Ah, so stately art t'ou, my prince-
prone as th' night, comely as th' moon.
And wakeful is my sorrow;
for waiting for thee-
is not at all th' same
as greeting him soon.
How all t'ese senses remain so numb!
Love, as 'twas first fierce ye'a living dumb,
now as insignificant as a thumb,
and th' fame t'at surrounded was breath
beforeth turning bald and corny as death.
I figure t'ou art now out of my air;
as nothingness like t'is
tears and usurps my hair.
Pursuit of falsehood, pursuit of greed,
is but a seed t'at makes my heart bleed.
Leaves t'at art fake within my torso,
art now crying-and pleading
Just like a cheeky little girl;
unreal as we were,
as t'ou but still t'en-belonged to 'er.

And just like our former sins,
silent but threatening-
thy goneness hath parted me
from my dear'st everything.
Ah, my limbs, my shins,
my lungs, my spleens,
art but now scanty and unawake!
And since t'ere's no give,
thus no more t'ere's take!
How t'ese shadows t'at our hearts made,
now alone and whimper and fade;
startling all over t'is notorious silky winter-
silly as our dear laughter,
but satirical-and edgeless as fate.

And bland, bland, bland;
o-how severely, and dreamily bland!
Thy ever gallantry and morning wit-
so well as charms t'at hath left my cheeks lit!
And with a smile I found so sweet,
to my long black hair t'ou would flirt!
But wherefore art t'ou, now, o my love?
My Russian gem, and prince alike!
Would t'ose mountains in thy Moscow-
be as dazzling as our tomorrow?
And be th' chamber of our dreams-
whereupon thou shalt rolleth into mine,
singeth and reciteth altoget'er our tales
with a glass of ****** wine-
tasty and delicate as our daring gales,
but complicated as we might dwelleth-
and be lost in one anot'er, in our shell.

And ah-comfort, comfort, comfort!
Our dear passion t'at wasth stopped short,
but hath now replied to me
within th' circles of its own balmy nakedness-
and see, my love-how canst it just not, conceal its bareness!
How on one morning shalt tread our foot,
beneath th' sun t'at shines, undereth daylight t'at shoots-
and across our greyish moors and t'eir roots-
all our charms, woes, and reveries-
canst but unite into one again,
as I hath thus dreameth 'twixt yester's rain,
and alloweth our smot'ered course to remain.
Ah, Vladimir, and of course as plainly but sure-
I still long to turn thee to my treasure;
but love is bold and far too inadequate
to our desolate dreamland;
and might be too cynical-
thus unbearable; to just my dearest, dearest friend.
How sometimes I wish to be free!
And obediently disentwineth my hand;
'fore to thee I gratefully bend.

But desires, desires of t'ese, canst only be despair;
and 'till now our meeting hath just been too late.
Tragic as our souls shalt re-main alone, and not ever pair;
as I hath now one else 'ere to date;
as innocent as we wert-could hath he been unt'ere;
whenst I gazed but into thy shadowy eyes-
ones so full of comical mystery, and manhood t'at lies!
O, Vladimir, but still-tears cannot be our pale answer;
whenst our hearts could but suffer;
and secret love; our sole-ye' joyless matter.

And tough, tough needst we be, just like t'is poem-
just by its battered hands on a piece of paper.
But strong, strong and guiltless my heart may be-
dreams of which it cannot lower-
as t'ou art here not with me, o dear lover!
Ah, Vladimir, th' skies above
art still my beauteous, but neglect'd view;
trifling to my veins, as it never knew.
And thus, Vladimir, as it shalt again glow
my heart shalt be with thee in cold Moscow,
as thou danceth and befriendeth
our triumphant tomorrow.

Returneth t'en should I into my clock,
drencheth myself in my best frock;
and waiteth for on my door his knock.
Ah, and whenst later t'is be over-
shalt I but dreameth of thee again-
a guilty, but flawless-as how
a waking dream should be!
A dream, ah, andeth with it still,
a peaceful dream-
in which I canst feel thee against me-
teasing my soul and rubs my knee,
and weaves thy love, into my veins.
Poison me-o, poison me, my love!
And riseth thou t'ere-as my own knight;
within our dark; but stainless night.

Stand on letdown point
And check out the view
Can you see beyond it?
Those that can seem few

I hoped you would be one
Seeing impermanent shores
Able to speak of the possible
But you've left me here once more

I. Death of the Phoenix
Dear Mama

Falling stars, moonlight dark, red torches spread
Ere dawn of day, far over river deep
When in the lads the dares of fancy fame
Oft they quested to waking fortunes’ sleep

Sweet aroma of summer breath afar
Soft waving hair and likeness sunny guise
And stillness in the gaze like ocean hues
‘Twas lambent Pearl, the radiant crown ‘neath skies  

‘O rose of blues slowly drained the silent seas
When looting’s Muse had wed the maiden Pride
That raged against the rising of the sun  
To fall and fall in servitudes denied

Down empty streets where humble stations stood
Though heads bowed down, the broken wills undone
Hailed supple hopes, but midst the hopes, avowed
The oppressed bride and aim that cannot run

Ah, the sky is clear, Oh, the mourning doves
Out of the seas came out the knightly steeds
With faces stained red and blue, rode amain
The crimson shores of those in wants or needs

Then came the billows’ mists o’er unrest land
With thunders’ roar and freezing cold decades
Lone in despair, no Beacon, close or far
Alas! Alas! The unloved lost in fades

‘O gleeful hymn once roamed untrodden grounds
Beyond the gates of wraths and shades and fears
Now skims the air whilst nightingales diffuse
Lest fetter to wills of avarice’s Peers

‘O swirling darkness, drowning bleakness state
Like waves of tears that burst from heart of ache
On pyre of flame delight, by now grows dim
Consumes with shameful scorns, doze unawake

‘O woe betide my dream and I
My aim, my soul, my credo die
                                                             ­                Your Dying Daughter

II. The Phoenix Shall Re-Rise
My Beloved Child

Let heav’n light rest upon twin rivulets
And cast returning glow on worried cheek
Let lively hope return sweet virtuousness
And stop the weeping weep of small and weak

Whence softly rave the words the leafy grasped
Whilst few amid rich flowers, woods, and fields
Summoned daydreams in oppressed sleeps to wake
In painful stoic with neither swords nor shields

Methinks if this had happened not, perchance
That beauty rare would echo still in tune
And wits like wings in varied raptures ‘d fly
With idle dread ‘til reach the waning moon

By the placid Rivers, like ores of rare
That made the riverbeds mirroring sun
The crafty trails, the vermeil meadow pawns
Where hostages to priceless glints had fun

Ponder awhile on those invective Streams
When weary hopes sought access into soul’
Which knew no moist, but moist of falling tears
Arose amid sweet rainy boon parole

‘O brave Angel to whom the homage paid
When shades of freedom, death, unity, strength
Aloft the hills, albeit the odds were few
‘Til resilience and prowess at full length  

‘O silent mute on which misery lies
The brazen proud, the humble roots stretch still
Whose keen presence the flood and storm esteem
So firm and deep, anon to aims fulfill’  

Tree that blooms from river blood, time is nigh
For solitude that hides near shimming lake
To burst aflame from remnants of the now
Like phoenix sunned in ashen dust awake’

Oh, then, I’ll dream that dream once dreamt
That latest dream few've ever dreamt
                                                          ­                                   Love Ma


III. One Moon
Dear Beacons

Come midnight ghosts that slide along the yards
Call exiled forth, and haggle for their quests
Where leering eyes at nightfall gate ignore
Arising slain yearn newness’ lives abreast

From tortuous routes and wave to wave to shores
Where skies no longer bright and glad deceive
No gentle fair nor answers to hold dear
When pride depressed to swirling hopes believe  

Relume the gold of havens found
Cast shadow aping’s frowns to ground

Then, from sweet unrest, twilight world will rouse
To peaceful fields, and cool of breezy night
O’er which clouds float and run, whilst dancing stars
Adorn. And lo, the moon is full and bright

                                                         ­                                     Amor Fati,
                                                           ­                                   Alkebulan

The darkness,
Realities boundless, harrowing void,

What exists beyond unawake dreary eyes,
What resides upon burdened hollow souls,

An unrighteous detriment of prophecy,
That sublime goddess of allure,
Withered into such a lifeless thing,

Its you that embodies that void,

Veiled in that desolate space,
Its relentless pain inscribed across your face,

Obscured to this subjective dark,
This world forbids my light to touch your heart.

Sunrise explosion!
Sneaking up on no one
But the unawake
    At life, at the day
But to the awake...BANG!
And the planet we are on in all
    its Enormity
    and prism power - atmosphere
Separates the radioactive
    explosion
That is traveling
299,792,458 miles per second
From 93 million miles away
    (a whole 8 minute journey)
From a hot body
With a 432,288 mile radius
of glowing
    exploding gas
That, upon reaching us
Is recklessly
    Smashed
Into all potential tertiary shades
Of cerulean and sapphire
Of marigold and sandstone
Of shades beyond identifiers
    (we all experience them
    differently anyhow)
And for these opening moments
    of the day
All masterpiece paintings
    appear as preschool throwaways
And as quickly as the calm chaos enters
It stage exits
    On account
        Of the 432k mile monstrosity
            That will blind
                Any
                    Who dared look at it

Good morning.

As I have aged, my body’s become a full moon –
a thing to howl at
unable to hide in the dark (a dark so dark
it swims from beneath me, and I glow like light).

The years have had a refractive nature
and I cracked the eggshell, the first crescent and

the second
supposedly a silhouette holding hands. I am told
beauty is symmetry
so I must have two of everything to make a
                                  whole –

but by dawn, I seem dull
unawake (the thought that no one needs me
on my back anymore, there are

rounder things than me). Without needing to be
reminded, my peel wades to the next
month of sprouting
       pallid craters who match those before them.

Some days no words worthwhile wasteland
of a page before me barely
will to carry on weather
report mental fog emotions
on the ebb the moving
finger writes not so much
wit unawake more
pathos less
piety bereft
of self empty
vessel

The Night Is Almost Over

The night is almost over,
During which I’ve been awake
Unquantifiable wee hours.
It’s been a challenge to placate
Unrest in ***’ and soul,
Think things to do without a wrestle with my all,
Discover parts to focus on,
Breathe out and in,
Shepherding bad thought away from sin.

A challenge to make time rewarding,
Night un-worrying with means
Intuitively gleaned.
By three or four,
Night nearly over,
One is sure
There have been dreams -
A second’s worth of night-worked themes.
(Perhaps two minutes, maybe three.
I’ve patently no memory
Unawake, unaware,
All simple cognizance not there)

I’ll be ok when morning comes,
Stomach craving nutriments.
There will be toast, cheese, milky coffee
Brought in by hubby
With me glad the light took over.

The Night Is Almost Over 9.2.2017
Pure Nakedness;
Arlene Corwin

I knew a girl once
Pure to the pinch of a petal
But lust filled fiends found her
Unfazed to the thought of intimacy
and so distorted intimacy to twisted turns
claiming her sweet nectar as she lay unawake.

I knew a girl once
Pure to the pinch of a petal... no more.
...
Pure to the pinch of a petal;
the twisted turns did burn
and the ashes and embers cast away
into the winds as though no fault to find,
I knew a girl once
who knew of the world;
I knew a girl once
who knew of the future;
I knew a girl once
who smiled a slanted smile;
I knew a girl once
...But not anymore, do I know her.

May god find her the peace she never found.

Slick Slimy Inky Sickness for 25 years have gripped my mind, swallowing every last bit of joy I ever knew.

Every week was a new project to find a better way to end it. A morbid hobby, it's true, but anything seemed better than this wasteland of broken thoughts and heartache.

Then the fear gripped my heart.

The absolute fear of death, of the void, of the end of conciousness and all things.

An eternity unawake, not graced by even dreams as aeon passes by, unaware of the fear.

As the Sun dies and swallows the light, and the Earth freezes and crumbles, long after you too die, we will still be dead. Unawake. Not even dreaming.

I am terrified of the absolute nothing.

But it still comes for me.
And you.

No musings, complaints or sorrows
can carry their weight and depth so well
as those turned to poetic rhyme or pose.
For much else fails to swell
the heart of the listener in sympathetic plight;
words scraped in the meat
of meaning rather than the surface sight
of understanding. The hands and feet
don't tremble or still; the heart doesn't quaver;
until you learn to bear another's ache,
or from your views uncertainly waver.
I fear many of my generation lie unawake
to the joys, and what could be
if they could settle back to read
their hearts into another's chest;
and by sharing again, find inner rest.

At the base of a hill, a grass bank
unripe daffodils poking through
beckoning spring, while curious crows
hop around unkempt, a corridor
with a kind face, lights overhead
taxiing towards departure?
the raindrop running down
window overhead, like a tear
images you can’t place,
flit through your mind
skip, pause at random, while
the clock, relentless, counts down
hours, minutes, to an unknown time...

The waiting room, unawake
rows on rows of beds, sheets
unsettled disarray
save the few, clean, pristine
and in the shadows, collared,
for more without a clue

The end? a new beginning?
, some kind of vague middle? thoughts
muddle through the semi-conscious
chains of command to a general,
lounging back, cigar in mouth,
whiskey in hand, triple distilled,
“You’ll be fine, just count to ten,
nine...”
a soft laugh, echoes
and, as I close the door
peace at last.

I.
On that divine-like hands and laps of thine, my grandmother, each moment I embraced the new learnings.

Well, in that tranquil Spring night when the wave of stars washed away my eyes, I cried for them to have in the small hands of mine. Since then, I learnt to cry.

In order to soothe my longing cry, thou hast sung me the rhyming lullaby and spreaded the formless form of smile on my face. Since then, I learnt to smile.

At that cooing rhythm of thy song; thou hast energetically swung me high and low in the air, whilst my body seems to have lost its weight so light. Since then, I learnt to get thrilled by the melody of song.

A feeling of overflowing on an edge of the wind has brought the word of excitement to my unawake mouth, ehh.. since then, I learnt to speak a word.

That morning, Aye, as I stood drunk with the golden dawn, the waves of my eyes swirled with the falling leave at the distant height. The very curiosity to catch hold of it has burnt my little heart. Since then, I learnt to curious about the things.

Slipping away from thy hand, I ran to catch the falling leaves. But O fie, I couldnst catch it! I followed its flight —but the wind took it farther away. My eyes couldnst reach to it anymore, as it gradually disappeared at invisible sight. Since then, I learnt to walk.


II.
I extend the words from that little heart of mine— and that's my deepest Adulation to thee, my beloved parents!

I know not how I've wandered upon the Mesh of age to reach this mile of oldness— nor dost I know how I've rushed on over the trouble obstacles I encountered each age.

Such little strange tale of mine evolved from thy ***** hands, my beloved parents!

In the kingly and queenly world of thine, I expanded on the rhythm of an ineffable joyance. I know not the bound— but surely I cherished the flower and its hidden honey thou hast bestowed upon me, from that holy adornment of thy hearts.

Thou hast attained all my childly cravings and worn a garland of smile to this sullen face of mine.

Thou hast taken care of me from all sorts of ailings. Thou hast given me the warm garments and never let my body ailed by the cold breeze in Winter and tanned by the barnstorming heat in Summer.

Mother, when the hunger ailed my stomach, I spelt out thy name and cried
In dissonant pitch.Thou hast given me a plate of rice. In the midst of night when the silence has spreaded its wings, the unrestrained thirst parched up my throat. I awoke thee— so thou hast given me a cup of water to quench my thirst.

Father, the most I must not forget about thee is thou hast shedded the endlessblood and sweat onto the earthly mud to give me this excess of life.

I'm grateful to both of thee, my beloved parents! Without both of thy presence,
I would not have made my life so far and so long.     

III.
Mother, I've cried out the mighty tears
For one thing— and that's the signet ring.

I cried all the days and all the nights for that. I
Even refused to take the meals thou

Hast given to me from thy motherly hand.
Thou hast bought me the little play toy—

But fie, couldn't bring the harmony to these dissonant eyes of mine! The tears

Unseemly overflowed on its expanding Despair. I was a small and innocent kid,

My mother, as I saw that signet ring Glitter bright on the man's finger, it took

My eyes' captive  away and made me
Oozed upon the mesh of longingness.

By then, I witnessed the tears in my eyes.
I knew not how to extinguish this burning

Agony of my heart— it seemed more Intense as the days passed. All of my

Energies lost to pale weakness. I seem To have had sleepless nights; tossing

And turning on the bed, overshadowed
By the ailing insomnia. I only wished to

Have it on one of my fingers, bright and Illuminating grace like a blue diamond.

It was thy love, at last, thou Hast given it to me on the final day

And cured the very tears of craving. I Heaved a sigh of relief since then.

IV.
Such a blessed land, have I ever taken my refuge!
Such a blessed land, is only my century-long home!

Thou art my home for the generation long, my beloved Motherland, how lovely thou art! Thou hast given me a fine place here to take a long and joyant abide.

It is my privilege to spend my life here, embracing the endless blessings of no bound thou hast bestowed upon me. The joy of course, I have cherished a fragrance of this very land, in  ineffable bound of pride.

All that is hush and composed mountains that weave the picturesque sight; all that is rich and benevolent water that evokes the sweet taste like that of honey; and all that is earthly and never-fading mud that upholdest the living beings. O, I never knew I was used to them! Such is my luck!

My life flowers bright here upon thy heavenly garden; and now I'm able to furnish the beauty of my own within and out like Camellia. I wish my life had no bound and all my body and limbs were immortal, I would heave infinite steps of age, century after century, turning olds into new...

All that thou hast dispensed to me doth not belong to me, but I took it as holy blessing. Thou hast given me all thy shelters and stood before me shameless and bare. In fact, thou hast protected me from all trouble obstacles of sorts, such is thy holy grace, My beloved motherland!


Such a blessed land, have I ever taken my refuge!
Such a blessed land, is only my century-long home!

I am deepened down into the bottomless pride, for I am born to this land of kingly harmony. It's thy pleasure that indeed, I should be grateful to thee, for thou hast  taken care of me till this age far. Such is my fortune!

What knowest others of thee? What knowest others the taste of that golden honey, so-thickly ebbs out of thy ***** heart that seems ineffable.

For me, thou art all that higher than the universe; and there's no above thee, such is thy strength! Thy love is an unattainable worth. I canst return thy love even though my life extend a hundred decades long.

It's indeed the sin to step upon the holy-like body of thine; but thou art receptive by nature, and such is thy holy grace; my beloved motherland, thou hast carried me these long years bearing all sorts of weariness.

Such a blessed land, have I ever taken my refuge!
Such a blessed land, is only my century-long home!

V.
Mother, the Emblem
of love.
A residence of the
eternal glory,
A supreme fragrance,
and the Utopian
             idealist,
Gifted
one strong
existentialist beneath
the
cosmology.

O, the incumbent
mother!
Thou art an antidote
                  to our
daily
miseries— and a
song to our
timeless euphoria.
We are blessed
under
thy cosmic arm.s

It is said that thou
hast attained
a realm of love—
the unattainable
             pinnacle
Where
we imbibe the
nectar of happiness.
Thou art
the eternal guardian,
A mirror-image to
                  celestial
soul
Where we art thy
shadows, the
shadows thou uphold'st.

Hiding tears behind
The eyelashes,
Putting a facade
of smile,
Thou equipped
Us with love
and care like the sun
nourishing
sunflowers.

O, the selfless
existence!
A remnant of the
pre-existed
              mother-
The
''Goddess Devi''
We are grateful
to thee,
For always taking
               care of us.
Without
thou,
my mother,
there is no concept
of Existence,
everything
is meaningless.
              
VI.
In this very fragrant and heavenly garden of thine, my noble king, I am one of the blooming flowers.
                      
Indeed, I had luck to be grown upon thy garden; and I never knew I would grow rich in fragrance, it's only the blessing thou hast bestowed upon me as a century-long gift.
                      
All that I am embracing is none other than the grace of light that showers richly from thy own kingly heart, and it knows no bounds.
                      
This small garden of thine, for which thou hast immense love, lies at one periphery of thy heart.
                        
Thou hast carried it against all the trouble storms and protected these long years. Each day, thou hast tirelessly worked to give the very harmony to this garden of thine.

That's how all the flowers have come to bloom of their own each, so bright and fragrant.

As the very petals of mine have touched upon  
Thy majestic hands, it gave me the endless birth of pride at heart.

How fortunate am I to be grown
Upon this garden of thine!

Each morning, I awaken not just to bloom  but to offer thee my fragrance in humble devotion, for thy timeless love and care.

VII.
At this age of thy oldness, my grandfather, as I touch upon thy supreme hands, these very intengible eyes of my heart break down in tears of adoration.

It's because of thy grandfatherly love and contributions I am offering the words to thee. Those words are of my heart and have been hidden and unslipped out on the edge of my lips to this very day.

Knowest thou the time before the break of vergin dawn....

Getting up early as 4 in the morning, walking upon the harsh meadow enshrouded by the thick dews, and getting the water from the distant away, bearing the cold touch of winter breeze.
Two jerkins full of water weighing thy hands heavy, no torch but walking under the grace of rich moonlight.

Ah, had it been today, I would've at least
helped thee carry one.

Boiling the water warm for our washing,
Cooking the rather-delicious breakfast for us, helping us wear the gho neat and clean, and reaching us all the way to the school on foot.

Ah, had it been today, I would've at least walked the school by myself.

Celebrating the pain of love within like a man of supremety, all the days tirelessly sweating and soaking in other's field, and earning the petty amount of ransom for our timely welfare and school stationaries.

Ah, had it been today, I would've at least worked by myself and taken care of my school needs.

Bearing the body heavy with tiredness, yet coming till the school entrance to get us. Wearing the torn jacket, folding the wounded arms tight, and waiting all alone at the gate thro' the passage of time, till the school hours over.

Ah, had it been today, I would've at least returned home by myself.

I wonder how thou hast passed half of thy life with us, my grandfather! Taking care of us all the days and all the nights
living in the small and ill- thatched camp wast challenging for thee.

It's by virtue of thy all-day and all-night presence, we've grown healthy and untroubled to this day.

 VIII.
In this fragile land
abides thy coy
footprints unwithered;
and it seems that the
          sweat thou
hast dropped
down, I would still find
there. I could recall thy
wounded hands healed
by the painful blisters.
Each day toiling in the
field; ploughing
beneath the scorching
sun, cutting down the
grass and feeding the
             herd of
cattle,
and walking towards
the moorish hill in
search of the firewood.
Alas!  No slippers on feet
yet enduring the harsh
sting of nettle.
Indeed, thou hast never
failed carrying out
thy duties. Thou hast
turned up each moment
wast special for thee.
In thine eyes I've grown
              this age.
I shared
my love and joy with
thee and simultaneously,
I learnt to carry
out all the external work
and withstand the
pain. Although I've
come across the
               endurance,
thy
continues guidance
has shaped my each
learning.
Thou hast made me a
master at rather
young age. I ought to
regard
thy fatherly
companionship
and
mastership. Today, I
could see change in
thee. The weight of
             years has
overshadowed
thy
wandering age but
the fire within, thou
keepest bright and
unfade in thy heart.
That's why I still see
                 thee
labouring
at this age— despite
thy oldness.
All that I'm living
today is because of
thy endless
hardwork
and tenacity.

 IX.

The only glory
heaven
that has ever
revealed to
my eyes is thee,
my dear
patria! How
could I forget thee            
In the
passage of time.

Thou art mine
friendly
companion and
all that infinite
memories,
I have in one store
of my heart
today, have bent
forth since my
childhood
alongsides thy
endless play,
my dear patria!
How could
   Forget thee in
the
passage of time!

I know, when the
time has held
my feet, I left thee in
speechless grief
for the
months long. But
surely I mourned
for that, as it
was my folly, my
dear patria!
How could I forget
thee in the
passage of time!

Over the steady
heave of months,
          the
uneasy flake
enshrouded the
terrains of
mine heart, often
troubling me to
weave upon
the mesh of time.
     Thy mystic
love now and then
ebbed my
being in silent
utterance.

All that pictures
gleamed before
      my eyes
were of the fragile
land where I reside,
the graceful
mountains and
gorges that often
     caught my
gaze, and the
buoyant dwellers.
Not only that,
the tastes of those
fruits and the
clean water have
haunted
my taste bud.

And now all of my
agonies have
settled calm, for I'm
back and
shalt lose myself
in thy majesty, my
dear patria! How
could I forget
thee in
the passage of time!


 X.
In thine sweet
farewell, my
beloved teachers,
my eyes burst
out the tears in
           silent
grief—
for our years of
flowery union
in the school have
faded with the
passage of time.

Our teacher-student
love was deeply
and utterly rooted
            under
the
substratum of
hearts. Unseen yet
surely a felt relish.
We enjoyed
the days through
learnings and
       experiences.
Together,
we rushed against
the stony
obstacles and
vicissitudes of life
and thrived
under the gracious
illumination
of education.
                            
Not only that, in
our unlawful
conducts were thee
the masters behind
to uphold our
immorality and
make us grow
with
               rich
ornaments
of discipline. Thou
hast well treated
us— indeed good
and humane as
               though
we
wert thine own
sons
and daughters.

Thou hast scolded
to us at our
undone homeworks
                 was
varily
right on our part,
I claim
that for otherwise
we wouldst not
have
         grown
and
reaped the sweet
fruit
of an academy.

Thus, we shall
regard thy
unwavering care
and mentorship
done to us in all
our stay in the
               school.
The
unrevealed
light of knowledge
thou hast
revealed in our
sky, shall guide
       us through
the
passage of our
lives. More
importantly, the
sweet fragrance
of love that
ever sweetened
our lives came
fom the garden
of thine own
            hearts,
and
'tis going to haunt
us here
on. I claim that.
        
With this, I pen
off and I wish
my verses would
                reach
to thee
someday. Fare
thee well to all
my kingly and
queenly teachers
          and it's
uneasy
at my heart to          
leave thy
kingdom on
its lonesome.

XI.
O monk, the
worthiness
of this long-sleeved,
wide and dark,
     saffroned
robe.
I, the byfarer, ever
walk
to thy lonely
temple to seek
blessings
from thee. Wouldst
thou lead me in?
       For I've
no sins nor scorns
in my heart. I've
withered
the hues of sins
and scorns to the
glanceless
colour.O monk,
     before
thou
leadest me in,
let me not forget to
bow
down my whole body
at  thy holy feet.
Thou on
the edge corner of
thine alter
hall givest me the
warm floor to
rest my body.
Thou takest out the
beads. Ready
for chanting
prayers and
   songs. O monk,
shall
I join thee or keep
my mouth
all shut and tight in
silent listening.
Ah, such is thee
          and thy
costless bliss, love,
and nobility are
divine
attributes that
I ever aspire to reach.
Thou offerest the
millions of butter
           lamps
for me and for all
kin beings around
and
across this din
world.
Ah, when I
    leave from
here,
let me not forget to
extend
my deepest
gratitude
alongsides holy
reverence.

XII.
It's thy mystic lamp that
casts its immortal light
of love in
our sky. It is our pride to adorn
our
lives with colourful ornaments
of happiness,—
woven in the garden of thy
heart. O noble Majesty! On
this small shore of the vast
sea, we
live in harmony of unity.
The fruits of joy reap
along our fields through
the keen song of thine love.
Thou art the divine
musician whose kingdom
rests upon the reed bed
of melody.
Sweet serenity abides
inside the halls of thine flute
and along the strings of harb.
These mortal lives dance,
synchronizing with thy play.
And our hearts
embrace the wings
of obeisance and touch upon
thy feet with utmost Love and devotion.

XIII.
It's my pride to adorn these crown jewels of flowers to my heart, woven along the gardens of my life.

O, love of my life! Thou hast shone through the mirrors of tears. Thou hast shone through the strange vales of fears. And thou hast shone through the dissonant melody of death's flute.

O, love of my life! I never knew that it was thee and thy love. When thou camest by the threshold of my door, I scorned thee. And when thou camest by myside and toucheth upon me, I cursed thee.

O, love of my life! Yet still thou left me not. Thou hast given me a vortex of strength at heart to break through and against all barriers that bound my way. Thou hast given myriad births to smile upon my face to withstand grief and anger that come by flood of mob deeds.

O, love of my life! I never
knew that it was all thy mystic gifts of fragrance came from
the flowers of thine own heart. When I realise today, ah, it was thee and its endless love. Now, the only assurance that bursts before my mouth is speech of gratitude— with love
and reverence, in return.

XIV.
Beloved motherland— I prithee, weep not when I part forever
from here, leaving thy beautiful land. A heaven-like garden,
graced by the thousand colours of
flowers and immortal ocean of fragrance with which, I would bathe my whole life with pride,—
for I shall never be back.

I may long to return to play upon thy cordial laps, yet I may not find
the way to reach there.
Therefore, I must pour out my gratitude from the well of my heart,— for thou wert there before me, dawn till dusk of my life, like a
rhythm of the flute.


Ah— when I first came into
thy world, I came with empty hands.
I came bare and naked, and knew not the shame. I knew
not who I trully was, when I saw myself in thy mirror.
I felt so lost
and so strange, when I had
nothing with me and none around me. Thus, the first air thou gavest me to breathe, was the
fragrance from thy own garden.


The first water thou gavest me
to put in,
was the milk from thy own breast that gave me the pleasure of wine. And the first refuge thou gavest me to take respite, were thy own laps.
I am fortunate to have been born in thy land of queenly love.
I doubt— how shall I leave from here, leaving thee all alone!

She doesn’t look like me.
Too pale, too naked,
Too ****** under her own surface.

Well I don’t want to drown.
I won’t get pull down because part of me is too
Pathetic and plucked to fly

She can’t be me,
But she’s the only me that sees,
Herself seized up


By the time I’ve flapped the fervor back into me
Shaken off a soft sagging skin
Taken flight

I’m away, unawake, unaware
Weightless as thoughtless
Till I fall

I only learn about myself when landing
Roused by faded echoes of euphoria
Rippling with the hypnic drop

I won’t say I don’t know
About the bullet or predator
Waiting to slink out of my blind spot

But I need to be a bird again
And there’s always an again
Or an until

Until the bird stops returning to be me
No idea why it does
Until it’s killed,
So I can die,
Without being anyone who’s dying.

Just because you don't see my face everyday
Doesn't mean unawake am I
The sun arises everyday
So do I

wallowing in self hate
swallowing mine own tears
sadness over mine own fate
madness from mine own fears

chained by mine own anxiety
claimed by the arms of melancholy
tossing and turning to grasp mine own identity
crossing and burning bridges cowardly

this life shows no bearing
this strife feels like God's mistake
surely, suffering should see ending
purely, i wish to be unawake

i would run up to the depths of the earth
i should then be alas free
maybe, a gun to mine own head shall reverse the date of mine own birth
lately, when i call upon the Lord, He does not hear me