again

to walk into the unknown
and walk out
the other side
to hold the world
with unscathed hands
and know the truth
in a google search
like an army of warrior lights
take over the city skyline
with the descent of dusk
a firmament of
information
at your fingertips
the world is
what you could
get your hands on to

cracked nutshells
that would not pry open still
scattered rhinestones
starfishes on popsicles
another mental floss
twinkling on the sand
a paper boat
with yesterday’s news
upturned paper cups
carrying unfinished chatter

what do you want?
how much of it
could you hold on to?
will you unfold the world?
and let it breathe
start afresh
and uncreased

this world
like a sheet of paper
crumpled up
folded in halves
then a second time
and then a third
and then again
till the time
you could fold no more
and the fingers hurt

will you let it go
or will you go again
and that’s all you know
could have ever known
will ever do
to overdo
past pursuit
to an unaccounted for
obsession
beyond repair
or acknowledgement
in receipt

churning replicas
reload, aim, and fire
blowing your brains off
to find salvation
in repetition
become a retrospection
of the aftermath

a million combinations
always adding up
to this bullion
of happenstances
each waiting to be replayed
to be subscribed to
promising this time no ads
only more of the same

is this for real
or this is just once again
just one
of those times
the great wheel
of continuity
pulled it through
like it was supposed to
like it will always do
with or without you

and what are you
but a lego brick
doubling up
every morning
to fall in place
to make it rise
and come sundown
to be put back into
your little baskets
not as what
you were
the day before
or a million more
before still
but that you will
not complain
to unbecome
and to be again




















Silence in Sounds

the cosmos comes
together in a sparkle
a tumultuous hurray
of sinking spirits
unfurling wings
a rising spectre
breathing flames

artillery fire
tumbling into
the primal pit
where mutiny was
first conceived and
given shelter to until
it was it’s own persona

a blinding light
disorienting senses
innocence
put to bed
and in it’s stead
the climbing flames
nourishing
the diabolic
humour, passion, misery
blowing flares

slurry speech
like molten wax
climb the walls
crawling across the ceiling
falling drops of absinthe
on seared tongues
the busy motorways of dogma

this moment
a supernova
exploding on your face
radiating eminence
the devil
has found the one
who now for him
will wield the mace

dense rising fumes
that billows and bleaches
at the innards
and has no escape
for such steam
is only for the devil to
smoke his fishes
and fumigate
his toenails perhaps

yet the man has
an urge
a necessity to
show his smoke
even though
a rather beta to the
original fumes within
however with which
he may draw rings
from the mouth
and tell the world
the stuff of his dreams
and peel powerful
images of dusting ash
off his knees
to play god

over this world
a deafening silence descends
stifling, swallowing
the days
laying them out
upon the beating
of a metronome
1-2-3-4-1-2-3-4
the cold breath of the devil
watching over
the speech
of the tongue-tied
voiceless whispers
the silence in sounds









Imagine

imagine
to be born again
cleansed of memory, instinct, bias…
to jump the gun,
like water falling out of shape
break away from the common stride
and walk the world anew
just pure thought

the sage smeared in ash
the soldier in defeat abashed
a child upon a puddle of mud
the city streets drunk on rain
a roaring engine is kicked to life
the rush of blood that throttle brings
yonder meadows growing wild
ancient rocks under the afternoon sun
the breeze is nimble to the touch
to hold the world in a grain of sand
countless worlds washed ashore
countless more on the ocean floor

a world without the love for god
a world that needs not right from wrong
a world that speeds, yet never found in haste
a world that knows its rhythm and bass
a world that sings its wishful dreams
where song and dance feeds the soul
a world where little is valued most
a world of plenty, to your taste

alas the restrain
the weight of being
an existential exile
that makes fickle pleasantries
of such visions fit for opiate trance,
starlight wrung out of the very cloth of the sky
or them elder poets who drew
verses from the stream
where society washed woes and perhaps pride

and the inner solace we seek
churned out of the wheel
a moment that impresses upon the next
into a generous resonance,
submerged in an ocean of consciousness
a body of imagination
where priceless pearls lay furlongs deep
on the surface the scum will weep



This too shall pass

what happened of enlightenment
the sage of Copenhagen laments
the last of his blunts put out with distaste
weary, delusional, his light misspent
the best minds of his age rest in pillage

his eyes reaching out
far into the distance
his face flushed, his bust hell bent
the veins on these arms
holding back the unrest

the wind on his face,
the sun on his back
mistrust on his mind
poetry in his words
bebop trap-smack

The Applause

To understand the universe in patterns on dirt
in clairvoyance to estimate the worth
of contemplation on hate, of the knowledge of love
in plain sight their faces are rubbed

with the the rhythms of their heart beat
either to sing out loud, or to accept defeat
either to embrace shame or to feed their rage
no matter still, all world’s a stage

and life is but, what once was
the promise of an undying applause
and carrying the beats, and even much late
are the beats from heart,
those of love, or that of hate

Let me love

However wiser and a year older
as austere April arrived in a smoulder
to find us sewing our lives together
with the thread of the daily humdrum
what our wishful thinking will again
have it all over undone

Before the monsoon clouds come rolling in
and cast their shadows like a zepplin
before the rain, the gentle rain
becomes the ominous downpour
the may queen, the indian summer
surged in on an encore

and the rain came tumbling down
drowning in its cold embrace
every deluded soul on the streets,
every weary brick in the town
and so it goes, as legends say
to the scorn of sky from above
In a gentle cry, the earth replies
‘Let me love’
‘Let me love’

An Idea Sleeps

In complete isolation, blanketed in silence an idea germinates
feeding on an abundance of potential that is both vigour and stealth
and that which historically has been the cause for much unadulterated rage
that which will consume oneself before the page turns over
to the ancient streets emptied of its dreams
where once the occasional woebegone man would run out screaming
of heartache and the loss of god, wandering in hopeless nights
now abandoned of any such dramatic performances
where this new found idea now sleeps
yet too somber to be made ridiculous into a misplaced dilemma .

On the road (Rendezvous)

Hither the traveller find themself on the road
the fabulous yellow roman candle existence exploding like spiders across the stars
The traveller carries on rather not cajoled by ten different voices speaking of the otherwise
and hither they carry on their unapologetic rendezvous with the road
the stories, the songs, the symphony that dissolves the day into the night
and the night perhaps precipitates to let the day breathe
and what remains of this is the romance with the oblivion
the love beyond all the loving of the world, the embrace of the unknown
the thrill in what the road might bring just around the bend
the kiss of the wind, the gaze of the horizon, the dance of dust, clairvoyant clouds
and this timeless dialogue continues