Teaching a new born
Why not say

O child be yourself
Experience and learn.... (From our follies do stay away...).
the midnight oil do burn
and experience and learn...
what holds in the folds of eternity...
tis alone a reality-----
we only shall pass our silliness....

Oh, child! believe in yourself...

.we should not convey our thoughts...
as per our times----

take your own steps... one at a time
and the truths of all existence do combine

I dream of winter,
not the one in cruel hearts
but one born with beauty
and the sea of white snow,
painted over the landscape
where I could lay
down and cast
in a snow angel's shape,
fulfilling my childish yearning.
I dream of snowball fights
with young children
laughing, playing
or pretending to rescue
a damsel from the Ice Queen

smiling rays,
i drop a cliff note on
perspective and changing
frames hanging
pieces by the
letter falling
closer in the
midst of post-
daylight frequencies
onlooking longer
at the clamoring
daydreams soft
spoken screeches
and bellowing
whispers in pre-
starlit afterthoughts
wild and transparent
deciding days of
ornamental life
trying for
places stuck in
waysides bending
though cul-de-sac
entryways ending in
authentic life

Heat rising in her cheeks
beneath dewy tears.
The shattered innocence of
a murdered dove.
A child playing the role of an adult.
The young feast upon the mother.
Too soon to start.
Too late to stop.
The cloth is cleansed
yet the stain remains.

stretched the gondola
come ride the black deep
pretty dark sheep
thou offering lamb

candles roam
on water jilted
with the tug of oars
the lantern tin
at prow

with this silence
filled
the sweet little
breathes of awe
the glitter eyes
excited/wary
accentuated
dress an
autumn faery

a caverns constellation
swift
the eyes of shinning
dew
on sticky silk
traps
crawls the hungry
legged lust

Yet another late newscast,
more death and violence over there
and I know that it won't be the last.
I shake my head in near despair.

Does hatred really run so deep
that war is all that both sides seek
while in the sand the bodies seep
as missiles launch from some roof's peak?

Tit for tat and tat for tit
in a cycle seemingly unending.
Will they never tire of it?
Are beliefs really that unbending?

There is sadness
Portrayed that seeks my soul
Let us tend to your hurts
Where love is the potion.

Hold us close
Others are kept at bay
This fear of being
Must decline as it is fragile

Think of us each morning
Before you start your day
We will walk with you
Along rough ways

Picking up the stones
That are strewn there
Then you may journey
Without these cares

Take up our ways
As they are there to use
Just for a fleeting time
As we have been told of you.

this gives me food for thought...
who will you prefer...
as you are about to die....

your wife standing by to see you die...
or the nurse holding your hands and pray...
sir do stay ----
why die on my way....

let me go off today ...
my bf is waiting for me this day..
just for the next nurse
at least do stay

drench
cause
purposes
in cap fallen
dizzy knee
gulps

the fire gasp
gust glow
like the steady
twist
high and higher

tip it in
tilt it out
sadness
and armor
that will sleek
away
the ruin
but not a pretty
youth

yet

the welt of tears
on a windowsill
where you walk
cat footed

come come
with a palm
on the suede

drench rains
i can feel the dampness
of the pain

Even before
a single word was uttered
man cried
man smiled
man laughed

We have words now
fragments of sound
shaped, moulded
to suit our physical needs
but much
remains unexpressed

All language is subservient
to a larger cause –
sound trapped
on tendrils of silence