A good life is a contented life;
It isn’t chasing rainbows of flighty fleeting moments of happiness, fading ever-faster into flimsy emptiness.
It isn’t your colour, race, religion or creed,
Your gender, culture, or whether you are rich or poor.
Put down your spade that digs the hole
Where all your dreams have gone,
And drop the heavy handed blade
You bled your memories on.
Let go the voice that cried in vain
And burnt away your soul;
Come on, my brother, take my hand,
For we are going home.
I saw god today,
He smiled at me through the beaming eyes of a giggling child.
I felt god today,
He was in the warm glow of the sun shining through the fluffed, feathered clouds.
Tick tock goes the clock!
Time won’t let us dock.
Keep on moving. Act.
Action is Auspicious.
Everything that happens,
Happens for the best.
Time travellers take no rest.
Perhaps the universe
Is taking a test?
Perhaps the universe
Is taking place
Within a test?
I will treasure everything of you like the gems of wisdom a scholar keeps in the coffer of his mind. When I look at your smile, in my heart, poems take birth. As a chivalrous lover, I want to proffer them to you. For you are my poetry.
Lifeless stood the trees
Bare of leaf in a silent forest
Where no living creature ventured
Inert was the night sky
Expressionless and inscrutable of regard
Devoid of sparkle from stars
Empty of meteor or cosmic dust
The ocean slumbered
Beneath the silent eyes of a sea of stars
Strewn across the vast firmament
The slow lapping of a million waves
Into deep sleep
Did the waters lull
All the fishes of the sea
Had for the night retired
Into myriad secret folds
The roses no longer taste ruby,
Minarets swept into the sea,
Flicking digits hotly,
Pulling triggers until bodies stop twitching
I am black and silver and crimsoning,
War drums rhythmically.
The nuclei ripped asunder,
Thermal nuclear proclivity.
Stygian puts a legion at my dominion,
All I see is red.
I am ego, a creation of gifted evolution
Born to create mayhem
Playing devil’s advocate upon the manifested plane, of illusionary realities
Only to be suppressed, and overcome, through devotional practices
The miners’ spines have slipped their discs, made crooked by the sack
Containing all those minerals and dignity in chunks,
In lightless labyrinth lunacy their fingernails turn black,
Their faces smeared in shadow like the cassocks worn by monks…
The cricket’s nocturnal song was the only familiar sound giving them a hint of comfort as they waded through the swamp, cutting down the overgrown leaves and protruding roots upon their path. The moon’s bluish-grey glow made the foreign land seem more exotic than they had imagined, yet the sight of skeletons reaching out from the ground for help dispelled any notion that they were holidaying.
Silence is a power
Endowed by gods
The human lineage
And ritualized by the
The sky beams bright
In sparkled shine.
The room lights up in faith.
I breathe in hope.
I feel the strength
Of my invisible army
And embrace their presence.
You are a dire necessity I know, O Poverty
Much have I had of you all my life
And long to have you all the more of yours.