Fatigued Faces of Youth

I see the tired and fatigued faces of my youth,
Wander around with no discernible soul,
I hear the empty sounds of my youth,
speaking in gibberish words but no voice,
Herded around like cattle,
I see the bleeding bodies of those alive,
Wander around with no discernible soul,
Unknown faces in the unknown crowd,
Stare back in the visions of unrecognition,
I see the face of my beloved,
But he does not see me,
And I become one with the souless faces,
Wandering around...

The Voice of the Monsoons

Oh Shimmering and Glistening night,
Sing to me in the voice of the monsoons,
From a childhood forgotten,
Drown me gently in your song,
Whisk up the aroma of moist earth,
From the backyards of memory,
Shine down the scattered souls of stars,
Dead, alive and those dying still,
Soak this anonymous wanderer,
In your majestic and tranquil glory,
Oh Shimmering and Glistening night,
Cradle me in your arms...
Sing to me in the voice of the monsoons...

Solitude

Is is existent and real,
Is it fleshed out,
With bones and muscles and tendons,
Or is it a tease,
Have the voices heard in stormy nights,
Given birth to my lost friend...

Has he returned once again,
To hold me in this moment,
Does he hold in his stomach,
empty words of comfort,
Has he returned once again,
My forsaken existence of silence.

Is it in the chimes at the doorsteps,
Is it in the gentle rustles in the night,
Is it in piercing songs of the blackbird,
Is it in the gongs of the midnight hour.

Is it the arrival of my long lost friend,
Fleshed out with bones and muscles and tendons...

Broken

Searching winds blow heavy,
This land withered and broken.
Wandering gazes find,
Empty eyes and emptier hearts.
The desert heat scorches,
Sears and burns the skin,
Of the nomads and the drifters.
The bright yellow sky laughs,
And sprinkles drops of fire below,
The living corpses burn,
And the stench lingers still,
As the searching winds blow heavy,
Never stopping, never waiting,
At this land withered and broken...