leave me to the lingering
leave you to the stringing me along
there goes my vacancy of interest,
i’m caving for you.
there goes my weightless breath
it’s collapsing my throat now
throughout my thoughts of you.
since you’ve taken leave
i’ve found it convenient to withdraw
from my tendencies to chase you,
so i’m holding back.
my fingers still symbolize yours when
my heat arises and when i get alone
because i can’t exist in darkness
without your face behind my eyes.
Stringing the mast
I sail out onto the ocean vast.
Would I find solace
In a new land's canvas?
Attributing my time to the obvious
I procrastinate being curious.
Would it be more promising
to spend my time being conflicting?
Shouldn't I be giving in to fate
Smiling at the way things have turned desolate.
Travelling beyond thick and thin
Don't I finally deserve a win?
"Hear these hibiscus hymns"
of my hopeful heart
"the chorus a poet bleeds..."
in blessed blues
"I kissed an opera octave"
and started a silent symphony
spinning songs and
sculpting stars in syllables
The mellifluous melodies
mastered by my metaphors
tickle tentative tunes
through a tapestry of tales
Echoes of ecstasy
reverberate in every ensemble
The breath of ballads boasts
of beauty unheard
Lilting lullabies
let out love-lit lyrics
On wings of woven words,
I whistle whispers
chanting celestial canticles
of celebration
Heavenly harmony comes alive
in holy happiness
Rhythmic refrains refresh
in rolling resurgence
The pulsing verses
paint pretty emotions
in ink inspired
euphoric euphonies
crafting creative carols
of Christ-centred comfort
The jubilant joy
of the
soul's dance rejuvenates
stringing, singing and shaping
soulful silver notes
Lonely dark nights ,
and the heart too is left alone,
then within every heart,
a poet is born.
Stringing together the memories of old days , like beads upon a thread of thoughts,
and weaving them into beautiful words,
he enchants every heart.
Then, in that city of dreams,
a poet is born.
Whether in moments of sorrow
or in fleeting seconds of joy,
gathering every experience,
he threads them into fragrant melodies
and flowing waves of song.
Then, within that universe of the heart,
a poet is born.
The secrets buried deep within the chest,
become companions in solitude.
When they unfold in lonely nights,
they find rhythm upon the page.
In every ache of those hidden secrets,
a poet is born.
Lonely dark nights ,
and the heart too is left alone,
then within every heart,
a poet is born.
Real-Life Demogorgons
Life felt like Hawkins—
quiet streets hiding screaming sirens.
Mind Flayers weren’t fiction anymore;
they learned my name.
I was lost like Will,
vanished between breaths,
woke up shivering
in an Upside Down crib—
air thin, walls breathing fear.
I walked on jagged glass,
barefoot in my own thoughts.
Locked inside my skull,
my body spasmed with truths unsaid.
My mind—flayed
not by monsters,
but by my own sins.
Arggh!
I wanted out.
The Demogorgon loomed—
faceless, black, relentless.
Should I speak this pain aloud,
or bury my life
in a pit of silence?
No—
I heard footsteps of the other me,
the one who survived.
Friends became flickering lights,
stringing hope through the dark,
showing me a path I couldn’t see alone.
I was found—
not dead,
but drowning
in endless shadows,
Eaten by real-life Demogorgons
with familiar faces:
fear, shame, loneliness.
Yet here I stand—
scarred, shaking, breathing—
proof that monsters are real,
but so is salvation.
"Once upon a time there was a boy who loved a girl, and her laughter was a question he wanted to spend his whole life answering" (Nicole Krauss)...
and so went ventured forth to do so,
stringing the answers together like a song,
and all of them were right, but all of them were wrong:
a bell, a wind-chime in a soft-summer breeze
sparkling wine, a coquettish tease
a siren song on a lonely sea
disguised as a question, but really a key
a challenge or a call to action
a promise of elusive satisfaction
an opportunity to grow,
the seeds of love at last to sow
a sojourn of unending length
a demonstration of enduring strength
a lifelong quest, a sacred duty
a mysterious, arresting beauty.
In the end, he kissed her memory goodbye
as his immortal spirit floated in the sky.
He pondered, when he got to Heaven's door,
a question he had no answer for.
Night's crush spills black ink
the moon unzips hidden seams
turns souls inside out
foreboding haunts chokes the air
mystery bleeds from her face
Night leans on the shore
moon's breath a blade of silver
cooling tepid skin
the tide tongues open raw seams
salting wounds to sting and heal
Moon bends in bow arc
stringing light across the sea
searching for fractures
beneath the unblinking glare
shadows cower, faint, exposed
She writhes feral, drenched—
her breasts plunge in black water
eyes white with hunger—
she rips at our fraying threads,
raising fear to blaze with flame.
Hopes rise in moon's mist
drawn up by her silver hand
spilling into dreams—
she gathers us in like tides
weaving paths to becoming
Light stings into lust
with hymns strummed on naked thighs
a harp of end chords—
every string the ocean plucks
screams in time with tug of tide
Dawn scars the moon's face
her ghost hides behind torn clouds
soft unrepentant—
the lilt of her vanished hymn
echoes a throb in our bones
Oh sister of night
oracle of ebb and surge
you hiss with forked tongue—
what prophecy do you bear
light's mercy or void's abyss?
I long for flowers
for their petals and scent
for their hint of passing
in yearn for lament
who has picked them?
who has cut their stems?
to vase them drowned, stone dead
to sprinkle, drift away in a sashay of tide
to drop as garlands
around bare feet
wary of the crush of fragrance
sometimes it rains
in my garden of flowers
that gives and takes
among the stakes and rows of stones
of broken and held promises
arrayed as receptacles
awaiting the honeybees
their enchanted direction
to string blooms
into insane
garland chains of
forget-me-knots
longing for
flowers long gone
in passing, a long time ago
now just daisies
everlasting
stringing along
Loving You Is an Art ????
Loving you is an art,
Not just words, not just emotions,
Not just romance.
It is like carving a linocut,
Each stroke, each cut—
Careful, gentle,
So I do not wound the sketch,
The same way I hold your heart,
Responsible not to hurt you.
Loving you is an art,
Like stringing beads with patience.
And when the thread breaks,
And the beads scatter
I do not leave them behind.
I gather them, mend them,Like
The way I would gather your broken pieces
And heal them with love.
Loving you is a design,
A vision that sparks in my mind daily,
A creation I bring to life,
Over and over again.
Loving you... is my masterpiece.
The Truth
The way I feel
For years our love was a thought
No true nor false
Lies the whole time
Love wasn’t there
You cheated everywhere
We had two different storms
Your rage was Thunder
My understanding was flashes of lightning
Kingdom that came alive
I was used a puppet only stringing along
My love was true and committed
You on the other hand was looking for an opportunity
You blew it like a flat tire
You weren’t the man I thought
I too was sleeping around
I found someone who loves me for me
Step back as you are no longer who I want to see
Every verbal word you attempted was recorded and accorded for
Your hidden heart brought out the truth
You deserve to be on a curve
You are getting what you truly deserve
Get out of my house and life
My mind is clear
I don’t want you near
I am not your dear
I have no fear
A new day in my life has turned into a new chapter
You no longer matter
Get Out
As I wander across the arid dunes
Singing along, stringing along the ghastly glacial tunes
Sinking in the sands of debility
Saddled on a ride filled with sanguinity
Pondering, contemplating, despairing
Again, something is missing
Losing my touch as I bask in unfulfillment
Treasuring countless, meaningless sentiment
Albeit freedom-sworn, forever I am imprisoned
Locked behind those mourns of the damned
Days fly, and keep flying, freezing this ever old tale
The pained, unchanging currents never stopped, my heart too shall never settle
The nightly howls never halted, my eyes open unendingly
Unelected billionaire,
Puppeteering the POTUS...
Money-stringing corruption:
A democratic country,
Lunching its democracy:-
Implosion of democracy
Explosion by hypocrisy
Not what God meant to be
Twisted by man’s hands of deceit
Whitewashing history
Distorting views
Blatant blasphemy
Stringing together fools
Ignoring facts
With liquid laughs
Dismissing science
Utterly madd
Doing favors
For the rich
While poor laborers
Get short stick
Dozen eggs
Expensive to get
Daily bread
Tainted chicken and fish
Can’t feed the poor
In USA
Sending it abroad
More than what stays
Not that we can’t
Be a good neighbor
But home first man
Kids deserve our favor
Burning wick
of politics
Dividing inciting
Not uniting with
Guns flood streets
As felons hit bricks
Made guilty free
Despite January 6
I’m no God
I know sin too
I just watch
For Him to move
No nation divided
Can stand tall
Is it decided
Will it fall
Deep bass breaths blue soothing strong
Play me like Picasso piano all night long
Nibbles at my ear are a peach love song
So dear my heart cheers stringing me along
My knees melt like Swiss cheese
You fill all my gold holes
Fuchsia feelings like destiny
Embraces my heart jumpstart my soul
I am a sandy song
Which you determine kinetic key
Like guitar play teal thong
Make a romantic red melody
Let’s break burgundy rules
Play them like a bugle
Use pink passion as a tool
Use tongue to draw pink doodle
When the fat lady sings
You know that she felt sun
Never mind about denim dreams
She squirts sonnets just for fun
Close your dream filled eyes
Quiet your anxious, loud mind
Run wild from the intrusive taunts
Fixating, gossiping over you in silent,
Yet understood tongue.
Let the lies of yourself fall through
Unravel the programming stringing you along.
Step in surety, embrace the unknown
Befriend uncomfort - watch yourself grow.
Beneath your sadness and tears of dew
Rests a welcoming child your heart once knew.
Greet them in play, spark up a chat
Let dance the flow of life as it once was.
Invoke change, shake it’s hand
Say hello to strangers you may never know.
Spend days away from civil happenings
Only passable roads lie between you and freedom -
From all that is truly needed.
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