Indeed dear readers, there is such a book.. Yet
In my deepest boredom, I have never looked.’
Foresooth and in truth; it’s been fifty years.?since
I glanced in his direction..I’ve no desire now to
Subject any ears’ though they be of barley.?
Or even corn.. I bind to no disputed lyric
Origens I’d druther indeed be forelorn. Cast on
An isle barren and sad.. Than laud disputed
Lyrics if you like your truth’s to be had.?
Shakespeare& C0
6-7 years ago, I was in Paris for a wedding and reading poetry,
the reading was met with protests by the public who protested again
my anti-Israel and pro-Palestinian poems.
The day after walking about I was trying to find the Paris of Dos Passos
and Ernest Hemingway, found a city overpriced looking like any others.
I happened to walk past a bookshop “Shakespeare & co” I walked in
met by a million of books.
I had two slim volumes of my own effort, and naively asked if I could place
them here? The answer was yes, I filled out a form with my address,
and that was it. It was only later I realized my tiny books were the company with
the greatest poets and writer in the western world.
I never contacted the bookshop again, but often wonder if anyone has browsed
through my work and liked what I had written.
Love,like art should be free
It should not be forced, rather grow like a tree
It's not something we set or control
It's something we should let freely to roll
It's a force that comes into our lives even without a knock
And somehow we find ourselves opening the lock
It then stays without any rules or expectations
And defies the set upon existing limitations
Am not good in art but I can draw us together
And you're a lover of art,a bird of my feather
I can paint your face to forever glow
But art is not hurried so I'll take my time slow
And whenever I write, you'll always be the words
Shakespeare's style, you're the queen so I'll play well with the cards
To make this artistic love a reality
This time straight into our souls clarity.
"Art and love are the same thing, well, its the process of seeing yourself outside you"
I blink as I look into your caramel eyes
Sifting through your features trying to find flaws yet failing
Words cannot explain the way I feel when I see your face
I see my world in your eyes, never have I loved someone like I love you
This impulsive feeling I feel when I look at you
Your fair skin, too good for the sun, beautiful
Your red beautiful lips the colour of blood
Something I would give for you
Yet offspring of an enemy you are- and i should loathe you
Yet I love you my beautiful boy
Fate never on my side has given us this hurt
Will you still love me? will I still be your girl
My heart beats for you
May our love always be as good as new…
NOT FROM THE STARS DO I MY JUDGMENT PLUCK
In fact those eyes has made standard of this crime
As the skin and clothes may be the label of its guise
WHEN IN THE CHRONICLE OF WASTED TIME
WHAT'S IN THE BRAIN THAT INK MAY CHARACTER
Blending on the abstract frame I play in gray
The eyes might be shameless of its judgement
HOW CAREFUL WAS I WHEN I TOOK MY WAY
WHY IS MY VERSE...
Playing such a wise word, on this early age
Rattling discordant note, hide the true drama
The shadow acts AS AN UNPERFECT ACTOR ON THE STAGE
When the pagesof my years are turn
Doubt not much about the lost years
The tears,the wears, and the running fears
I could have been any man but not
Myself i am but myself
In love of thought and pen points
I hold a flame to dark night
And light with light he moon light
And when the sun is up about heaven
I try a smile for frown path
Reckon a good is good of righteous self
As the path of moon and sun never meet
And a glad heart is a precious thing
That few a man would but need
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