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Poem
Listen to the shifting winds 
carrying musical meteors,
there soars floating
letters between 
lyrical lines,
emanating runes
that reflect 
revolving rhymes
of faith within
and beyond.
For we are more than
just spectators or actors, 
in this theatrical life,
we are the assigned 
maestros of God
orchestrating joy,
through strings of 
interconnected instruments.

In the midst of reality,
when chaos knock
on the glass doors of 
our thoughts, 
we unchain 
celestial portals,
switching off 
scorpion-skinned sagas
scattered along scorching
hems of rainless deserts, 
to slumber within
warm arms of intuitions,
allowing eagle feathers
dipped in lotus water
to caress fragile psyche. 

Yet through roses-tinted 
lens of seasonal changes, 
we see greener
blades of willows
in yesterday, 
and smell roses sweeter 
than jasmines.
While consciousness unveils
glistening gardens,
where trees stand taller. 
But to see the 
roots rushing with 
twinkling truth, 
should we let raspberry
rain to cleanse foggy mists 
clouding our sight? 
As it is in darkness
we find flickering fairy-lights
guiding our third-eye to
stroll in dual dimension,
an astral realm,
where spring-falls 
are the mirror to the
heart of storms,
there we wear
an amethyst armor
carved with 
seraphic hieroglyphics,
from the holy manuscript
that unravels a road
to waltzing beneath
aquamarine auroras,
sprinkling ribboned bliss
upon a home 
where hope is the 
blooming fragrance,
curtained with 
dancing dreamcatchers. 

So remember,
to connect with 
celestial rays
to refocus and shift 
the last light within 
our anxious mind,
as voices echo
in rustic refrains,
shackling inner-peace,
while perspectives and
rolls reversed,
we’ll walk out of the closet
that suffocates us,
allowing karmic kismet
to clothe us in divine jewels 
from cosmically 
connected comets. 

Perhaps, we are 
daydreamers, 
dressed in 
daffodils and dahlias, 
soul searching like 
wanderers on the quest
of finding an alchemist within,
to devise a mystical plan. 
As we’ve seen places 
that were never walked upon, 
where sands of life
left footprints
in the chakras of our soul,
like emerald 
skies of déjà vu.

Let this be us weaving 
whimsical tales within 
skin and bones,
etched in sage 
for the eyes that 
place labels of lies
on our cloak of solace.
When mind drifts to
an enchanting land, 
where the moon never
phases while time turns fickle.
This is the eternal 
escape from reality,
a hydrangea hideaway,
away from hills of hypocrisy.
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