Black

The black darkness of the night,
Laughs gently at me in a roar unforgettable,
The mirth is shattered by its sudden transition,
And with the force of its unworldly design.

The night transcends between whiteness and blackness,
Each transience celebrated by silver brilliance,
The madness of its turmoil unforgettable.

In heavy lumps of tears,
Amidst a wail that is deep and penetrating,
The night begins to weep.

The wanderer looks from his shelter below,
His eyes peppered with the salts of time,
Does this night sing a paean in honor,
Is it the laughter of a madman,
Or the cries of a lost wanderer

Shimmering and glistening,
Screaming and whistling, The black darkness of the night,
Continued its laughter and still,
The night continued to weep...

A Sense of You

In the bloodstream
You exist
Not in a visceral reality
But an essence
Like a crushed jasmine flower
Bleeding in the palms
Of playful lovers

In each breath
You exist
Not in a weighted presence
But a fragrance
Of dessicated roses
Thrown in the faces
Of deceitful lovers

In each sound
You exist
Not in a mellifluous voice
But like the paean
Of a roadside fakeer
Lost in the melody
Of heaven's whispers

In every taste
You exist
Not in a succulent savor
But like sweet nectars
Of childhood memories
Left haunted in the minds
Of nostalgic wanderers

In each touch
You exist
Not in a physical reality
But an existence
Of debilitating certainty
Crawling over the hearts
Of stone and ash

You exist

As the dreamers and those awake
Fall into the madness of love

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...

Blue

Blue like the rise of the tide,
Blue like this chunk of heaven crystallized,
Blue like the ache that your heart spews,
Blue like the drops of morning dew,
Blue like defeat and Blue like victory,
Blue like the ending of your wretched history...

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...

The Prayer

The crowd stands in unison,
Shoulder to shoulder,
Like soldiers defending a fallen city,
The crowd stands in unison,
And the call of the muezzin begins...
The prayer of the twilight,
The advent of the feast of the soul,
Begins as angels shower god's love,
And the revelers bask its blinding glory,
The nameless one remains sheltered,
Cloaked in the mask of disillusion,
The nameless one remains bitter,
Sheltered in the umbrella of his deceit...

The Matam

He remains not of this world,
and yet His body walks among us,
His form raised above all in chant,
Hovering over this sea of men,
Drowning in tears, flowers and rain,
He awakens not to the sound of thunder,
He awakens not to the sound of rain...

At the Banks of the River

My existence is lost, I am merely a wanderer,
I am not of this world, nor am I of the beyond,
These eyes search endlessly for the heartbeats,
Pounding away (loudly) in the forgotten corners of this land,
My existence is lost, I am merely a wanderer,
One who searches during the day and by the starlight night,
One who searches in the searing sun, and under the silver moon,
One who searches until he has forgotten all else that mattered,
If you ask him his name, he gazes in ponder,
And he points to the silent cries in the distance...

His existence is lost, he is merely a wanderer,
He is not of this world, nor is he of the beyond,
nothing remains for him in this emptiness and hollow,
He talks of angels and demons hitherto unknown,
haunted it seems he remains like a cowardly animal,
crossing the thin mango bark over the raging river,
This wanderer roaming still,
Aimlessly like a madman,
The wanderer roaming still,
Searching for a few lost heartbeats...

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...

The Weaver

Step out to the outer edges of comfort,
Scream loud till the back of your throat burns,
Run till the throbbing of your heart becomes,
A thumping that is continuous like a horse's gait.

Cast out (loudly) the fears and tears,
That plague your rotten heart,
Cast out the ghosts and the demons,
That whisper gently in the dark...
Awaken the corpses of broken dreams,
Chisel away at the stone that is your soul,

Blame not the annals of a prewritten fate,
The ink was forever in your hands.

Fate is merely  a few threads of cotton,
thrown into a blind weavers hands,
Weave O blind one Weave,
Weave with the colors of the rainbow,
Drench it in the tears of the stars...

The Crawl

The narrow walls crawl closer

Immitating the dark corners of the mind

The ominous ticking of the clock

Inches closer to the hour at hand

As darkness creeps over the

Petulant and fertile lands still

Thawing from the frozen winter

Of discontent and disgrace

The narrow walls crawl closer still

And I become one with myself.

Closed Doors

In the vortex of puzzles and riddles that surrounds us in everyday life, there are few moments of absolute clarity. These are short and fleeting and are nestled between many mazes and are in fact very difficult to discern. But when you do find these moments, life becomes a little more clearer. Have you ever solved a mathematical problem knowing the answer in advance? The difficult question automatically becomes very easy. Our subconsciousness somehow works a little bit faster. But what does that have to do with anything? Have I understood the key to the mysteries of life? Have I unlocked the door of wisdom and pursuit?

Kinda but not quite.

I saw a movie recently while I was on vacation. I will not go into the complexities of it but will say that I didn't enjoy it. It was long, meandering and really didn't seem to have a purpose. Maybe it was the noxious odor born out of the decades that the bricks aged in this crumbling old single screen theatre but this movie seemed to be a metaphor for my life, and that thought depressed me. There was a line in the movie, which in hindsight is perhaps the few moments of it that I actually remember, the line is "unless you love, your life goes by in an instant" or words to that effect. I would like to take that a bit further. I say that unless you have a dream, or a pursuit in life, your lifetime will flash by in an instant.

I think about that and am afraid. What is this dream that I pursue? What is my purpose in life? My goal? Is there One or are there many? Is everything fluid or are some dreams more concrete? Maybe dreams are not meant to be concrete, maybe they are manifestations of each person's frame of mind based on their circumstances. Maybe dreams are never meant to be realized. Maybe life itself is a dream.

These are all questions that I would love to know the answer to. But the answer does not lie in front of me, it is not wrapped in a nice box. It is not apparent. But I believe that the answer is out there for me to know. The answer is out there for me to pursue. In my wanderlust quest for the answer, I will find my dreams and I will discover answer to questions about myself and my dreams. That I believe is the true meaning of life. To open the closed doors of our hearts. This realization was the stroke of genius that I felt I saw. Some might say it was trivial or very obvious. They maybe right. It was not obvious to me. Things never are. But now I have the key, and the closed doors will not stay closed much longer.