November 14, 2009

Ascetic Too Early

Sunday, 14 December 2008 at 15:26
Must bonds of blood impose upon the heart,
that treacherous, treacherous heart?
The tempest of tears has washed itself away
Nothing absolves the shame I cling on to
For dear, sweet nothings
I forsake the certainty of my path
So clearly laid, for a whim?
May be so, Surely so.
But it is all mine to abandon
The strings I tug on tug at me alone
For oft the path untrodden
The path too easily taken
Must remain for our aftermaths
When our mettle by trouble is shaken
For an illusion of responsibility
Ties created to the tune of what ought be
And fantasy must reclaim leftovers of the noose.

Footnotes to Your Reality

Friday, 12 December 2008 at 23:20
You mastered the lie
But for the passion in your eye
Even in your cold, black stare
I divine astronomical care
Your abuse cannot decieve
The connection we together concieved

Your tone of stone
Is to you unfamiliar, unknown
Your mock irritation
Is a confirmation
Those grating words of pain
Are the substance of your shame

There is much that cannot be hidden
Skeletons revealed unbidden
Footnotes to your reality
Which include “affinity”.


Friday, 12 December 2008 at 23:13
The nomad grieves the familiar
The world spins in delirium
The wails of the heart confronting the liar
Still existence lacks essence, chasing a dead equilibrium

The loneliness ravenously the self devours
The nights a eulogy to bliss which lies in insomnia’s grave
The isolations seduces the suicidal hours
As the vulnerable partake in the masquerade of the brave

An Adieu to Admiration

Friday, 12 December 2008 at 23:07
I shall look for you
In those aisles of university trenchcoats
Modest mockery in the Zenana among the dreaming spires
Seek your wooden comfort in online coups
An atom of you in the Poet Laureate’s gloating
Your daily flight in aspiration
Though I walk away with no adieu


Thursday, 11 December 2008 at 22:58
The moments in time
You squander are mine
You think it’s divine
To make limericks of rhyme

The day draws to a close
And everyone knows
We’ll never be close
Cold as comatose

The Anchor

Again a spray of dried flowers from the past.

Inspiration is a chain of many links that go on endlessly
Whose birth and origin lie just out of the scope of memories torch
but have strong anchor in earthly profundity


sorrow is that which delves deep
seeks out that which you perceive as lost
and finds your soul
and fathoms its depth
and navigates dimensions you were unaware of


Nov 2006
Shrouded in the shrine of pseudo day
Encircled by voluptuous thought
Lay the deity of love herself
Amidst the cackling and hoarse cries of success the whore
Yet oblivious to the seducer
Retained the mystical charm of old and lore
Oft find the seekers the rotten bread of answers and that in itself is the illusion
Finely crafted in the mystery
It plainly is all that you may question that science and your liar god cannot fill
And yet the pot bellied black holes suck in the spoils of your piousness
to satisfy the hunger pangs of their god who churns and purrs like a fat cat in the sun
The music beckons you in and leads u to your one truth
The delusion does not lie to you
The mystery is the only truth, the only clarity
All else is futile
All else ceases to mean a thing
The non believer is the one with more conviction
And a man’s principals need not go past the tightness if his fist…
When all is found, you lose the certainty of being lost
When all is said and done
Not even the tide will remain
For there will be no shore to linger on

Quakes Of Truth And Never

Thursday, 11 December 2008 at 22:37
Yet another heart tremor
Shakes foundations of fortune
And through the veins we feel fever
We lose our focus, our path’s tune
Now the heart in guise of feather
Shattered dreams of truth and never


Thursday, 11 December 2008 at 20:54
Though you speak not notably incantations of a tongue intense
And I conceived from a culture conglomeration exoterically irreverent
The enigma of our understanding is impervious, dense,
Our solidarity fragrances eternity; uncontained by merely ephemeral present.

The language Thoth glorifies himself with is his poor vain tool
The lofty brow of intellect aspires to only sobering the delirium
Mortality comes to feast on both Buddha and the slumbering Fool
Every man of any stock prays for his pain to numb

Beyond the council of elders and genealogy ever larger is that house royal
We are pulsed together in perfect concord by the blood of the soul
Made malleable odyssey through catharsis, prepared by the test of fire relentlessly loyal
As tradition bows down to make the inseparable godliness whole

The diffusion of dreams and destinies as chronology perceived
Cheats men of the wisdom of greater communion true
Those who by conventional disparity are apart deceived
Do not acquire the spoils of intimacy between me and you

Distance imminently is to intrude
Jealously dilute the refuge reminiscent
Lessen the degree of our solicitude
But triumph was long ours in denominations of achieved Ascent

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