Category Archives: Uncategorized

WHISPERS OF LOVE ACROSS SEAS

My sweet flower born from a precious sun
My sweet woman

I declare to all tallest mountains
the beauty of love

That all mankind feels when falling in love
you are the one my dear — the seed of passion

Oh, tonight the winds are singing across seas
ships who have sailed afar carry within sails
your words of whsipering adorn within sailor’s
hearts and tears of joy

In the deep folds of the earth
where shadows weave,

Your presence blooms like a hidden sun,
Illuminating the silence of the night,

A beacon where my heart, lost, is found.
In dreams, I drift among your celestial whispers,

Where every murmur becomes a symphony,
In your gaze, the cosmos stirs,
Two souls entwined, a dance of the eternal.

Under the moon’s caress, our hearts merge,
As rivers murmur tales of our unity,
Your voice, a hymn of ancient stars,
Flows through the fabric of time, tender and unyielding.

Let each sunrise and sunset echo our passion,
A love that traverses the bounds of days,
Where every tempest and calm we conquer,
Bound by a love that defies even the universe’s rhyme

:: 08.07.2024 ::


WHISPERS OF THE UNSEEN THE UNLOVED

WHETHER we speak or scribble (or merely glance)

we are always unseen. what we are
cannot be bound by book or word’s dance
our soul remains infinitely afar

What does Life care?

We are the lonely People

though we give our thoughts wings, let them soar
to be our soul, to dance in the broad,
our hearts remain incommunicable (more)
in what we reveal, we are ignored

We struggle living a life
remembering nothing of the sermon
we bowed to while being born

the chasm from soul to soul cannot be crossed
by thought’s finesse or seeming’s disguise
unto ourselves we are forever lost
when we attempt to voice our inner skies

we are but dreams of ourselves, souls by gleam,
and each to each, but dreams of others’ dreams.

:: 08.06.2024 ::


SO YOU’VE TOUCHED MY HEART

Upon this path, clear as the sun’s own flower,
I tread the lanes, through day and dusky hour.
Eyes wide, I wander, gaze cast left and right,
And oftentimes I glance back, at the sight
Of what lies there—each moment’s new reveal,
A marvel yet unseen, a truth I feel.
This constant birth of wonder, this delight,
Grants me the joy of childhood’s pure insight,
As if a babe, whose birth is just begun,
Aware that life’s first breath has truly come.

In every instant, I am newly born,
To greet the world, afresh with each new morn.
For in the world’s eternal novelty,
I find a source of ceaseless gaiety.

I trust the world as does a marigold,
For what I see is true, and pure, and bold.
But thoughts, they cloud, and burden weary eyes,
The world was not for musing, nor for sighs.
To think is to invite a subtle pain,
But gazing, we find solace, not disdain.

No grand philosophy do I possess,
But senses keen, to nature I confess.
Not for the knowing do I speak her name,
But for the love she grants, without acclaim.
For love, in truth, knows not the reasons why,
Nor understands the wherefore of its sigh.

Love is a child, innocent and pure,
And innocence, in thought, can scarce endure.

:: 08.08.2024 ::


The Voice of A Poet

The poet is a man who feigns,
And feigns so deep, with artful guise,
That he, at length, with ease attains
To feign the pain he truly sighs.

Those who read what he did pen
Perceive, within his plaintive strain,
Not the pains he felt back then,
But a distant, unknown pain.

Thus, around its constant track,
There runs, to keep our minds in part,
The circling, ceaseless clockwork’s clack,
Which men have named the human heart.

:: 08.05.2024 ::


The Streetwalker’s Song

In the shadows, the streetwalker toils,
Her heels echo on cold stone.
She sings because she must, her voice
A melody both sad and sweet,
Born from the very act of being.

Oh, if ever I could capture
In my verses what she imparts
To the night through her labor,
I might lose the path
To my own varied destinies.

Chorus:
She sings because she must,
in the silence of the night,
A melody of sorrow, a heart in flight.
With every note, her soul takes flight,
But oh, the darkness still holds her tight.

Verse 2:
Her voice, a lullaby for broken dreams,
In the alleys where the lost souls scream.
She wears a smile that hides her pain,
In the pouring rain, she walks again.

Bridge:
And in her song, a tale of woe,
Of love long lost, and hearts aglow.
Yet in her eyes, the tears still flow,
A silent plea, for hope to grow.

There’s a profound unity
In this unthinking, reasonless act,
And even as she sings, she walks
The streets with rhythmic reality…
But who will cleanse my heart?

:: 08.05.2024 ::


ALL THE TREES ALL THEIR BRANCHES ALL THEIR LEAVES

All the trees, their branches whispering secrets to the wind
Leaves spiraling into the abyss of twilight dreams,
the grass at the foot of the rocks, conspirators with silent houses,
far off, the sea, a mirror that swallows your gaze whole,
these images, recurring phantoms of day after day,
the vices, the virtues, shadows of imperfection

Men, transparent specters, drift among these dreamscapes by chance,
women, ethereal whispers, breathe through your elegant obsessions,
your heart, a leaden relic, presses against virgin lips

THE vices, the virtues, mirrors of imperfection

Eyes, twin galaxies, conquer with looks of whispered permissions,
bodies merge, dissolve in confusions of weariness and ardor,
words, attitudes, ideas, reflections in a hall of shattered mirrors,
the vices, the virtues, echoes of imperfection.

:: 07.27.2024 ::


Ascending to Vengeance

Conquering shorelines of
storm-dredged beaches with revenge
The One first small now large
Ascending to the top of the light house
she seizes the clouds and pulls them toward her bosom
A sorrow no greater
A suitor more passionate
Bright are the fringes of the sun, shining so fine,
On the summit, a basin awaits, divine.

:: 08.02.2024 ::


dysmetropsia

THERE must be a feeling
that feels real
SOMETIMES sadness
is a purple color
at times sometimes
i’m surreal ~~ wondering
why i’m alive / don’t forget
where i’m at : never forget
where I am at : painting,
writing, playing guitar,
eating strawberries,
growing deep inside
forgetting time | Relativity,
never forgetting Time
it’s like the moon \ falls
around me / it’s like you
desert ring _
loving you.


RIVER OF LIQUID GLASS

In the garden of flickering neon trees,
where shadows dance with marionette leaves,
I met a man with a clockwork heart
and eyes like prisms, tearing time apart.

He whispered secrets in a language of static,
his voice a symphony of glitches and clicks,
telling tales of constellations uncharted,
and love letters written in binary scripts.

We wandered through a labyrinth of velvet mist,
where fish flew by on currents of twilight,
and the moon sang lullabies to sleeping stars,
cradled in the arms of endless night.

I found a river of liquid glass,
where thoughts flowed like mercury streams,
reflecting the dreams of forgotten gods,
and the echoes of interstellar dreams.

A carousel spun in an abandoned carnival,
each horse a phantom of forgotten lore,
and as I rode, the world unraveled,
a tapestry of surrealist decor.

In the distance, a cathedral of crystal,
its spires piercing the fabric of reality,
and inside, a choir of silent voices,
harmonizing in spectral duality.

When dawn broke, the mirage faded,
leaving only a trace of whispered winds,
and I awoke, clutching fragments of visions,
in the realm where the surreal begins.

:: 05.17.2024 ::


The World of Roses

In the world of Floris, a planet where every being was a fusion of human and flower, roses reigned supreme. The inhabitants, known as Rosalians, were characterized by their delicate rose-petal skin, leafy hair, and a subtle fragrance that filled the air wherever they went. In this unique world, the only flower that existed was the rose, and it was the foundation of their culture, economy, and identity.

Dr. Alaric Thorn, a prominent scientist and a respected teacher, stood before his class in the grand botanical amphitheater. His students, all young Rosalians eager to learn, sat in rows of petal-shaped seats, their eyes gleaming with curiosity.

“Today,” Dr. Thorn began, his voice carrying the gentle authority of a seasoned educator, “we will discuss a revolutionary idea: the existence of other flowers beyond our beloved rose.”

A murmur of excitement and disbelief rippled through the room. The concept was as alien to them as the stars beyond their sky.

Dr. Thorn activated a holographic display, projecting an image of their planet, Floris, from space. “For centuries, we have believed that the rose is the only flower, the pinnacle of botanical evolution. But what if I told you there might be other worlds, other planets where different flowers flourish?”

One student, a bright young Rosalian named Lysara, raised her hand. “Dr. Thorn, how can we be sure? We’ve never seen these other flowers. What makes you think they exist?”

Dr. Thorn smiled, pleased by her inquisitiveness. “Excellent question, Lysara. Our recent advancements in interstellar observation have revealed traces of botanical structures on distant planets. These structures differ from our roses, suggesting diverse floral life forms.”

He switched the hologram to display various shapes and forms, each representing a possible alien flower. “Imagine a world where flowers bloom in countless shapes and colors, each with unique properties and characteristics. A world where the flora is as varied as the stars themselves.”

The students leaned forward, captivated by the images. Another student, a quiet boy named Thorne, spoke up. “If these other flowers exist, what does that mean for us? How would it change our understanding of life and our place in the universe?”

Dr. Thorn’s expression grew thoughtful. “It would challenge our perception of uniqueness and inspire us to explore beyond our known boundaries. It would mean that life, in its infinite diversity, has found countless ways to flourish. It would teach us humility and expand our horizons.”

He paused, letting the gravity of his words sink in. “We must prepare ourselves for the possibility of encountering these new forms of life. As scientists and scholars, our duty is to seek knowledge and embrace the unknown. Perhaps one day, we will embark on a journey to these distant worlds and witness the beauty of other flowers with our own eyes.”

The amphitheater buzzed with a renewed sense of wonder and anticipation. Dr. Thorn knew that this was only the beginning of their exploration. The Rosalians were on the cusp of a great adventure, one that would take them beyond the petals of their familiar roses and into the vast, blossoming garden of the cosmos.

:: 07.07.2024 ::

Notes:

This poem conveys a message about the endless possibilities of life and the importance of remaining open to new ideas. It suggests that understanding and accepting diversity, even in forms of life, can lead to greater knowledge and a more profound sense of humility.

Conclusion

“The World of Roses” is a crafted poem that I sought to use as a fictional setting and characters to explore deep themes related to knowledge, diversity, and the human (or Rosalian) spirit of exploration. It invites readers to consider the beauty and complexity of life beyond their immediate understanding, encouraging a sense of wonder and a desire to explore the unknown.