i settle for the littlest scraps i can secure;
i settle for the littlest scraps, and even then they're hard to procure.
i kneel for the most jaded of hearts;
i kneel for the jaded hearts, even when my own is pierced through by stray darts.
i vouch for the blandest demeanors i can find;
i vouch for the bland and even then they don't find it in them to be kind.
why do i prolong my pain, you ask?
why do i not seek what's in it for my gain so I can bask?
there's something deeply ruined, flawed in entitlement
so i restrain to find the beauty in belittlement.
//
wings,
wings,
wings,
An ongoing black screen,
A blandest morning, ,
,abundunt ///////////blunt & burnt
DAMP!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
inadequate
, looping And/////////////ripping , In a room, twenty floors up, thriving,
_ to let me in, in a
doll _incorrect mannequins insolvent
remainders
I am a boom, a bloom Buddha, a
simpleton you know , frantic and pretty much done
our manners_____________________
, onto into upto will do somehoww
of too why to anyhoww hey, hey, hey
Clarity, clear of blemishes,
mannequins !!!!!
yes please
the numbness of seasons ,
a blues like you, half , half , a job, Near to sea, is scary
as it can b
wings,
wings,
wings,
The salt of their skin has its flayed
geometry, sharp crevices beneath
the classroom where my dark teeth
tried the savoury chalk and failed.
I have been a teacher for the sum
of my disjointed life; never knew
otherwise, never learnt, as I grew,
how to study the breadcrumb
where the heights have gathered.
My students, ants in my breath,
state they are builders of words
in silence and thrive, feathered
like fangless tigers, within death,
my blandest subterranean birds.
Stanley's Mom made the blandest pot of soup
When you ate a bowl, your eyelids would droop
Mom added hot chili
'Twas Stanley's achilles
He took one bite and let out a war whoop
Sweet is equally sweet to all mortal tongues,
Choice morsels sate all men's starved pangs;
Brilliant sights of plenty charm every eye right,
And friends against foes for shinier spoils fight.
Why then do many in want of fine things stand;
Or, how come keenest mouths on gravel feed?
What alters those picky looks on life's shelves
That tell the greatest from the blandest breed?
Sheer wishful cravings for tasty bites alone,
Can't tear sumptuous meat from obtuse bone;
Nor can mere oglings turn fate's mulish thread,
That pins all sojourners on the hardened tread.
Life's fortunate farers got loads of apt swag:
Maybe just a weird tooth for plaintive rhyme,
Or a bankrupt itching to benefit others' souls;
Artful ploys to outshine the sly guiles of dime.
Prized strokes of luck eschew the clinical type,
And smile on stony folks immune to their hype.
-Let Me--
Let me caress your lips of twee
And let me get drunk in your breath.
Let me trace your body of balmy
And let me sleep under your heartening clasp.
Let me hold your hands of the blandest.
And let me not loose your entwine hands from me.
Let me stroke your hair of satiny
And let me animate my thrills in sense.
Let me gaze into your eye of pearls
And let me opine my futurity into deep drop.
Let me ascertain to your voice of philomel tone
And let me caper my joy along full mirth bound.
Let me call your name of dulcet
And let me chant your name in my everyday prayers.
Let me lie on your back which of celestial
And let me stay by your side together ever .
Let me come to you in your dreams of soothing
And let me feel eachother while we stay aloof.
Let me love you with all my hearts of entrust
While you live in full blooms of thyme
And let me leave you some lines of rhymes.
So that you would know I would love anything of yours
If you let me to become yours.
:Dawa Zangpo.
His pain labelled his face
Like an abandoned quarry full of "danger" signs
His guilt numbed his emotions
Like the blandest sand dune in the Saharra
With a head full of broken bottles
His mind was severed from clear thinking.
My father slept walked through life.
Ruled by the thoughts of others
Governed by their selfish labels
Mixed with self lies
Stirred by a wooden spoon: a race to the bottom.
With four hours to go
The light turns on !.
New light reflects through the broken bottles
Joins the dots
The shards of glass becomes holders of love.
More than four hours though...
Shines forever !.
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