Dec 29, 2009

Autumn leaves

Autumn comes with the fall; dropping leaves in a heap on dry turf;
scattering in the wind the residue of summer; the eye
has become dry and its sight is blurred;
we flow from a fount towards a destiny combing
further disarray; our sensibilities unsettled
become alien to our beings.

we stray from a normal course of moving in unison
and stand apart from each other; we communicate
in a different language; we cease to listen to the nuances
of others’ dialect; drift away in mainstream
become strangers to one another;
close bonds give way to clouds of misgivings.

a vast emptiness fills us, filled by a power
or a tsunami blowing towards us
driven to drown us;
we only know that we feel the pain together
in our intense humanity as all around us
fall descends and dry leaves fly randomly.

when a ray of light pierces the skyline
our hearts fill with hope
and pray that the long nightmare be over.

May 14, 2009

A museum of history

I step into a museum, silent as a crypt. Archives of old men speak of glories of their blood and toils till into dust they were interred. Artifacts by great craftsman blare into living legends, men whose blood even now trembles in these veins. Legend slides into eternity, a dazzling star transfixed in orbit breathes again and again.
From the dust of archives I shovel a desire to unearth a silent pit, my roots entangled in its fragile connection. A specter emerges from the mirror of time, looking into its many reflections, like a cloud-burst revealing a rainbow. The images, smudged and opaque, glimmer like light through a blanket of clouds.

I walk away, with my illusions, a curious heart seeks to create and destroy
idols, over and over again.

Globalization

Before globalization.



we nested in our small shells
measuring the world by our size

the orbit of our lives
we viewed through a microscope

our interconnectedness was slim
on a human level

our differences wide open
to a vastness we could not scale

our wholeness was scarred
our life lived only in pieces

we clung to known values
like a drowning man to straw

our lives were often devastated
by a single stroke

of death, or other calamities
on our shrinking thresholds

a life beyond ourselves surpassed us
unable to face a maelstrom

with new resolves
and fresh beginnings.



After globalization


Our global perception
like a vast panorama opened

the luxuriance of life
startled us into awakening

our vision of ourselves
grew like our shadows at midday

the potential of our lives
blossomed like a garden in spring

our universe stretched
we shrank into small atoms

our connectedness gave us power
our separateness anchored on self

nothing mattered too much
nor too little, in a wider meaning

of our collective humanity,
ever gathering stones to construct

our individual foibles
dissolved into a bigger cup

we shed our isolation
to enter a global order.

A Symphony

Composing a symphony of lyrical notes I tap inner voices swirling around in archives of past, present and futuristic notes. An intrinsic force composes tunes creating a finer symphony to the touch of a sensitive nerve and then come into life. In all creations of art, a new life is born from the threshold of a previous one, when a discerning eye whisks everything finesss into a final synthesis; this new form is abstract like thought, with an eternal life; neither touched nor marred by the verbal or physical hand.

The mystic lives on, on waves driven through a metaphysical being; his vanes do not wilt; they bypass time; they are not swayed by a covetous heart that sometimes wills to love and at times to destroy.

When the song lives; he also lives through his song; every time it is played he comes alive filling the moving air swirling into an unseen catalyst.

This force can sometimes change lives forever.

Oceans of silence

The words not yet uttered into speech move between us, trembling like a leaf, touching our lonely shores like sound passing through a empty cave. Deeper than silence, we go, farther away than the beyond. Anchored in the moment of now and present, where only the tangible sits. Love needs no voice to express itself. It is not to be a vassal of euphoria tearing at my heartstrings. It carries its song in the flutter of a bird’s wings; in the rustle of leaves; in the sound of the wind.

In a vast sea of silence a drop of sound falls from a languid moon, hiding between tall trees, whispering to a wave, which further commands many ripples to stir a storm in the ocean. Such sounds can be full of meaning yet having no shape they are not slaves to time neither the ethics of constraint. Sounds have some of the qualities of mysticism, veiled and formless, always on the edge, yet never falling over it. They do not have the impetus to quickly step into other’s spaces and invading them. Seeping, with a gradual ascent, a silent osmosis in a plant, without force, follows one’s own instincts

Freedom

I relish creativity. For this is life and blood to the spirit. As I regard change as the energy to life that keeps waste from gathering. As I am afraid of the conservatism of the old that holds on to decay, and decries the buoyancy of change.

I long to taste the succulent air doused in the morning air. I watch sunlight entering a niche. energizing it with light. I glimpse a bird joyfully flying with lightning speed. I am a harbinger of light, a lamp post shedding light around it. I can be a catalyst for change, twirling the air to move freely in a changing constellation.

I exist for I am free. I survive for I am free. I scale mountains only when I am free.
The womb of nature liberated me at birth.

I am afraid

I am afraid of decay. I fear it more than death for death is only a finality waiting at the terminal. Whereas decay can be lurking around the corner; waiting like an interloper. It can strike anytime, with no respect for time or age. It can cut down youth, slow down growth, make energy, static. All this by word or action or inaction; Silence itself is the worst kind of death, because it prolongs the agony by giving it a tacit approval, leading all to an untimely decay.

I am afraid of the worship of convention in youth. This will shut their minds to the fresh winds of tomorrow. They will be like closed rooms, dark and unventilated. There will be no fragrance here, no quick spark of spontaneity. They will be like old men and women, whose life has bypassed them, and they cannot look beyond, will not hope beyond.

I am afraid of the conservatism of the old that holds on to decay, and decries the buoyancy of youth. They have lived out their lives and need to let go of their progeny. Their palates are dry but their hearts need not be. The dry twig must smell the fragrance in the air, so that it can stay alive. .

I am afraid of the absolute truth to an unchanging, static world.

May 9, 2009

Moments

Sealing moments
in a tiny nutshell
emotively
intensity cascading
like a torrent
treasured moments
classic through the eons

Beauty shimmers
trapped in totality
exquisite in its integration
a single petal in a rose
drops not to decay
precociously!

Time encapsulated
singular photography
irrevocably stilled
mummified,
fossilized,
death wrapped in myths
shuddering
at its fragile existence

Masks

In volumes of masks
her face lies swathed
as she wraps her nudity
hurriedly, in shame,
before it brushes a crimson cheek

Pretenses enliven
her ashen cheeks
like earthworms, a garden
nibbling voraciously
before the fall,

Staging a parody
to mock her viewers,
her expertise soaring
in theatrical tactics
of shallow mimicry,

As the hollowness
of her inner self
she fills with a façade
invincible
amidst a dying applause.

Apr 20, 2009

Creative Moments

Inspirational moments
catching time
through a prism
stilled in eternity
like stuffed birds

Bloody the ink
of flesh the tools
crafting the story
of a soul
searching for its soul-mate
to open the gates
to self-revelation

Tapping all life
humanizing it
immortality
binding the chain
of continuity

A rhythm is sustained
in a different light
in a different tone
yet returning again
to the same song
lifted like a changeling
with an ever-rising resonance

In all the seasons

Soaking into his ambiance
he is drenched
in all kinds of creeds
impinged on his human facade
a fossil
treasured like precious relics
in a museum of art
whose artisans have long been interred
under layers of dust

Through a labyrinth of years
many values do we preserve
solid in their pristine worth
ever sustaining us
like latent desires
even when their intensity
has withered

They keep us going
as we build our lives
around them
weaving them into our beings
like an embroidered fabric
interlaced with glittering stones
into our palpable psyche

Touching the shores of others
like waves of ecstasy
transforming
a restive spirit
softly containing it
that every generation
can integrate itself
through their repetitive song

A fugitive to life.

A ceaseless train of people
mechanically runs, like insects
chasing their goal, always trailing
a path defined by a universal law
in a milieu,
textured by its palpable soul
bowing in submission.

Robots floating in space
like particles of dust
invading the atmosphere,
where a starlit night
sheds but paltry luminosity
into its ambience
yet of its penury, is unabashed.

Creativity a hostage, becomes
to cringing servility
like a mind, trapped
in its mediocrity
dares not venture beyond
its constrained space.

A fugitive on the run
haunted by his illusions
having forsaken the truth
becomes lodged in the web of deceit,
a fragile film
dissolves into nothingness
and forlornly he watches
his ship lying aground.

Survival

In my transient flight
through a space of infinity
I cling with tenacity
to the vast constellation
with the fear of a hunted animal
unceasingly on the run.

A portion of my being
by sheer instinct is steered
through the darkness in the night
Otherwise by other’s decrees
will I be channeled
through troubled waters

A race for survival persists
amidst a cauldron of desires
tossed into it like a burning centrifuge
darker instincts ever surfacing
to overpower the less potent impulses

My strife continues
as myriad forces crash
rushing towards collision
the myths of evil and good persist
serving their ulterior goals
transforming into many shapes
as they lure many hapless men
searching for an anchor

To a Son

May you fly like a falcon
conquering the sky
through an infinite space
where its cry breaks the icy stillness
shattering it into smithereens.

May you be a candle in the wild
lighting many a labyrinth
dispersing dark shadows
flooding luminous beams
into every elusive crevice
that cringes in the night.

May you have the courage to be yourself,
raising the emblem of truth,
to keep going despite yourself,
to challenge the mundane
yet desist from being a rebel
who breeds only sedition.

May you always know yourself,
your every reflex, your every advance,
your very epicenter,
that you can from within, evolve
as all growth on the periphery
has only a short life
taking no roots in the subsoil

Sucking in a harmony
you sooth your internal battles
erasing any self-doubt,
rising as craggy edges
to ruffle a serene mind

May you a mind reason hold
that you might reflect
with a clear mind,
and with wisdom
and decisive mind act.

May you always have a vision in life
your goals be clear
it is the erratic wayfarer
who loses his destination
and in the wilderness is blinded.

Beyond mediocrity you shall rise
and the trodden path
towards a creative evolution
of mind, body and spirit
by decrying myths of the past
those which into vapors have dissolved
and thus returning, haunt us.

May you nurture a basic respect for all,
a compassion for the weak
and empathy for the errant
living always in the mainstream
savoring wholly life’s riches

For here lies the truth of your existence
this alone affirms your dignity
and oneness with life.

Senility

Craters of eyes
in dried sockets
wilting with age
dried parched skin
crumples like paper
a sardonic grin
spills idiocy
gibberish prattle
bursting air bubbles.

All eyes at the terminal
compressed hope
the tarmac is empty, waiting
its frail baggage
weighs scantily
suppressing time
a slippery eel
drastically overturns
unloading itself on the tarmac.

The Woman With The Curly Locks

Saline seawater
fills her eyes, obscure
her body swirls leisurely
fingertips grasping
encircling an alien body
suction by the anopheles
drinking to the last drop
its body swollen
into a misshapen form.

Beauty dissolves
into a flimsy thinness
hostage to age,
merciless time stands tiptoe
whisking away the curtain

From the jaded eyes
the sudden flight of intuition
drops like a mellowed leaf
through unfolding twilight,
flickering intellect
surfaces on wrinkled paper
curled and yellow
crumbling like sawdust.

Her curly locks
loosen into straggly strands
sifted like a dry echo
wrung out of a broken cavern.

To a Daughter

May you grow and develop
to be strong and resilient
like a young bough on a tree
embracing the sky and earth
in the open arms of Olympus
holding the sky

May the sun’s fiery rays
turn you into molten rock
the moonbeams reflect an inner light
and with truth and dignity
your spirit anoint
spiraling your resolve
to strive for the righteous

May dignity polish you
enabling you to hold on to your own
despite the cynicism of others
for that inner strength
a precious resource, intrinsic to yourself,
being the only steadfast anchor of your life
which, if you so forsake
leaves you without a sail and a rudder.

For you shall need others
if only to solicit to them
never to draw from their strength
the leaning ivy falls to the ground
when the sustaining wall
its support withholds.

Your source of strength
will only be, your inner reservoir
of faith in yourself
as you strive for the truth
that validates you,
fortifies you

May you rise above a shallow mind
leaning not on weak crutches
of feigned piety and pretensions
as the anchor of your life
on solid values be shaped
of self-worth, humility and humanity

That will never a hostage be
to the caprice of others
neither to one’s own willful nature
as you will be a harbinger of love
and learn to forgive others
and treat them not as transgressions
against yourself

May your vision always look upward
into distant horizons
seek not false anchors
to support yourself
of culture, race and gender
these only perpetuate themselves
and can barely give you an identity
being more like parasites
sucking your blood
for their own sustenance

Whereas strong relationships
are like building blocks
which need to be nurtured
and tended with care
they will be your emotional strength
in duress and extremity

May you build ties
of love, loyalty, truth and trust
the qualities that sustain you
may you refrain from deceptive liaisons
that only destabilize your life
and that of others dear to you,
therefore select your friends and kindred
with care and caution,
taking time, insight and prudence

May you embrace life
wholly and positively
with love, strength and resilience
giving of yourself with joy
like the birds in the sky

Keeping your feet on the ground
your vision and hearts
uplifted to the heights
forsake idealism in place of realism
for these build only a flimsy euphoria
that is easily dissolved

Do not create idols to worship
for they shape fixations
that might well be false
do not give undue power to others
for they will use it as a weapon
to abuse you with
undermining your self-esteem

Emulate good values and ethics
for they are a personification
of the Spiritual Being,
do not emulate people
or blindly follow the cleric
for he will suck you into his vortex
denying you the freedom
to fly towards the Spiritual Being

And with a torch in your hand
search for the truth yourself
for only the light within you
can illumine your path
and be your guide

Travel in the light,
and shun the darkness
but like the glowworm
create your own light
and be not the moth
that seeks the light of others
and is thus consumed

Let life be for you
a threshold of promise
upon which you embark
and then embrace the world
in all the colors of the rainbow
whilst you stand in the light and the shade

Tribute To a Child

Time beating like a drum
nascent spaces unfold
we hold a bond
in the flight of years
burgeons like a seed,
like a elastic string
with every pull
stretches more resilient

Enveloped in intimacy
a pride of possessing
and being possessed
a blood-line, integral
to oneself
fierce loyalties ache
ecstasy pulses in gushing rivulets

Words are inessential here
measure no less
a mercury of emotion
for the passive heart
spills not less blood
than a heart pounding

A tie of intensity
connects me to this new life
an extension of myself
its coming into being, depends
on its being separated.

Truth

Cutting granite
with the scalpel
of the sculptor,
shedding the husk
from the grain
making it edible.

Shredding a concept
fostered in a shoot
piecemeal by piecemeal
sieving from clichés
sifting, from a partisan twist

Flesh will writhe
exposed to chilled icicles,
unflinchingly baring itself
to die-hard principles
fertilized in a lifetime

A warrior on a battlefield
flashing his bayonet,
unfalteringly,
cutting sacred beliefs
into shredded deceit
unfolding many layers
with his bold adventures.

Ah Woman!

Covetous woman
stifled on a warm hearth
alerts to an interloper’s stride
bracing herself for the assault

Stirring passions
of envy
swiftly subdued
repressed
pretense in flames
like crushed flowers
charred in spring

A solitary reaper
harvesting weeds
growing luxuriantly
persevering
despite herself

Unrequited love
flashes like a blade
thrust into her bosom
the rapier swings nimbly
cutting the air
like mercurial wit

The viper strikes
filling its venom
nemesis unwinds
dissipating in the air
condensing like droplets

Women In Shadows

Shadowy images
waiting in twilight
clinging to the night
bodies in a shroud
sniffing wintry storms

Women awaiting
the hangman’s blow
the soldier’s return
the hoarse laughter
empty eyes waiting
rinsed of tears
wrung of any fulfillment

Wasted years
festering
cringing
waiting
till the flood waters
overwhelm

Imagery

Conceptualizing
from shadowy images
like a programmer
crafting concepts
slowly tightening
curbing extravagance

Like a coral reef
ideas drift in midstream
until, assembling together,
crystallize
into a tangible belief

Fractured images
deconstructing,
tossed wildly
in tumultuous storms
until maturing
like ripened plums
into seasoned beliefs.

Delusions

Sliced like a moon
dilating
shrinking
euphoria tumbling
into iron cast images

Sifting sawdust
from granite
sieving realism
from fantasy
husking raw hides
from punctured skin.

Tip of the iceberg
corrosively surfaces
potently subtle
centuries of silence
frozen and fossilized
decline to liquefy

Idealism

Juvenile, rampant strides
crisp like daylight ambiance
clasping a covenant
woven into the seams
of his adolescence,
overblown with passion

Spinning, churning
into its orbit
a flying bird
swiftly swoops down
to catch a prey

Sucking in
like a sponge,
the truth flashes
like lightning
shattering a murky horizon

Deathly silence
subdues
a faltering lull
before peace descends
a shower of rainfall
washes a smudged landscape

The Suppressed

Living in cloisters
under a shroud
amidst a hushed silence
claustrophobia
clinched in somber discipline,

Individual choices
endure denial,
conformity, the single norm
from which, none can stray,
lest to sin, become an ally,

Personal liberty, lies squashed
like a colony of ants
trampled underfoot,
partial paralysis
of abilities, ebbing,
draining.

Desires bubble
stirring rebellion
cascading currents
threaten to destabilize
the equilibrium
of his staggering sanity.

Tightrope

Comedian walking a tightrope
wavering
upon the wings
of capricious faith,
titillating with a thrill.

Pendulum ticking,
monotony of a clock
in his inner space, clicking,
balancing himself, tensely
to the decisive hours,
shaping or breaking him.

Crossing the bridges
measuring his stride
the wayward stumbling
the ongoing pursuit
falls into place, together.

The road map uncharted
like oceanic currents
whimsical and dark
yet in them, continuity
overshadows, all else.

Now the will to persevere
rises like an oceanic rock
in the hostile waters
where his final challenge ascends
awaiting its trial.

Heritage

In the shadowy alcoves of an age
withering into the crypt of time
crouch muffled specters
murmuring a fable
contrived in myriad forms
of ethereal sprites
in shimmering gossamer,
gory dragons roaring
with their blades now sheathed
in the awe of current time.

The coffers of heritage
bear testimony, crystal clear
to legacies bequeathed
of men burning the midnight oil
whose blood was shed on epic slabs
soaked dry
in time’s fading drought.

Surfing the leaves of history
sifting the dry parchment, beholds
between the icon and its shadow
an indictment slumbering
muted like the crushed dream
of a dumb child,
in retrospect swells
a portfolio of history
begotten from the past
with its remnants invading
existing time.

A heritage blows a trumpet
to the players of the past
endorsing their existence
on the pillars of time
as we the contemporary players
step into their footsteps
with a heart anchored in hope.

Frozen Sensibilities

Dusty urchins on roadsides, breed
like a horde of flies
on garbage heaps does feed
their greedy tongues will sluice
all the residue which is strewn, tightly matted
like runaway leaves, together netted

Ragged boys, grimy fingers etch
into begging bowls, hollow
like slimy ditches
vicious like the gallows
moaning a sentence
of death, beating a semblance

To a bottomless penury
sucking the dregs
of a life condemned to drudgery
living on the edge
of a precipice
sliding into alleys, perilous.

Self-worth is crushed
in a stampede, erased
love and nurturing lose their impetus
hope is besieged
where the road is forlorn
and to nowhere does he belong.

The spectators hang sparsely
with a desultory posture
blunted by the monotony
of the players’ dreary overtures
hosting zombies insensate
to all the voices, pitched and desolate.

Fragments

Fragmented people
lapsing into silences
splitting into fissures
of bareness,
loneliness seeping in
like a filler
into gaping culverts.

Disoriented
like entwined threads,
disintegrating
like tattered strands
putrefying
into remorseless desires
when decay settles.

Prudent harvesting
swift sifting
could alone avert
the felony of the sword
poised to strike the lethal blow.

Lazy Days Of Summer

Sizzling summer days
slipping into a lull,
a silence hissing
over silent urban niches
rustling quiet groves
tongue-tied with inertia
drenched in dripping dew.

Children at play
enthused by a calm
sliding like a shady mantle
encircling twilight:
like two lovers embracing
on a tranquil evening
soothing passions
slowly ebbing, when the tide turns.

Inertia seeps into weary limbs
as the sun’s rays pierce
into an intrinsic somnolence
unwinding like steam, surging
lapping a delicious ennui
into an absolute self-immersion.

Drifting into languor
like a sluggish eel
the body succumbing
to a sinking drowsiness
yielding to its masseur
his soul refreshed
by the early breeze.

Blanketing all the turmoil
of hectic rituals, buried in
a monotonous drone
of humming bees
restive like the passions
that us daily douse.

Spring

Crimson tinted roses, blush
to a burgeoning spring
swept away with ecstasy
by a cavorting wind
storming like flamingos
into a steady congregation.

A tranquil ambience swells
over a sunken vale
sucking in all the harmony
of color, form and tone
flooding an entire turf
wrenching from it a pensive mood
like an owl lost in reflection.

The sunlight gushing
through a prism
distils all life
filling it with multicolored rays
pouring into the horn of plenty
nourishing man and nature
from clinging stem cells
dug from the same root.

The skyline stretches uniformly
as the crow flies
from its nest
like an arrow from its shaft
cutting with ingenuity
many dimensions
that strata by strata
unfold layered horizons.

A Street Called Desire

In a street called desire:
butterflies cluster, flapping
like frenzied bats
surfing pretty combs
of flora, jostling the air
like hustlers
with the tenacity
of predators tasting blood.

In a street called desire:
gliding passions an impetus
race, like itinerant birds,
sizzling aspirations
take wings to fly
like breathless time
death’s sudden stride overwhelms

In a street called desire:
fear like a vulture, overhead, hovers
cruising time and precision
daring the final plunge
as it wolfs
to a grinding satiation.

In a street called desire:
drunken men bellow
like primitive beasts
mocked by a disdainful Circe
scornful of their greed
threatening to consume.

In a street called desire
ennui is eroded
like a abrasive stone
polished by the wind
an impetus is on the rampage
like a drunken sluggard
whose gluttony
never is subdued

fanning the flames
of desire, long drawn out
like a smoky chimney

Weaving a Thread

A seamstress
weaving intrusive threads
into singular seams
tucks in chaos
where sparks fly at random
creating planetary mayhem.

Breathing life
into its natal form
creating many a catalyst
mounted on a high-pitched steed
spurring innovation
convulsing into a birth
grasping an identity
that charismatic molds
a pristine shape.

Creative budding
endures collision
scathing assaults
till finally transcending all
settles down
on its own terms
and at harmony with all.

Cobwebs In Space.

Spiders spinning webs
into old and derelict corners
into tempting skylines
ensnaring bygones, slithering
into the cemetery of time.

Overhanging cobwebs
tantalizing in space
images playing havoc
with an imaginative mind
fantasy diving into archives
of folklore and myth.

Lurking behind every cobweb
a liaison with deceit
luring the past
into the lair of contemporary time
with a new-fangled façade
tallying with the colloquial.

A legacy ground in genealogy
refreshes itself through time
in traditions and mores
and sacrosanct beliefs
like the monuments of the kings
will a charade perform
of the splendor of the pyramids
within whose eternity is interred
all that is hollow and ephemeral.

Soliloquy II

As my fingers flip
the musty cracked pages
of a memoirs, through
whose archives many an apparition
floats and dances, staging
a parody, of events indistinct
like a cloudy night
mellowed by the nimble step
of time, of ghosts cackling
which so hoodwinking me
by their eerie misdemeanors
menacing are, being
my stalwart mentors
overshadowing all my deeds
clenching a power
to either eclipse my life
or ignite it like a flame

A wind eternally blowing
does my body transform
when piercing like an icy wind
into every shadowy niche
chilling it frozen,
when changing its form
into a cozy wind
thaws the mind into motion
spurring a change

A million queries
the air does sunder
wrapped in a space
enclosed in my birth and death
many aging myths
shall unfold, like the night
breaking into daylight
stale concepts, breached
through gaping culverts
the night cleansing the air
as I brush away the ash
from soiled hands.

Overwhelmed by catalysts
my body bends and sways
like a willow tree
yielding and defying
like a wavering pendulum
I must surface again
certifying my existence
intertwining mine chain
when its latent strength
will it cement.

Gathering the tools
like an artisan
grinding at his craft
I build castles
like children playing in the sand
till I finally consolidate
from the humus
of my fallible being.

Soliloquy

Thrust into my encircled orb
a temporal being, do I
endure the test of time
like a catalyst
spurred like a trigger missile
thrown in the air
through an uncalculating space
like a spindle spinning
whirling with an ecstatic trance
befuddled, like a juvenile roped in
restless like childlike aspirations
floating, air-borne, through limitless space
wrung from impulsive hearts
palpitating with valor
that burns to unseat mountains
binding to form a ring
to resolve many a rigmarole
in which I lie enmeshed
strangled by my own naiveté.

Oh! Stay, the lashing of the storm
that beats with caprice
against my fledgling heart
like the hissing of the wind
tears down the shutters
veiling the casement
coming to rest in catchments
where it ponders.

After having reaped
a profusion of many gains
I do comprehend their import
from them weaving many a fabric
of richness and gloss
whose threads breathing secrecy
interweave in silence.

Yet in the heart’s center
stirs a child, sprightly
throbbing with a vitality
that the flight of years
has not halted,
even though the flame of idealism
has been burnt out
usurped by a cynical slant
that will not be distracted
by waves beating with a treacherous
intent, foaming
cutting a caper
luring a circumspect moon
on its nightly vigil.

Through the overhung canopy
do I sieve my existence, whole,
assembling it with care and love
delivering it to my pedigree
that I may not a wastrel be
and scatter into dust
the precious spoils of my life
for in this transmission
do I fasten my bond with humanity.

Cutting Many Layers

Slicing a precious gemstone
in its infinitesimal layers
placed in subtle sheets
myriad dimensions unfolding
its charisma and personality
unfurling like a winged bird .
into subterranean depths

Many moments spent
flaking layers and layers
of pulsing elements
defining every fragment
in a unique individual form
sucking life from a vast reservoir
fathomless,
moored in a mystic bay

A lifetime ensues
in ceaseless toil to unfold
our infinite dimensions
scaling vast thresholds of discovery
to a vision beyond ourselves
as we encounter new worlds.

Evolving within ourselves
as we sift from the mundane
dedicated to a pledge
from where we our elements urge
to resolve the enigma of life
set beneath many stratum of the earth.
in a deep, resonating silence.