When you pose for a picture
Does that picture picture you
another foot of snow
the growing girl at the playground
laughs on her tongue, a
surface for the
cold
when blue the nerves in her teeth
another foot of snow
where she could disappear
it follows her footsteps by footsteps
how deeply the snow's
touched
it melts and becomes her skin
opening rose bud
in the sun
warming my cold soul
It’s 253 am here I am
Craving a midnight snack
But it’s past midnight
I shouldn’t delight
I’ll just starve in the sack
I must fight the hunger monster
For my goal is to avoid fat rolls
Calories aren’t imaginary youngster
And bread add booty to a soul
An Apple a day keeps the doctor away
What if you want him for a night
To help you with weight
Kick kill candy craves
And to become his shopping wife
Jack and Jill went up the hill
To visit the food bank
Others did too
For lack of food
Is common in USA
A poet is a musician
The instrument played is words
He may be rejected but
If you really listen
Prophetic truth may be heard
A poet is an artist
His canvas is a conscious mind
At various stages of awareness
Openly exploring abstract is Devine
A poet is a prophet
Who must not be self absorbed
Yet is aware of his flaws
Embracing philosophy as by the Lord
Foolish man
Stay silent
For knowledge listens
And wisdom peers
Sacrifices on sacrifices,
From the times I spent kneeling—my knees scarred.
Yet celebration and I are miles apart.
It’s been ages since I danced for a win;
Feels like I’m trapped in a karmic cycle of sin.
I’m in search of direction,
Travelling a path without road signs,
Seeking guidance from minds already lost.
I stay trapped in a maze,
Never proud, yet I’m lost,
A joke to those who know the way.
To anyone who can hear me out there:
Throw me a compass, a map.
I’m not asking you to walk for me,
Just show me the door out of this trap.
Maybe I can hold a trophy again,
Claim an accolade
While my age still permits—before it’s too late.
I’ll find myself, pay for lost time,
The cost of being lost.
A gathering of stars,
The lights of the seekers shine bright.
They have wandered through withered meadows,
Encountering strange shadows.
They have passed through a door,
One revealed to them in the calm of night,
A door that appeared after midnight,
Illuminated by the gentle glow of moonlight,
Marking the beginning of a new day differently.
A sage had foretold this event,
Predicting a gathering of lights at Zion’s gate,
A moment to pause the hands of the strange,
A time for bloom and change.
As the moon returns to its chamber,
The radiance faded away,
Yet the seekers felt empowered for tomorrow.
Redemption whispered that there is still much to see,
Much to understand, and much to know.
November 3, 2025.
From in my mind arose a thought
Yet still I think another
Farther, what has mother brought?
A sister... now a brother!
Most indubitably I welcomed he
Thy blood flows through his vein
Arose a thought, how will he be?
For what ought- be his name
A name his face will take, in time
Rest assured-will be it so
As well it did to yours, to mine
To everyone- we know
Ye blessed his soul my sibling stone
Be forever free of ill and stress
And may he never be alone
Lo! live a life in happiness!
And yet, another thought; anew
I dearly thanked my mother
In mind I thought I always knew
I'd be a sibling's brother
Midnight groans so quietly
From a churchyard far below,
Sky within the pathway
Gives off a charcoal tinge,
And darkness roves, alone
Farther than my throbbing glance
And moves back into a shade
Like the deepening of these eyes
Where pale nocturne withers
Past ghastly streaks of mourning:
Like nibbled ashes through late dusk
Setting the sun to be gone
Constellations peacefully gather,
like acrobats falling to sadness
The moon peruses a small light
Overseeing time's twisted face --
This agony evanescing into another trail
Besieged...pierced by stars.
What is more terrifying than a closed door?
A breath, a floorboard creak, a dull thud of
danger impending. A shadow fleeting, a rustle
of leaves from window left open. A sigh in silence.
The threat and the jolt, the spook, stalk and kill;
the call is coming from inside the house.
What is more terrifying than a closed door?
An opening to nowhere to ambiguity to hollow,
to fear, fall or flounder, to stagger then stumble. A pit.
Beyond that closed door, beyond key, lock and bolt
are sentences incomplete, threads still unspooling,
whispers vague and steam swirling. An intangible 'then'.
An open door, however, is in fact more terrifying:
the unknown bend of a corridor, a life mapped
out on tracing paper. Invisible ink dropped,
dotted behind. Splashes unseen left as breadcrumbs.
Simply to put text that we cannot cover anything complex
There was a simplified version of every object-- an annex
The loss of everything to put it understandable; loosing context
Was like cutting all of the trees just to portray land like Lorax
Though, where we put things behind the bars is just the manifesto
Everything could be described out and reasoned with a memo
I was warned by Spinoza, that not everything fits out and can be a reductio
So, would a man be reasoning out of everything killing complexity would be a maestro
A virtuoso indeed, to be smart that it leaps every precautionary never stumbled
Wish I was that man to hide complexity, to assign simplicity-- oversimplified
But, I would lose the essence of dopamine in searching question categorized
As I would never understand if short text means something to unconcealed
For the second time, to foresee everything that love commits
It is hard to see, where wrong and boundary correlate.
So burden would not be love; somber is just hard to translate
Unfortunately, it's hard to designate, that it may never be delicate
The first time, thought love transcends mortality and duration
Giving up is the hardest-- to fulfill the adjudication
I am foretold that love is a sacrificial lamb existence, more on
Moron that i could be the way I am treating the situation
Now it is the fourth time; I never heard of the third.
I skipped it, made of traumas like a herd
Shepherd-- me convincing every pieces, even it is blurred
Though, it is hard to find, my glasses broke, everything scattered
Now, I realized, the pattern is so specific
It looks like mentally challenging;horrific.
That, what I just remembered-- munific
What RIvermaya just performed is honorific
Though even I see that, love eats me out
Every love I fought just made my feet seethe with gout
It is for Rivermaya with no doubt
That narrative of genuine love, still works out
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