Whisper

Do you hear that trickle trickle?

Trickle? Fickle – Sickled heat?

Bound in colors, hear them speak.

Empty and full are now the same.



Do you feel that bending shiver?

Swiveling up your shivering spine?

Like melted slivers, dew and wine,

In you they are my claim to fame.



Are you aware of the pass through you?

Yes you are, just haven’t realized what it means,

Just a feel that you glean,

As your name is caressed, again and again.



Want to breathe again?

Just hear those words and let them through,

Words truly known by but a few,

That bitter dark chocolate, so out of the blue.

Those merry little secrets from me to you.

Exalt, Mine.

My hands are on you,
with every finger stroke,
I harbour only my most extreme -
for you to soak.

I wish to purge myself of you,
if it may only be,
for the unrestrained pleasure,
of seeing you outside me.

You are a frozen portrait of myself,
a momented sliver, if I may say,
and you're mine now, mine to last,
mine in every way.

You cannot feel yet, so I feel for you,
feel your contours, reflections and feel,
immerse myself in the near future,
of what you are to be.

My hands tremble as I release you,
as I hope to see truth shine,
before I give you your completion,
you unshackled part of mine.


Oh! - you - Mine!
Capsuled breath of life -
I release you!
so exalt in newfound existence!
Oh! - you - Mine!

Dedicated to the release any creator of anything gets right before he knows he's reached completion.

Riders of the Dawn - Spirits (and Spirit's, and Spirits') Call

A candle is sparked in the dark,

Twin flames light up your eyes,

A surge of moralled power flows,

From flames of the deepest, sacred crevice.

For a moment, I ask you to put aside,

The daily vexes that break your stride,

To seep to the deepest oaths you’ve sworn –

And know –

This flame a’burn is our own.

I am your spirit,

The very heart of your unexplained,

Your fundamental desire to live,

Your endeavor, will and pain.

I tug at you from your inside,

I sparkle and crackle against inbuilt bonds,

I beg you to spread and to ignite,

In the truest form of your scarlet might.

I am your spirit, and I clarion this call,

At your horizon – a beacon of dawn.

Your dawn – ride to it now,

Hesitate not, the time is now!

I hold a candle to your eyes,

What do you see?

Open your eyes, self, and see your flame,

In me and you that are just the same,

Burning us to know and to believe,

That we shall forge our willed without reprieve.

Self, I ask you to realize and merge.

I hold a candle to my face,

I admire the fire in my eyes,

Embronzed, I ride to set alight,

Towards my dawn – to end the night.

Timelines

Feel the glitter of stars upon your faces -
the sheen of timelines of distant races,
singing a tune cast in light,
millenia past when it does come in sight.

We are unknowingly swathed in their lore and legend,
bathed in their timelines' flow,
but need a sixth sense, an antenna maybe,
to decipher their crypt, decode their glow.

These races may now be extinct,
expired physically in their own space,
but their previous existence is cast upon us, in light,
though in time 'tis out of phase.

Maybe Mr. XYZ of far away,
looks through his scope and sees,
our own light, our own past,
of dinosaurs and now ancient trees?

O' Light - you giver of sight,
you've set our clocks to differ by such,
that you've partially blinded us in our sight's imperfection,
made our present and their past touch.

Maybe we shall conquer you one day,
and observe our done from far away,
maybe one day we shall truly see,
and unlock our timelines' mysteries?

To Mr. XYZ of far away, I say hi.

The placement of a show

The lights blare, colours sing, sounds flash in my head,
as I make my way to a prime time show.

I am in the theatre, as the audience.

My ticket is a receptive mind,
which is my brain and heart combined.

I see the thought forms of others,
whirling across the stage,
see is a misnomer - I experience them
and enjoy myself,
as they stare at me from the dias.

I am in the theatre, as the showman.

My backstage pass is an expressive mind,
which is my brain and heart combined.

I send my own thought forms,
flying across the stage,
jingled, encoded in my energy waves.
I know not whether I assault or please - but am simply at ease,
my work as a showman done.

I think at times, though,
I am both audience and artist -
in the same show
as I display and receive within myself, critique myself,
I realise, so many times, that I am my theatre.

Satiation

Satiation

I want to freeze a moment,
not go back and change it,
just freeze it,
and satiate myself.

Moments happy, sad, good and bad,
I'm not asking for one alone,
I'm asking for them all, as may come,
only to realise them, as my own.

I wish to fully claim my parallel emotions,
fully take in these works of art,
drink deeply from this cup of occurrence,
to the bigger cipher to add a part.

Each 'pal' is unique in itself,
one of God's combinations of synthesis,
I want to recall perfectly, realize completely,
the treasure trove that each moment is.

I want to feel a moment,
not go back and change it,
just feel it,
and satiate myself.

The Monk, the Archer and My Sedative...

The monk perches upon cold stone,
basking in sunlight and dew,
meditating upon nothing alone,
no thought does he pursue.

The archer stands in the field, upright,
his only target set in sight,
he draws, his muscles tense,
without a whimper, without pretense.

I am not so fortunate.

I stand between one and none,
my thoughts web about, oft undone,
by forays to frequent, clarity too rare,
so much to grab, so little to spare!

Ah yes, clarity.
'Tis what I meant to speak about.

Clarity for me is an elusive fix,
is often lost amidst the mix,
with my targets to hit, aims to fulfill,
"What am I to do?", I wonder still.

To know one has a hundred preys,
behind one's back, ahead in the day,
clarity promises a lot when it does strike,
to reveal but explain, be both heavy and light.

Realization arrives as a packaged gift,
filling the holes, bridging the drift,
bringing the greatest outlook of all -

I haven't done it yet,
but at least I have,
a problem to solve.

Two kinds of pain...

There are two kinds of pain,

The first kind of pain,
is felt,

when a dear one is lost,
giving us despair and sorrow.

When an error proves its cost,
clouding hopes of tomorrow.

when bruised by an adversary's strike,
one slips, its gone - the will to fight.


The second kind of pain,
is felt,

when dear ones are lost,
but you know in peace they rest.

when mistakes prove their costs,
but only the learning do you attest.

When you reel from a blow, but somehow know,
you have it in you to go on.

When your muscles ache, from welcome strain,
spurred on from dusk to dawn.

When in your finest hour,
involved, intoxicated in your fight,
you know

victory, if not in hand,
will always be in sight.