.
*your words formed in heaven
and then to leave
pained in hell
then to resist

on going, the way turned to bend
in the end, the end couldn't be seen
then continued to move,
that is to say celestial

words within too many words, make a wreath of the words,
maybe tell a fairytale,
simple words have lost in melody, tune
steadfast sight of the beautiful seen, mystic in the midst of the road

alone, then after alone, painted the portrait of thy
joy of life music,
weaving the words, craving a poetry
comes at a time, loss at untimely

maybe born in dreams
within too many words, a few perches into soul
to create forms, what an amazing ties!
ah, this poetry book has lost in poetry!
..
@Musfiq us shaleheen

~
he who is a little ahead of his time
whose treasures of the words random
romanticism is in the blood, marrow,
his mood is as the autumn clouds

he who has lost his path within path
drowning with dreams, sunk you within dreams  
again holds thousands of lost dreams
fly the colorful kites in the blue sky

he who hide within himself
**** in his naked poetry
In forms humorous,harmonic  
as a portrait of the Vincent's starry night

he is a pilgrim who has lost himself within spirituality  
holds everything with the love  
who is for everybody so everybody is for him
But in fact there is nothing in all his

he who is simple straight as the waterfall
when in complex grew hard stone
who broke rules for building rules,
knows himself within the other life

whose words never be end
again he moves on and on
who laughs in the moonlight
again swept in pain without thinking any gain

who looks the life
as a grain of sand
and see the sign of love
in the footprint of a fossil

he who is a poet -
~

It was silent beauty
I never tired of it
But it did not reach for me
It gave itself to the eyes of every stranger
And though the sky held it close
It's light passed without remorse
Only to draw the water near
And because the ocean washed my feet
I was transformed against my will
And what I became was the strength of a picture frame
Because to stand beside you
Is to live with beauty I will never forget

There's a white piano in my soul.
The keys are broken, off tone, and some
are just not there.
I try to stop playing it,
but the silence keeps going,
and the people leave.
So I play it as long as I can,
As long as the white ivory notes
should play, till
the quiet chaos is diminished.

As I walk, there are notes playing,
chords of depression, lust and lies,
some of laughter, some of tears,
some of joy, some of peace.
I walk hoping I find the right word,
the right accent, the right tempo
and rhythm;

trying to find the space between  
the world and me.

When I'm about to give up, and things don't make
sense,
before all things seems lost,
the voice
of peace
breathes upon the falling notes.

And as I hear His voice, the voice of praise,
the voice of joy, my broken hands
gets stronger.

As beautiful and as
broken this life can be, as harmonious and
awestruck as the song of my heart plays,
He plays the right notes for me.

I ate all the stars last night
every single one
Then I had a comet cone for dessert
Now I have starburn
and I'm burping up rays of light
that sunburn my throat

The comet cone was too sugary
So I let it spew away
Now I have to learn
all the new constellations
And of course
it's all Confucius

Weep with words
And not with tears

He asks her to write a song for him,
She composes for him, her poetry...
                                                      ­  
                                                        He asks her to tell him a bed-time story
                                                        Sh­e lulls him with her poetry...

He asks her to sing a song for him,
She recites to him her poetry...

                                                     ­            He asks her to dance with him,
                                                            ­   She moves him with her poetry...
                                                  
He asks her, to be his girl.
She smiles, *and gives him her poetry...

And I want to tell her that I understand
what it feels like to be fake, insignificant,
and a shadow on the sidewalk of society.

And I want to tell her that I also borrow
the experiences of others --
that I, too, learn feelings
by stopping and staring at personal wreckage,
like a tourist of emotions,
like an inevitable wish of a human being.