Category: Poetry

Oftentimes, I read. Words woven as stories, ideas, beliefs. Knowledge, a cage. My eyes look at the stars, My feet feel the dewdrop; with the organs within, without, I live every moment of life, in its highs and lows.  But I know the elusive truth, beyond all bondage lies beyond books, nature trails, and tales of birth and death. 

voyeurism by any other name?

One world. Different worlds. One situation. Many versions. Men, women, children, holding leaves in their minds through their eyes, beholding selected words, fruits, flowers, forming chosen haven, unable to distance, so the tree comes to light. The lack of vision, a white elephant. 

Good, bad, ugly The Friday is here for good, a reminder  of his love for the light; his life, a work of art,  a supreme sacrifice,  he rose like a blooming flower, with bloody scars to unite with the source; for us, respectful, irreverent, after our toiling work,  successes, failures, thank God, it’s another weekend of  resurrection.