Oblivion

In the sea of darkness,
In absence of light,
This solitary man floats on,
Rudderless and without a mast,
Moving neither forward nor back,
Fearless and yet unafraid,
Hopeless and yet existent...


He floats seemingly,
Like a lone log driftless,
Tepid waters of diffidence,
Bathe his skin cold and lifeless,
The taunt and deep ridges of thought,
gently massaged away by these waters...


He floats gently,
Like the lone autumn leaf,
Falling from heights of glory,
Unaware as the mighty wind,
Gently caresses him and still,
Cradles him as he falls,
Towards the abyss of oblivion...

Inexistence

Still warm these ashes that rise,
Smoldering still in the aftermath,
Of the moment that is and was,
Unseen is the world around,
Unheard is every cry and every sound,


Ominous and deafening sounds near ,
Shallow and deep breaths reappear,
Clouds of fear and screams,
Waft and dance above,
Like an orgy of blood and tears.




Is this a fight or is it a feast,
Is it a victory or is it retreat,
Is there a winner or is everyone lost,
Is there anyone who isn't a walking corpse...




Still warm these ashes that rise,
Still blue the sky that once was,
Veiled is now in melancholic white.


Wandering amidst the rubble,
These lost and dazed faces,
Caked in gray masks of inexistence...

(inspired by the Syrian crisis)

Iridescence

Oh Iridiscent rainbow,
Where have you gone,
Leaving behind gray skies,
devoid of hope and warmth.

Oh sweet nectar of monsoon nights,
Where have you gone,
Leaving behind desolate emptiness,
And a land barren and bleached.

Have you returned to your home,
Where the love that you forever sought,
Greets your with the thumping of soft hail.

Have you returned to your land,
Where the sunlight slices up slivers of the sky,
And adorns you in its ornaments

Oh Iridiscent rainbow,
Where have you gone,
Leaving behind lost memories,
Left floating in the clouds of desires....

The Beatdown

Thwarted and dragged,
Despondent and ragged,

These tattered shrouds of your soul.

Fearful and cowardly,
Defeated and in agony,

These fragments of your bitter life.

Beatdown and stripped,
Villified and whipped,

These sorrowful moments of your existence.

Red

Red like the embers of the judgement fire,
Red like the twilight flame burning higher,
Red like the blood of corpses deceased,
Red like the wailing prayers of the priest,
Red like the eyes of the dead ones waking,
Red like the tremors of the cowards shaking,
Red like fire and Red like pain,
Red like the heart bleeding through your vein...

The Oblique and The Mystique

What tears may come soak them,
What blood may spill burn it,
You the lover of the oblique,
You the seeker of the mystique,
Drown the memories of yesterday,
It doesn't exist...
It doesn't exist...
Reality is your mirror now,
The rest simply doesn't exist...

Still Death

The life that once was,
Stripped of all it's meaning,
Flesh and bones,
Like sticks and stones,
Hardened like the human soul,
The life that once was,
Gazes at me in fear,
A develish smile remains,
Frozen of all it's meaning...

The wanderer asks..
In these fragments that I pieced,
Am I the human,
Or am I just the beast...

Become...

Become like the call of the nightingale’s chirp,

Become like the roar of the elephant’s birth,

Become like the soul of the daylight break,

Become like the rustle of the tree stalk shake,

Become an existence that is larger than you,

Become an ideal of all that is true,

Become like the light that shines over all,

Become the voice that answers every call.

Become someone larger than pride and strife,

Throw out the verbal dagger and knife,

Become like a bouquet of roses and bloom,

Spread the fragrance of love and swoon,

Become like the smile of an infant child,

Become like the innocence of the beast in the wild,

Become like the serenity of the corpse deceased,

Become like the terror of the awaiting beast…

Until The Monsoon Comes

The lush golden sand in this desert wide,

Doesn’t scream its thirst every night,

The pitch black sky doesn’t taunt,

In its abdicated refusal to give in,

The cracks at the seams of the parched soil,

Doesn’t scream its thirst every night,

It withers on and withers on

Until the monsoon comes…

The Metamorphosis

The metamorphosis is complete,
As the second hand begins its sweep,
The hour is born from the womb,
The Aegis of the minute,
Of the day of the month of the year,
Begins dwindling and churning,
Grinding and turning,
My existence lurches still,
Not forward nor back,
Non existent, but still physical,
Searching for something,
In the cloudy eyes empty,
of all promise,
The Ghosts of the past,
return once again to haunt,
And the metamorphosis is now complete.