ordinary morning, late, bright and clear
weekend, no hurries, lets stay on in bed

in a flash, thunderous roar from above
mountainuous rock crashing, my mind saw

the skies echoed, rumbling in agony
rumbled and rumbled, on and on and on

strange sinister sound, trapped constant droning
UFO? baby superman landed?

rushed outside: no crash, just clouds in clear sky
rumble, rumble, rumble, man-made or what?

thundering, faint and far, near and muffled
none thunderous as the first rock that fell

then it rained: heavy; a soothing warm rush
droning masked, but strangeness etched, and lingered.

It sounds like prose,
perfect sentence,
punctuation and all.
But broken up here and there,
an attempt to imitate poetry.

To say words that are not words:
Driven - like a wind blown plastic bag:
Uncertain, circling, bobbing around -
But driven it is, if not tapped,
it’ll reached the seas and be lost:
To bring into existence a thing never heard.

A fragment, a hint, an ineffable thing,
an echo of the Word, long lost since Babel;
Yet living, its life’s magic very much potent,
resonant, manifold and transcendental.

Encouraged by similar sounds and whispers,
of dead and living poets,
of the same spirit but differently gifted.
That I owe it to all of them to do my part,
to craft this unique bit of mine.

And the ethereal Word,
more wholesome by the Day,
that it may soon resound,
loud and unambiguously,
that even the dead will rise.

we are not machines
performing predictably
scheduled and coordinated in time
with a will not our own
spirit imprisoned within
always rebellious, always restless
trapped in a world not our own

then the light imploded
chorus of myriad upon myriad
unbearable songs resonate within
we know freedom, we fly, we soar
into and out of the black hole
transcending life beyond flesh
we talk, we walk, we fear not

we write poetry

Not unknown nor unseen,
but not as conquering hero came.
Not crowned with many crowns,
with unknowable Name,
but as Branch, on Beast that spoke,
departs from the Father, to serve,
with his Body, to pay the Bride's price.
And when in the fullness of time,
on the tenth of the first month,
with a blast of angelic trumpets,
He shall return as King
with Bride and twelve Princes.

What is Space?
We don't know.
Here and There.
Distance, the Basic Notion.
Quantified with a Ruler.

What is Time?
We don't know.
Then and Now.
Change, the Basic Notion.
Quantified with a Clock.

What is a Ruler?
A Counter of Repeats of an Unchanging Distance
From Heel to Toe, a Foot
And Length is the Repeat Counts

What is a Clock?
A Counter of Repeats of Constant Change
From Evening to Morning, a Day
And Time is the Repeat Counts

Space and Time
Ruler's and Clock's Measurements
Conceived in Distance and Change
Presented as Length and Time
But Distance and Change remains
Unknown and Unknowable.
We don't know,
We don't know,
Maybe
we'll
never
know.

She's my constant reproach,
My thorn in my flesh, my neighbor.
I crossed the street to walk the other side.
Then I heard the **** crowed, and wept.

Do you see what I see?
Do you hear what I hear?
Songs of Joy, Silence of Pain;
Pride and Triumph, Prayers and Tears;
When the Righteous Flourish, the People Rejoice,
But when the Wicked Rule, the People Groan.

the soul ages not,
but agelessly grows;
in sleep, in dreams,
in realms immortals repose;
refreshes and rejoices,
born again it returns;
from death to life we arose,
resurrects, each, every dawn.

it cares not if the world burns
but only to find a spot on your lap
to curl up and sleep

A little cough, no worries, it will go away
More irritable next day, worrisome by third
Had better see a doc, but slept the last that night

Scattered world wide, by planeloads, unrevealed, unknown
Germinate in a week, spawn on breath, speech of death
Revived ancient bug, mutated, drug resistant.

Pandemics, long with us: Black Death was not the first
Now global rapid spread, global rapid response
Always ready, always surprised, always novel.

The fit didn’t survive, the survivors, the fittest
Catastrophic selection, months, not million years
Emptied earth, cleaned, reclaimed, to be fought for, again.

word to us speak
words cannot say
ancient fragments scattered
word in words embedded
craft by spirit and intuition moved
faint and fleeting echoes conjured
strange voices awakened soul
word unspeakable spoken

A traffic jam at 2 am?
My work just done, tired I am.
Is misfortune a thing with me?
A fallacy unknown maybe.

Recalled the time iPhone at max,
An accident my old was cracked.
Or day my rags compelled I splurge,
The day some Prada had to surge.

In Dubai, Grab’s copter went down,
With lover, boyfriend’s stuck in town.
Cold ***** camel ride through night,
Paid Bed’uin gold, or wait till light.

My friends all say I’m blessed and rich,
But life with peace I’ll rather switch.

Choice

neither material nor relevant
you choose what you choose
this or that reason
on what little you know
some true, certainly some false

but

what you don't know
counts for more
a random choice
a choice chosen
the better may be
for you are to be
what you are to be

but

choose anyway
makes you feel better
illusion of control, less depressing
investments, justified
wisdom's crown, more fit to wear

but

what will be will be.

The earth's flat
I see it
so it is

The sun, not what it seems
For day in NY, night in Beijing
No, the sun's another NASA's lie
I don't see it, but I know its something else

And yes the pictures of the blue sphere
isolated alone in black empty space
taken by astronauts in Apollo 8
and the earth's curvature seen on the ISS

All lies again
No Apollo, No ISS
All lies, lies, lies

Its a disk I tell you
no one have seen it
but its true

Be inspired not from without
of those you imagined yourself desirous to be
but rather be inspired from within
from discovering the unique self you truly are
the one you and the world never knew
the mystery and the wonder the world awaits to see
and the reason that is truly your reason for being

But the world demands success
defined from templates of history
imposed without care for who you are
but only for what you count for them
you, seduced with morsels and crumbs,
freely choose to be slave for their profits

And so alas the world lost
the truly free alienated

becoming

one weary hungry step at a time
discovery drifts to disillusion
mystery remains mystery
wonder turns to ruin,
despair and cynicism
the flicker of reason
burns dim
if only
on hope
of

eternity

The sixth opened on the sixth
history prophesised, future past

sun and moon eclipsed
heavens and earth shaken
moon bloodied, stars fell
earth ripped apart, time perturbed

graves opened
the dead arose to life
the living buried themselves
immortal died
mortality perished

blood spilled, living marked
wait for the number of Man

We were told we're free, for we choose freely.
Eve believed; we too, are as desirous.
Creators urged us, to choose their choices,
Our preferences influenced, they believed.

Blind men, unsure, step to step, staggering
Knocked down and pierced, in circles wandering.
Pain, inevitable, but they rejoice,
For free they are and they'll walk, each their choice.

The strong, ordained, as the sword evil feared.
Today evil's lawless, nations cowered.
Balaam lives, the strong loves self shamelessly.
***** shall rise and condemn, righteously.

I do not like jarring jagged poetry
Words scattered on the page saying nothing
Stagg'ring, stumbling, disjointed, blabbeing
From image to incoherent image
Splashes of colour, scattered at random
Slurred, the drunked's, or drugged's, speech or drivel.
Not all art is art, nor madness, madness,
The Spirit is One, and Beauty affirms.

Evening and morning, a day:
The third night, before t'was day,
He rose, before the sun rose.
The last night, was forty days.
Today is the third day, till
Ev'ning comes, and today ends.
He'll return in the morning.

The Soul ages not, agelessly it grows
In sleep each night, to realms unknown it goes.
In dreams, lands immortals repose, hinted.
Refreshed, renewed and rejuvenated,
The Soul returns and we're resurrected.

Inadvertently, I looked up, and looked
Into your eyes, and saw, your naked soul;
My hapless soul trembled to transcendence;
Love at first sight, terrifying and true.

Beauty lies not in the beholder's eyes,
But deep in the eyes of whom he beholds.
For once, in heaven's womb, the souls were one;
Love's a mere glimpse of perfection untold.

Abel died
After three days
He appeared
Wheel within wheel

The poor bless the rich,
and the lowly bless the mighty;
Even as Jacob blessed Pharaoh,
And the giver blessed.

Small nations? Who cares!
Unless you're Israel. Who else?

Why spy and steal
Just slam the steel
Gift in hand, suggests
Your daughter - or son - or else?

Small nations
petty thieves
spy, steal from
small nations.

Big Boys see and laugh
All of mine is yours
If you worship us
You'll be one of us.

But Big Boy wannabe
China, will never be;
Splurged fake money by the ton
But none worships Dragon's son.

Without father, without mother,
I grew up, running wild and free.
Mountains I conquered, cities I build;
In a strange land, I've now arrived.

Your light was brighter than the sun,
Your hushed whispers, overwhelmed the Sirens.
I'm tempted, I followed and I fell;
In a strange land, I'm now enslaved.

Stitched from pieces of Truth
Making a tapestry of a Lie
The signature handiwork
Of the Father of Lies

To which the wicked proudly cling
As vindication and justification
To beat the Truth
To submit to the Lie

Every Seventh is a Rest.
The Day after the Seventh Sevens, a Renewal.
These are the Sevens of Days and Years,
Of Time marked by the Sun and Earth.

The Sevens of Moons is a Recursion
Every Seventh, a Seven, and is Half a Time,
The Fullness thereof, a Twelve.
And every Seventh, a Sacrifice.

As words in a strange tongue
So symbols in wisdom;
Not any sounds are words
Nor stories, parables;
But angelic tongues do speak
Even as donkeys are wise.

The sixth day began bright,
Sun’s fire, on earth, lighted;
Prophecies trumpeted,
Brighter, hotter, fires burned.

Eight, but one, ancient, kings
Ruled the day; If agree,
All in their hearts shall be;
The stars, Man's destiny.

Why remember? Why celebrate?
The past, told by the victorious,
To the living, mere instruments.
Unknowable and unknown,
Ceremonialised and celebrated,
Of the dead's glorious renown,
If expedient, memorials mandated and revised.
Tomorrow you may uncover and reveal
My history was wrong, but who knows really,
For your discovery, or concealment,
is shaped to fit your purposes, as it is for me, today.