I am the light that resides within
That supreme being beyond beings
I am the peace amongst chaos
Towards every element I extend
A familiarity of oneness
I am the loath of a jealous unborn
And parent to the living
I am the destiny of time
Fulfillment of joy and longing of tears
I am
The fire in the sun and cool of the moon
I am the static in change
The finale of the beginning, I am
Creations words spoken artistically
And sometimes dangerously obscene
I am both sides of one coin
The water in the stream
The rock meandering distant dreams
I am philosophy history science technology
A whole in one piece
I am the twinkle in the stars
I am the lightening of angry clouds
The air in the breeze
The sound less in silence
I am
I am you and you me
I am ..... That!

Fuck Knows

I try to write different styles
While all I have is mine
back to the class room to search
My forbidden childhood and
Miss Wonders notes
What do I see?
i am there sitting on the wooden seat
coloring a people red yellow and green
the sheet, and on that a star
its mom dad my sisters and me
purple hills and a meandering street
a sloping roof and a chimney
Miss Wonders note to silly me
Remark- good job
Imagination lends to you artistically
As I try to write different styles
Tap tap tap
Click click- delete
To take a walk in the thoughtful beneath
The garden once we hid in and seeked
It is a starry night and reasonably lonely
What is it that I find so incomplete?
Forty two degrees have left me
Staring
At a completely blank screen
Well, it must be one of those days
You know
when you feel
Maybe I should watch a movie…
Have a beer
Not hear my thoughts in a loud club
with a dancing stampede
And look for a good conversation
Over a some burning nicotine
While we try different styles
Arent we all looking for Miss Wonder
Hand in hand
Outside the house
with a meandering street
Colored red yellow purple
Fuck knows
We could be green!

The Precursor

For once to realize- it’s a matter of time
The pledge of a mortal soul
Cannot finds its belonging in eternity
Thus far, realize
You are what you are
For that is why you pledge as you do
Time is for you – not eternity
Imagination is a gift – not your place to be
Ability is a choice – capacity is will
Serenity is a mood – not to achieve
For once realize – it’s a matter of time
What you can and what you must will
Yours is to love – not to seek

….But What If?

The hunger of, often veils
Metaphors of imaginations trickle
A slow paced chaos
My heart beats as part of a drum circle
The dancing figures of unrest
Glide over in mysterious movements

A rather benevolent mind
Starts to play tricks of a circus joker
Somewhere there is a need
Of the soulless jester to lighten up
As I indulge in tantrums of thoughts
Through the my own hands
I nurture a new born idea into
A callous criminal, guiltless
With an appetite of a beast
That feeds over my consciousness
As I too feed off the angst; “thinking”
To sustain the cob wed
I build to be real

The hunger of, often veils
For every thought must be alive
Alive enough to affect
Alive as I make them
It is my own indulgence in the
Captivation show of misplaced reality
That shadows of relentless assumptions
Are strong as the scorching sun
It is I who gives them power
It is I who veils my own
Serenity

My Friend Frenzy

I bestow unto you my dear friend
The frights and flights
Wonder why I couldn’t understand
The horrors of your insecure faith
Off the surface you calm son of a bitch
Find the depth in the powers of angst
We are one as you said; you recall?
I am me and you separate!

For long the jolts of your wit
Have sufficed my reason and action
Of the untrue, you sly wizard
I find you to be the crux of ugly snoot
Incongruous fallacies of imaginations
Scurrying a stampede of rampant thoughts
Of your cloaked fury of darkness

I have now the one who rests beside me
Of fantasies she makes my belief
The deeper I swim with her
I find your sneaky little tactics
Behind me
The one who rests besides me
Tells me a reality of a forever she sees
I bestow unto you my dear friend
A goodbye, so long you boastful snob
I hope to never see you again

Voice me

The world shouldn’t exist in anarchy
There shouldn’t be wars or any war drums
There shouldn’t be beats
that silence those who breathe
From hands of who
They sound their energy

Don’t you see
I was a kid just as you
praying for a future
We were one,
for the stars were to many
For us to see any doldrums

What happened my friend
We used to play hide and seek
to no end
We used to believe in
Football, basketball, volleyball
Rock, pop, hip hop
Strawberries, raspberries,
blueberry ice creams
What happened, why do you
Keep fiddling with that blackberry

Don’t you see time and again
I come back to see
The little dance you promised to keep
Up and down the merry go round
Circling, yes! circling at the same spot
You promised you loved me
So I am back again
Don’t you see
Burglary, theft, murder, divorce,
Marriage. Kids. workload
youre complacent towards me
Your hands theyr so filthy
with greed

Don’t you see
There!
that was the past as you like to believe
I am here again
Time time time – I am the spell
Don’t you remember
As you ran through the wooden door
Jumping in bed that morning
What a beautiful child you were

Don’t you see
I am your present
And im back to release
That little symphony
You tickled on the piano keys
Don’t forget me
this time
Please

While God sat in the vanity van

There are gods
and there are gods
Who do you decide to keep?
Who shall be the one;
The one that
resides as a mere belief ?
Or one that decides not to preach ?

There are questions you ask to
No other than your self belief
Lest in words you find
Ones who agree
As (when) you insist
There are gods to keep
As you pick them
From a busy street

I sit silently
Pondering
what a mystery you create
On the hustlers street
There are gods
And such gods you steal

They must look like you
On a canvas sheet
Talk like you
And of what you preach
They are your gods
You flip
Through a magazines

There are gods and
such gods you preach
You are men
and as men you deceive

none but yourselves
in a quest to please
idols you find in people
in them,
of what you must be

And today there is he
And tomorrow
swept away
into
Another shiny monastery

There are gods
And such gods you keep
Nothing but a reflection of
What you believe

As I idealize you
There are your own
You keep
How could we ever
Ever agree?

There are gods
Just not in what we perceive

The Linguist

Through words one might find solace
Within experience of the glitterati
As I sense the outside through
parameters of limited knowledge
between unity and subjectivism, the bridge
misled towards constricted forms
Their perishable fate becomes me

lest we tread on the path of devotion, selflessly
a fearlessness stride takes contours
within my own being,
in shape less journey
I am not blaze of my actions
Becoming them instinctively; finding
I am nothing but a dream

A dream where the only dear one seems me
Where I is the center point reality
The darkness of such roads lead into
An infinite
Not one that sets free, not in union
But into
the wilderness of exasperation needs

confounding and restricting
my solace in words is impermanent
every now and again to find newer ones
pacifying my insecure mortality
I become a sensory machine
An active source of infinite reactivity

Fed through experience
The light within me is veiled, through
An image of the self
Built within a narrative extensively
Trying to please the need of my ego
I am nothing now
but a conductor it seems

Merely gratifying an egotist’s needs
I am in search of solace
Wondering whether or not
I am in the right place

As the moment passes
I am no more a dream of senses
I am awake –
As the fear of
What might become of me
Trenches

Sermon to the Mathematical Society

Let me go down to dissect
every ludicrous thought behind the scene
as I rupture thoughts flooded with debris
of the unspoken virtues of our envy
we live our reality
through the sermons of the dead
into the land of such fallacies
our children are born as ghosts, plundered
on rage of nations over nations
we are people,
we forget at times such as these
where is the form in the formless?
where is the color in the colorless?
distinctions separate you and me
yet we build on the mathematical society
where my cause is the effect on we
in our eagerness to plead our sanity
to our unborn
wars bygone, wars go on
the sounds of the bombs are silent now
there is noise within me
let us breath the air of peace
where is the soulful journey?
wrapped in cloaks, “knowledge”
there is no bigger devil I see
in the name of serendipity
I am you are we are nothing but just lazy
Monuments of our times
Stranded between the paths
Of prayers, appeals, beliefs, morality
We are no heroes
Heroes don’t live
to see themselves succeed
lets not build this family
into vengeful gun trotters
living on the street
listen, listen closely
I hear screaming
The shouts of the children
We once were to be
Lets let them out of the misery
Of practicality
Of partiality
of the illusions of superiority
let them breath free
let our children speak

The Cuckoo Clock

Of all forms of emotions I must feel
Guilt is where
Righteousness finds its plea
Morality is
When such plea justifies belief

As I become me
From a child’s folly
Towards the mirage of
The illusive emancipation
Of a boy; who as a man is deceased

Between causality and
Actions of responsibility
It is I who breathes
Slowly into manhood and mortality
Riches and the glitterati

The more I think I begin to wonder,
If any of it all seems to be me
Over and again as experiences tell
Stories revealed
Notions of the meandering stream
Engulf the silence of the mysterious dream

Of all forms of emotions
Realizations scream
The more I grow the smaller I feel
More I gain poorer I seem

An ageless child
As a man deceased, I

Roundabout Thee

Questions I ask
myself now and again
for the tussles
of the incongruous thoughts
mysteriously stir
the origin of peace within me

as the soul writes its own destiny
I victoriously move towards
the destruction of thee
Chances as I plead
Such that I must perceive
resolve
To destruct indeed

Quite an anomaly of resolutions
I see
For every one such made
Harder to keep
But resolutions that keep me astray
are none
but ones that seem to agree with me

thus far what I encumber
although none I want to keep
bound in the paradox of action, see
forever a debt I receive

clusters of learning fill with abundance
the knowledge I once seeked
as my knowledge grows
I discern what lies in me, my belief

The colossal loss of
As I see
Helplessly create a rift between
I who once was thee
In complications of the static
Clouding, a thoughtful void
I lose sight of me

As much as I seek
There is winter within
The garden I once filled with thee

It is my concern
In such action bound as I breathe
The voice of you occurs
And disappears in me

Lest I speak
I am the origin
of an amalgamation
Construed by fiction of me
I am a wanderer
Losing and finding
My path roundabout thee

Wandering Stars

Interpretation of time
As a congregation of moments
Lasting in memoirs of oneself and other
Encapsulating notions of a forever
Agelessly inspire the nature of I
For granted, in the mortal frenzy takes
The self-seeking being
From birth to its finale, desiring
A narrative etched into his belief
Time moves at a motionless pace
As if still, it continues
Lost moments from such congregation
Whisper the sudden change of
Their own attire
The rehearsal is over
As retrospective preparation
Life becomes,
An ageless memoir of an aged self

The Inveterate

The creatures a forlorn land
Described in the path of the aging self
Of the images broken and a remade
Experience finds its frenzied depiction

Into the land of the delighting past
An devotee is born
within the castle’s walls
Over coming, finally
Itself
Beyond stillness of the ageing self

Cautiously treading yet craving the covers
Of the saintly,
a pretence of encouraging
A snake sheds its skin as seasons change
Rapidly engulfing, controlling, ones
Of the forlorn land

As the present passes to be the later and last
Past and its future
Of the mother seeds the likely plant
With a plan
Cautiously treading it own boundaries

New born take their stride
Out of their crippled cradles,
Form the first breath admitted
Into training
Of rigid conversations with in walls

A crime is committed
The blind sense its vicious aura
Of the forlorn land, I speak

Thought of the Day

Given the sense of reality I must
Find the degrees of construed vision
As formations of experiences attach me
To the wonders of reminiscing
The gentle strokes of moments bygone
Reoccur in captions within dreamy eyes
Such attachment finds me restricted
Faces must change as reality recreates
Emotions remain constant
Of learning from those in the past
The present reveals a pattern
A wondrous I smiles at me
What if then was no different to now
And now remaining a mere projection to
Thoughts subdued
I must learn …
For notions of eternity only last momentously
I must conceive
For the truth bestowed on me lasts an eternity

Hummingbird

Staring in the light of day
To see them and gaze
Of all the moments
Ones she suddenly speaks to
And ones that whisper loudly

She must be still
Curiously beginning to find
The tune that speaks
Wondering what she must say
Realize the essence
To bewildering notions that caress

Fragrance of time I once knew
Painting on arbid panes
I saw her dancing to whisky and juice
Of all what it may have seemed
Evanescence of the cloudy dream

Still, as the yellow table speaks
Once again flee
Closer with senses she feels
The music beneath,

A stream of consciousness seems
To drift towards the past
Moving closely towards
One that resides
Here,
The now is different
Yet strangely similar

As she’s born once again
For the first to witness
The glory of the currents
Watching the upheaval
Of the ever changing

In serenity
She must be still
Wide awake
She drifts into the sea
Once again born
Ever to see

The lurking questions in the mind of a confused being could pertain to the all engulfing “feeling” or “emotions”. So to speak, we derive the experience of the “real” as reality and the demarcating fiction in an experience as a figment of imagination and the whole experience. One approach would well be to objectify experience, within which would feature feeling components such as real, reality, imagination etc. Although it might be an obvious solution to react to the stimulation of emotion, whether it would find us catharsis through “venting” stays relative.
Explaining “love” brings about the absurdity of emotions, of which perception of an experience as real as relativity is chosen as the all evasive reality. The feelings of pain, happiness, weakness etc. all lie in the parameters of our subjectivity. Although subjectivity might empower us with the tools of creative imagination it also limits us through the emotive state, as reactive beings. To give love I must feel reciprocation of it as per my subjective perception of how it must relay back to me. The true nature of the action is not what is under scrutiny it can be looked upon as just a set of rules my ego places as a filter for my perception.
How can I feel love when I don’t even know what it is? The reality of it is the figment of my imagination – of how I might want to perceive it, in unconscious comparisons to what makes my ego feel good? How can I know anger when I don’t know it true nature? It again is a set of rules put up by me to act in a certain way as an unconscious drive. Do we really ever learn or do we just modify our reactivity towards expression of emotion?
My identification of me through the narrative as “I” is my ego- I can only live as a whole being through no preconceived notions- without scripts.
Love and its absurdity challenges our imagination and scripts of our ego as its makes us face “doubt” for the first time towards our own human tendency; our imaginative divinity is questioned before us. Although most of us might trust the real through the paradigms of emotions – emotions rely on subjective experience – experience on egotistical comparisons – comparison on perceptions- perception on me- me on the “I” – the “I” on reality- reality on repetition and replication the “I” as chosen sate of reality.
Love is not an emotion it is an opportunity to learn to be free of oneself.

Reverence of the flower child

It shall be a memory
Just as another bygone not meant to be
She speaks,
I am the flower child
As she finds my peace
The chaos of mystery
Emotions ride on the raging bulls
Of thoughts,
I know might push me of my thrown
Confined to the pedestal
When apostle of love is tested
She says to me
I am the flower child flow with me
Just as I begin
Must parameters of time restrict?
An arbitrary string of choices
Leads me closer to thee
Fare weather must hold in consistency
Or shall lose the glow
In reflection of her in me
She says to me
I am the flower child
You shall what I must not be

If it were for memories
that lingered behind the dark screen
In shadows danced their choreographed selves
– fragmented
Such is the brilliance of emoting
– whether or not to ?
Encompass such belonging appended into time
Time of which parameters build their glory
- time by which
I am to long for who I was and meant to be

Logical crossovers between the relations of togetherness
Time bound and quantified
in boundless speechless emotions
At such a junction of power and over oneself
and the self in creation
the memories dance themselves fragmenting the now
– in time

Of this vast array of jumbling senses
- belonging follows perception
Creating and destroying
Who I am – was – and will be
Yet the drive common to all as me
Finds its path back in to the childhood dreams

Of such parameters
timelessness finds itself shelter
In the completeness of a moment
– unrelated – unaffected
In tune with the course of change
Impartial to the constant of habit
I become me – that disappears silently

Nihil ad rem

Understanding of phenomena
That reaps insignificant tales
Reminiscing,
Shuttling between moments
Eternally significant as such
A play of memory

Lost in translation of emotions
Of an origin unknown
The drudgery of such significance
Of insignificant tales
Lets me know once again

Existing and the existence of
Phenomena calculating
Origins from conclusions
Deriving once again
A belief

The inhabitant of thy self
Must it necessarily flee?
From its own natural fate
Into the unknown frontiers of
The acquired,
Knowledge, experience, relations

Within comparisons
I am a translation of
Memorials – insignificant

Gestapo

Sublime forms of the ludicrous
An apology surrenders them to thou
Questions of the bewildering notions
Of a tragedy once bygone
Crucial scenario, isn’t it dear ones

The art of war that resides within
Manifested in sounds and blares
Of thus physical
Balancing the chaotic and the calm
Leaders here once bygone

Born into the cemetery of ghosts
Kept in shadows of,
Some in memories of
And some in the pyre
Emoting within, the resentful war
As an expression

The needy and the abandoned
In the unclaimed corner
The manifestation of perceptions
What resides within,
Expressed in its artistic form

An apology! I must bestow
Now surrender my pallet
Colorful illusions
Expressions and art forms
Not as the creator
But as a creation once born

Forty Winks

The brunt of a thoughtful writer
In amalgamation of experiences
Untold stories revealed
Through manufactures of fiction
Within a narrative he steals

Deceived by perception
Of his own illusive vision
Constructs a severity of action
Plays foul with words,
Seemingly wise and envisioned

Out of this frenzied monk
Screams the prisoner
Stifled within the parameters of
Reality once perceived
And the real and ‘now’

Memories of the emotional hero
Gnawing like rats
As the brunt of a thoughtful writer
Is caught in an amalgamation of

What must it be
In curiosity of such narrative
Worded carefully
of life as he must live; or a lie,
Of dying egotistically

Flower Child

Intentions and their persona reflecting
in the dream like state
Breathed as the essence of creation
itself to evolve continually
Sounds of the mysterious skies
fallen beneath the fury of
Intention and its dream state

play a song as the she daces along
Her strength and love; hate and anger,
engulfed in the balance of
the slow tandem of blissful guidance
gently caressing

curious of her,
I follow the wilderness into its wild birth
formlessness of its structure –
bound in perception of, me
the omnipresent essence of the breathed one,
she is – as is

beyond assimilation of my finite capacity
Yet construed by the limitation of
my own curious knowledge
Misguided by perceptive upheaval of
the equilibrium of her generosity

Soulfully mimicking the soulless copulation –
creating
Anxious monstrosity of a thoughtful being
Converse to its own universe

Thoughtless, I
As her own child –
Avant- garde

Moonstruck

Truth in nature of itself
and choice,
breaths itself alive
A playful being
atoned to its own luster
with the discovery of
the forgotten past strikes
the balance of time
stains of the now
still remain his wonder

of affections
and moments irking the shrine of
which once existed; and once lost
found in memoirs of narratives
And time bygone
Such mystery of,
The disenchanted- eludes

The self infliction
in shadows of dependence
through worded emotions
expressing love, for the ideal state,
or weakness for
the idea of such powerlessness
Of togetherness; a wonder

As a being confused of its own nature;
The seeker and the seeking
In pride of its prodigious illusion
The colorful trails of his own wit
deceive him
Moonstruck; innocence is astray

Be Roused!

The chains of the courageous
Shackles of time and habit, resentful
A recluse lost between
Choices that play frivolously with thoughts
An ignorant being
How such pointless bounding seems
In security spent with oneness
Of nature born this timeless miracle
Mocks his own presence

Where does the intention figure?
In the limbo of the imprisoned
The straggler struggling to find the self
True in nature; ONE
Yet lost in the journey of projections
Of himself and
The voiceless beneath

Ethically correct, morally impartial
To each except himself
His own journey caught in flights
And fights
Of the consciousness of the other
As a reflection
For truth lost in ignorance’s security

Caution! Tread slowly soldier
The war is within
So surrender the badge, ageless
Not lost but found
By your own self
For the first time
Embrace!

Dreamy eyes

The wonders of then
Coercing the memories
Reliving the moment as it lasts
Of what does this misery stem its way?
Into the coliseum
Now in ruins of its glory

Does the now exist?
Or does it find itself engulfed in
The breathing memory of wonders
Wandering into untamed times
Finding reason caught up in
The limitless distance of knowing

For such conception continues to baffle
Arguing the real from the reality
Of which I exist, the now seems
Vague in possibilities
In this stolen corner I find myself
Reminiscing

Technocrat

Those who find the lingering storm, beneath
The soulless moment of creation, within
To the eye residing between the past and the future
A timeless phenomenon calculated, falsely
Compared to the slightest of them all,
a discourse of consequences

to the solemn ones who observe with keen interest
off consciousness a body finds itself
defiant of yet itself, as a miracle
obscure inventions occupy the very essence
cultivating forms, shapes, sizes – Comparisons
finitely defining the infinite

such calculation oppressively react to appease
the arrogance of ignorance,
merely of such conspicuous events of
thoughtful perception,
lacking clarity as the eyes lack sight
the techtonics play a simple tune
of the monstrous calamity
such as the inventions of the thoughtful

as much as I fortify my innocence, knowledge
crystallizes its lucid proud creation
of thoughtfulness -
Ahh! that in knowledge my friend
Innocent curiosity now fortified leads curiously
Towards a purpose to destruct
Such as the physical does in pleasure,
“I” Does in –
my pride, habit, liking, disliking, keeping,
wanting, eating, replacing, relating, forming
Juxtapositions of my knowledge

A mechanically operated system of illusions
I am approved, accepted, protected from myself
As I listen and watch; follow and abide
Techtonically survive

Conversations with myself

Thoughts and their consideration
Of the opinionated magician
Who sits within my lonely head
Calculating his only prayer
Not once! The calm he never finds

Off sympathy and quandary
He must survive
Careful considerations, within
To create another staggering night
Thoughts, thoughts and more

Occupy the empty space;
The lonely magician searching
Feeling, emoting, hoping, moping;
Calm that he never finds

“I am,
As is the theme
The creator of the mysterious
Of tricky variations,
The skillful orator
Smooth operator
I am” –

Of such images must he
Empower himself
With knowledge, distract himself
From justifications adapt
And thoughts react
In pride he searches
The calm he never finds

Attached to his soulless creation
Of the busy thoughtful mind
He finds himself lonely
Calculating his plight

Such is the melancholic victim
I his only friend
A prisoner by choice
Habitués is his nature;
A worrisome bloke
For nothing might he advice

Bits- and- Pieces

Nameless origins
Fatal speculations
Considerations
Cry out,
Clarity!
In ambiguity of carefulness
New forms,
Some physical mental emotional
See?
Shrouding prevalent massacres,
The thoughtless thinker; I
A nameless reason for turning wheels

The free verse moments
They pass quickly
She sleeps unaware of the night breeze
Control –
As his role must seek, the thinker I
Compare the notions
Once uttered and shrieked
Such cumbersome mindlessness
Randomly moored
I, a nameless reason for the talking tree

Venting through the hour glass he sees
Times’ as much he holds
Slips right beneath
A budding seed
Within a chaotic spree
A thoughtless thinker
Bows down to repeat, I
Now?
Here to bed, I must indeed
Writing slowly a free verse
To hope I believe

Attic Wit

The intrusions
in the mind of all emotions,
opinions come to plead
Its must be
the bitter and the fallen
who face the mirror
Into reflections stare
Ultimatums and imaginations
of us,

As ones who possess
and ones
who become possessions
We drift further along
Shelving thoughts
in rooms unkempt

in words explain
the soulful journey as
tales of and the aftermath
of perceptions self involved

In the army
of words and visions
we become
Parallels of comparisons
Of the happy to happiness
Sad to the miserable
Staring into oblivion
of our own solitary qualms