A Human Love Story

Amongst the golden Marigold plants,
the leaves are green and thin.

The bees buzz about making
nectar of life.

If upon the rocky earth
crashes a sea of salt;
would you call that love?

Gentle emotion,
softened vision,
heartfelt utterances.

Upon the sandy desert,
a lonely image
of a lonely man
walking,
thirsting,
is met
by an angel.

She granted him one wish.
He wished for
the perfect love.

It was granted.

A man stood before him.
He was beautiful and rugged.
he looked at him with kind
and beautiful eyes.


Flowers did not bloom in the desert,
nor did it rain.
But his heart was filled with fluttering butterflies.


Upon a distant land stood a girl at her balcony.
she whistled to a darling thrush,
and he whistled back.
For a long time she sang and
so did he,
so it turned out that he was
an angelic mystery,
whistling out to her like that..

He gave her one wish.
She said,
"I want the perfect lover,"
and so she did get him.

The man from the desert
was transported
to the distant land
and in his arms
lay the most simple of
girls.
She had simple eyes with
warm expectation.
And they shone in the light.

His heart full of butterflies,
was shot in the light.
He called in to the angel and
claimed a crime committed against him.

"I want the perfect love," spoke he.
"Ah," sighed the angle. "do not condemn me this way.
I did what was best in my power.
You wished for the perfect love
and in your arms it is;

But you spoke not of the perfect lover
that fits you, so you cry that
my way of granting is
incorrect."

The man, to the sand, sank
and cried tears.
Of joy for the wish
and sorrow for the same.



Of all the virtues that humans are blessed with
the greatest of them is
to grow with time;
the lone vice being
to forgive and forget
is quite beyond him.

The maiden,
was swept away by the man;
her joy was like a sea she'd seen,
constantly growing and rippling.
She was glowing and glittering
as she gave him company,
walking along the trails
of the moving dunes.

The sun was about to set,
and man and woman sat down to a meal.
Man shared his bread
and woman shared her water.
To the setting sun they bid good day.
In each others company,
man noticed how lonely he had been.
And woman noticed how empty her life had been.

Words and phrases between them
were lighting up the night sky.
Often time they both felt like sleeping,
but kept awake
for they wanted to keep
each other
Company.

Of companionship born out of love,
humans find joy;
and of love born out of companionship:
is pure sublime bliss.

Man began now to understand the judgment
and the granting the angel exercised;
and came a full circle.

To a love that was born under the stars
and in the sands of time;
he prayed to God
a prayer of thanks.

Granting his wish in a way he
grew to understand
and giving him a chance at
renewed life
in a way he came to love.

In his arms lay his love-child.
She was beautiful,
like a jewel that sparkled
and glowed with energy and
joy.



In each man is woman
and each woman a man.
Coming to love that person,
is the best, sweetest love story
of all.
To the man or woman on the outside
becomes one with the inside,
does then one understand;
to love we all pray it be granted to us,
and hold in our hearts a memory;

Won't we really cherish it if we really found a love like that?

A night of tears
and a dawn of peace.
Someone gave me the grip
on the reigns
of my life back.


Feels like I could dive back
into the everyday grind
and survive a little longer.

New Lease of Life

For a burden I'd carried for so long,
it's a relief.

I feel I've broken free of
iron chains
that clipped and bound my wings.


I'm so free and light!
I am fresh at dawn.
Awake before dawn and
ready to take on the world
by its horns.

Breathing wave after wave of
lungs full of pure air,
I'm feeling as bright as the sun-
Even brighter!


To speak the truth,
I had no idea it was so
liberating.
I am proud of who I am an what I did.

No need to hide,
only need to shine.
To be the person I am,
to live a truth
quite divine.

Starry eyed,
sparkling.
Feeling grand like the Ganges!

LET ME STAY WITH YOU
AND WHISPER TO YOU SOFTLY
SECRETS OF THE UNIVERSE
AND THE MAGIC FROM
ANOTHER WORLD...

LET'S MAKE US BELONG
TO A PLACE
SO FAR
THAT WE CAN NEVER RETURN

MAKE A HEAVEN FAR AWAY
FROM HOME
WHERE EVERYTHING IS TRUTH.

DARKER MOMENTS ON A RAINY DAY
WILL MAKE WAY FOR SOMBER NIGHT
OF SWEET HEAT
AND THE SILENT PAPER FLOWERS
IN FIELDS OF THOUSANDS
WILL BEGIN TO SPEAK.

FOR ALL THE WALLS WE BUILD,
CREEPERS FIND THE CRACKS
AND DIG IN DEEP
WIDEN THE CRACKS
AND
MAKE US CRUMBLE...

TUMBLING DOWN THE HILL-SIDE
SHORT GASPS
AS THE ROCKS HIT DEEP BROWN
EARTH,
THEY ROLL AROUND THE MOUNTAIN
CHECKING ITS GIRTH.

IN MOMENTS OF SUNSHINE,
THE SEA MAKES SALT,
IN THE GLIMMER OF TWILIGHT,
IT ECHOES HOWLS FROM ABOVE.
LIKE LITTLE BIRDS BY THE MILLIONS CAUGHT
IN A FISHERMAN'S NET
HOME TO BE BROUGHT.

HEAR THE RINGING IN MY EARS
AS YOU CLAMP THEM WITH YOUR HANDS.
FOR MISTAKING MY TEARS TO BE TEARS
OF PAIN,
AND MY VOICE TO BE CALLING FOR HELP.

SEEKING IN ME THINGS THAT DON'T BELONG,
IS IT NOT A CRIME?
TO MAKE THE CLOSEST OF FEELINGS THE
FURTHEST OF REALITIES,
A SIN GREATER THAN MURDER-
TO DENY TRUTH, MAKES THE THE LIE
FALL ON IT'S FACE.
AND GROW CLAWS
TO REAP YOU OF YOUR SENSES.

UPON THE DISTANT HILL-SIDE
WHEN I'D CALLED YOUR NAME,
THE WIND WAS SLOW,
MY VOICE IT DID NOT CARRY.
THE CLOTH OF MY SKIRT IT SHOOK,
GENTLY,
YET LEFT MY THOUGHTS INSIDE ME.


AS THE STORM OF FEARS COMES,
I WILL STAND UPON THE SAME HILL,
THE WIND WILL CARRY MY VOICE
AND DISPERSE.
AND PERHAPS, TWIST.

THE GREATEST OF THOUGHTS CAN BE MISUNDERSTOOD.

UPON PLUTO'S CROWN, WAS A JEWEL SO BRIGHT,
COULD LIGHT A PERFECT SEA WITH SHIMMER
OF GOLD.
LYING DEEP IN THE GOLDEN BODY,
PLUTO'S HEART LAY INSIDE ROCK
FROZEN.


LACHRYMOSE,
HER LIPS DYED WITH BLOOD OF THE DEAD,
HAS SHE FEELING? HAS SHE ANY GOOD DONE?

WHAT SEEMS RIGHT MAY NOT ALWAYS BE GOOD,
FOR WHO WILL DO THE WORKS THAT NEED DID
YET FEW VENTURE?

I LAY BENEATH A SECRET SUN,
IN MY HEART THE SAPLING
MAY BLOOM.

AND THE DAY IT DOES,
A SEA OF THOUSANDS
OF FLIMSY PAPER FLOWERS
WILL WEEP.

SAY SO MUCH- before the block burst.

I want to say so much.

Yet every time I see you,
I can never get the words to
blossom on my lips.


I take a deep breath as I take the stairs.
Climbing has been difficult,
but I realize each time,
descending the stairs is so much more
harder to control?

The air rushes past me in a
strong breeze.

Streching my muscles I can go further away from
so many things, but it brings me to places
that are closer to my heart.
Perhaps I may be going to places
that I would want to write songs about,
but I can't tell the difference between
dark and light.
I can feel the wind, but I am blind.


I can feel the pain.
Of a long sob rising up in my lungs like a jelly-fish
globular at the top and
tails below...
stings that leave burning sensations along my windpipe.

Did I find a rake to rake the dark thoughts out? no.
I froze it with icecream.

When a strong shot of inspiration
strikes your heart,
You can't even breathe.
The wind is knocked out,
your brain freezes and
your body spasms:
And you feel a rush of elation,
takes you to a peak like no other.


And yes, I'm depraved of all that.

An attempt at "Creativity"

"You have a talent," they said.
I stared at their faces
with glassy hard eyes.
No, I don't, I shouted
in my head.
"You really do," they said.
I still yelled back a stern
negation.

I started off with a pen and the back pages
of a classwork notebook
and a bagful of emotions.

I had put down
quite hesitantly
those two letters that made the word
'me'
I still remember them.

My handwriting had been very messy,
but those words were sharp,
precise and collected.
Everything that I wasn't.

And since then
Innumerable small notebooks,
hundreds of crumpled, single-lined paper chits
that found their way to the bottom of my book bag.

And those sentences that I'd read and I felt
were ones to treasure...
I'd kept them all written down.

Now I have no idea where they really are;
I just know that when you give me a pen
I can make the paper bleed.
I can make it dance and
make it weep.

I may never be able to do what
I've written about-
swim in deep water,
fly above the clouds
or get to the center of the earth;
but doesn't it all stand
metaphorically in our lives as we
turn page after page;
adventure, sunshine, rain, bows,
everything would just come tumbling our way
in a continuously random order.

I press a key and It's supposed to get me started.
I can't tho.
Somehow it's alien.
I can't make an LCD screen bleed.
It just wouldn't be sightly.

To be caught dead with fluorescent clothing at midnight in Alaska:
That's just like saying I'm creative.

To saturate your thoughts to
a condensable(of condensation) quantity,
I linger yet again at
the brink.
Of Existence, of course.

To forgive a past sin:
I have to gather up resolves much
ahead of me.
And then to pull up some more
to fill the emptiness.

To choose darkness over light:
so it doesn't really hurt your
eye,
to choose silence
over the pressing power
of unspoken-guilt,
of un-shed leaves
apon the sea of self-created
paths.

Does depression come in a foil of gold?
It glints and glimmers on every
waking second
and covers your memories with
a thin film of dust.

Dregs of brewed tea
never rise up
with the steam-
I can see my spirit lift.

A structured pattern of clothing
against soft skin
puts it in a temporarily
fixed structure of thought.
Buy one structured life
from a seller with white hands:

It should colour you a bold shade.

To know a darker shade of things:
to know as a fact that shadows
of greater things gush onto the objects
in it's 'cover'.

Words, saline in the starlight.
Lighten in the day-light.
why do things go bad, a day later?
and fester into live things
a week later?

It's a confusion of the laws
of co-existence.
Does living in one way get
you what you need to reach the end?

To wait upon a moment
when you'll be filled with
blasts of words
that will bring you to
a painful, heartfelt,
freeing release.

To long for the pristine glory
of being an individual without
a single doubt-
I've been that way ever since.
Since...I'd rather not recall.

An incomplete diet,
an unfinished story,
a weak heart-beat.