Happy New Year to all,
Gluten free, sugar free
perhaps preservatives free goods
We like to be thick in stocks.

O God let it be all in all
a Covid free 2022 store.
Happy New Year to all.

One half is Earth
the other half is the sky.
The sun zooms  
into one half-hole,
rosy dew, serene cool.  
The sea breaks and pops
the other half is always full.

Night falls in a blink of the Moon
the sunrise paints and unfolds
over the first glimpse of the blue ocean
only to blackout at twilight soon.
Again resumes in the open circle
in the deepening depth of the pi.
Counting numerous decimal-stars
between the half Earth, half sky
the cut to short half way is still a far cry.

A precise half is true
is well counted half of the full.
The true value of the pi so
Someone is in the know!

Earth is gold dust
when not found.
But the found one
is only earth!

Heaven can descend
down to the dust
reaching out
to a good heart.
Even the hell burns
doesn't want
the evil inside.

Truth prevails makes it clear
little eyes little does it care.

When I am over the moon
feels of a mo reaching for the stars.
The very moment I feel it the most
my toes are dipped in the dust.

The day on a high
reaches the peak
over the pyramid.
Shrouded in twilight
now tucked in light
pushes the envelope.
The whole panache of stars
came out in the pitch dark.
The North Star is on the way
oh do me a favour
I will tell you why.

Veil the angle of dawn
in the black shades of the night.
There are dark caves
even inside the pyramid
scientists, trained eyes
yet to tread on that way.

Put on it only an instance of your kohl
the daylight is already a burnt mole.
Light in the wrap in the night
your muslin veiled silken moonlight
is enough to find the tuberose’s earth.

If the tucked away sun crops up
once again over the morning’s rose petals.
Again it will dive deep into the angle
after an angle in the black hole of the night.
A far cry from the glowing firefly
eyeing blindfolded behind the moon
perfectly beyond every looking star.
Until the master arts in silk black finds the true pencil
not in visualising but catching the views of the sunrise
through the lens of the rose pollens’ kohl-eyes.