entertainment, when other times

we gathered around fires, and told tales
we gathered on the way home.

Having unlearnt compromise, she is released from the burden of consideration of sin. The veil has been lifted and she now holds the gentle, irresistible charm of an enchantress. Stretch marks decorating her thighs, the personal marks her body carries represent stories that she will never tell, a symbol of the binding of her body and soul. A deep beauty of which will remain faithful to her over time; she is evergreen.

The book of yore
is shut
and lessons unlearnt.

A storm blows the pages
wide open
and the forgotten chapters
come haunting.

A Letter To My Younger Self

Today is a present
Yesterday is past
But tomorrow is a gift
I wish I still had yesterday
Now, I wallow in regrets

I wish made more mistakes
Learnt new lessons
Took more risks
Dated more girls
I wished interacted more

As I ponder over yesterday
I wished I read more books
Rich Dad Poor Dad
The Richest Man In Babylon
48 Laws Of Power
The the Holy Books More

My greatest regrets
Lays in the dreams unfulfilled
Trips not taken
Skills unlearnt
Studying a course I don't need
Allowing people control my life

If you could write a letter
To your younger self
What would yours be?
Is it filled with "Had I known?"
Or sweet loving memories
Did you just smile...?

When I was a kid
I dreamt on becoming
The trees stood as witnesses
The pigeon gave dotted white nails
A seal of assurance of tomorrow
A tomorrow, now yesterday

I wish I trusted my instincts
Learnt how to cook
Travelled around the world
Sang more country songs
Even if it isn't as common anylonger
I wished I kept my virginity

This is a letter to my younger self
Now, I am left with memories
Can I take back yesterday?
I wished I listened to my parents
I wished I got married earlier
I wished I never was a hermit

As I walk through memories
My course is set
My boat sailed yesterday
Armed with hope and faith
I believe, therefore I will
Afterall, tomorrow is a gift

When the boy tells me I'm different
I think it's meant to be a compliment
Meant to make me blush,
Like the shade of lipstick my new club-toilet-friend has handed to me

She is girlhood
and if I'm not like her
Then I still haven't unlearnt enough;
Still the magician's beautiful assistant

The other girls
are all I am
and the girls I love
My scary girls, loud girls, smart girls, shy girls

Hairbands on our wrists
Not afraid to cry
We drink our rosé with lemonade
And re-watch that one movie for the hundredth time

When he tells me I'm not like other girls
I want to cry out
Why?

Why are we not protected, by the ones that are connected.
Why do we suffer from generational karma, which takes a long time to discover.
Once we get there we try to repair, the wounds of our mother.
Why do we reincarnate to have that fate to partake, for this unlearnt mistake.
How many lives needs to be sacrificed, until we've paid the price, for our bloodlines fights.
Why aren't we told, so we can behold, the truths to be foretold.
To release this curse, that puts our lives in reverse.