A shot of marijuana to the head,

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eyes move like cymbals, fogs of bright leaks of mazes , 

kites are the eyes of clouds, 

rotating rivulets of crashing airplanes, 

lucid castles buried in secret soil, 

the wind playing the hymns of wandering souls, 

storm of musical nebulas, barns of meandering rhythms, 

smiling serpents playing orchesrtral pieces, 

cut me a cake of fronds and screams,

my throat is a tall electric post stuck between drifting clouds, 

magic door mats hiding pits of crows and beans,

my mind a siren on a crystal creek,

i search for her and my hesitation is forgotten into shifting beams,

isles with a dragon weaving escaping cords twisting and wringing into space beyond the clouds, 

Lost in  labyrinths of forgotten hunches and evasive high rising flickering broken shards of light, 

Broken and lost hearts floating in outer space, searching for my own lost heart amidst the crying girls of angst alley.,

His darkness is lazy ruminations in desire avenue famed for nymphs who satisfy but temporarily, 

but women and their glamour aroused him, their sheer smiles awakening something insatiable in the heart, 

their bodies, their feminine charm school, their beauty, their lips, their curves, their seductive eyes, 

their hips, their cheeks of spice and sutras of beauty and its tradition, 

strange recipes of delicious emotions withheld in her upper reaches, 

oh woman , how have i loved thee, 

in tales of fairies and modern day pant clad high heeled independent full bodied women, 

like the disappearing surface of the mind into quakes of imagination, 

deep pits filled with enlightened trees and bottomless eternity and colorful butterflies, 

Depression explains a lack of determination and drive, 

sure you can smile and look like you’re having fun, 

but deep inside it is nothing but a sad little town with pathetic self control little emotizens and a membership for maddening tear fueled life revisions,  

Chariots with thundering thuds and shaking thrusts on a rich sounding ground ushering in young prince reality who has a way of appearing to contain the elixir of youthfulness in his wings, 

It would be good to find me in a dream dreamt at 3, right by the eight minute and waiting in a slow moving sequence of dashing horses which are actually seconds disguised in an hour found actually in  a kingdom in faraway joenosia not that far from some lost space sequel , 

Hot babes in chanel,drinking vodkha , swell chicks rocking the gucci, long, lean and naughty, 

Death leaves people wrapped in tight ropes of grief, they are never free, never free, 

fat creeps whose pants are hard with greed, looking sinister , looking mean , hey look here mister,

I got you this time satin sheet or is it you linen sheet…? 

I would really love a hot lunch of potato boiled in a spice kurma, with oil and some color between red and burma, 

don’t be afraid hesitant young self doubting writer, you have it lost withing that’s all, just work through and find it, 

But the big shots have command , they have characters, they have power of convincing, 

I can barely narrate a tale without rushing fast enough with awkward gapes to avoid the dull stares and dim eyes that have long lost interest,  

Sometimes we are just a part in the lives of others, bullets that lost their target, they travel not far, all the end up is an object on the floor, 

It feels you’re more in love with the life you had before , that you owed them loyalty and not me, I aint mad, I am just angry at social conformity, Where did loyalty to the heart’s conscience go to i muse in philosophical reverence….? 

 trickles of the flesh of light serenade and penetrate the sublime reverie of the mind, tiny pricks that shake the daze, back out the spinning wormhole and into the surreal horror of the deathly throes of unmagical terror, the partition from the misty curtain and into the ugly visions,

Reality my friend you’re not discreet, I am sorry people mistake you for the eternal truth and seek not to pass you by, I detest the fact that they mistake you for the unshakable and the immortal, 

You are the Bride of Mr Dream, opposite you be, you both need each other like a string and a needle, the trumpet the real the music the dream, never be lonely with one for the other comes calling, 

Learn to be on point and take care of your business, see to it that you do things that surmount you on hilltops with tranquil reverie.. 

The high has evacuated, the mind has lost its bloom, back to the seed and the womb, its back to the grave and the grind, the mind’s eyes have receded into its murky depths, awaiting to be awakened in dreams, 

The bells chime and the winds carry their melody, thoughts fill the streets of the mind, the noise and din interrupt the soul of the sensitive, he returns back , captive to his present and its terms, 

He bows his head and wanders again with a broken heart in worlds of grief and purposelessness, 

The lost prince wanders blissfully unaware of his roots and his destiny, 

The unrealized artist loses himself in his moods that blind him to its own treacherous beauty, 

The Nervous baller slows his pace and poise, neuroses have shackled him again, 

The restless poet feels that peculiar melacholy that makes his heart weep and suffers his hands in a despair of inability to record the strange forms the feelings of his heart seem to whisper, he runs after them with all the youthfulness he can muster, but alas they are always elusive and invisible to his heart that is jealously guarded with the poverty of ideologies and the harshness of the banality of existence, 

The analyst observes in silence and his brow has a frown for he is lost deep in the maladies and their residual emotions, leafing through the cases presented, of deeper adjustment issues in regard to a certain obstinate heart driven endeavor, he finds himself unable to sort through the mixed feelings and feels with a sense of gloom his stagnant and homeostatic entrapment, 

The Dreamer returns from his world into the unwelcoming grip of reality, and strangely he feels that peculiar disposition of his that convinces him that what he is doing nothing special with his mind, ‘others have been here’ they taunt, and once he feels himself running back to where he came from, dreaming of things he feels he is destined for, but he feels a peculiar sadness for his imagination is polluted with human desires and competitive vulgarity, but its too late now, he has no other way but to accept, 

The Lover finds the weight return to his heart, and he feels the light turn to night, memories arise , silent and many, he tries hard to flee, but its too late, they are getting too near and too loud to ignore now, the cold world has risen again, the winds thrash now and the sadness of betrayal once again fills up his heart, and his heart breaks all over again, 

He has lost his way again, the fast disappearing glimmer of the soul’s shine has faded, its time to live like everyday else 

 

 

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Could she not See …?

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Could she not see that he was seeking his soul in words that evaded him…? 

Could she not stand by him on his darkest night…? 

Could she not see how his heart was suffering…? 

Could she not see that he had waited all his life for love to touch and lift him up from his knees….? 

Could she not see that she wanted him and him alone….? 

Could she not see that her unfaithfulness to him was pushing him gradually to the edge of the cliff…? 

Could she not see how alone he was getting…? 

Could she not see the wet pillows , the tears, the suffering , the agony and all the distress of loneliness making his way into the depths of his soul….? 

Could she not see that they were meant to be…? 

Could she not see how he felt unable to proceed ….? 

Could she not see how he felt sad that her heart still longed for another…? 

That after everthing she ran to him too…. 

Could somebody stop this cruel twisted nightmare, could somebody ease the pain…? 

Could somebody open up the skies and whoosh him away faraway into the land of unfeeling and non-pain 

..?

Could somebody please save him from her unconscious cruelty….? 

Could she not see….? 

Never stay friendless

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Never attempt to be alone or cry silent tears, 

seek a world to surround you when you are faced with your innermost fears, 

Never sleep with a broken heart, the lights all turned off, all alone in your bed , 

Dont hesitate to call someone you love and let them know whats going on in your head, 

Never stay friendless, listening to the lies the voice inside you tries to impress, 

better to be in a crowd loved and depended upon than alone and restless, 

You dont know what being alone does to the pieces comprising your soul, 

lost in the deep, not knowing a way out, 

pain and misery your only companions, 

people are meant to be together and loved, 

loneliness kills something alive inside your soul and makes you a living corpse, 

say no to the tears that flow down when nobody’s looking , 

let people know you’re alive and need help, 

loneliness is the sickest disease there is in this dark world, 

when the lights go out, 

dont cry yourself to sleep, 

seek a shoulder to lean and a heart who loves you, 

Love is the greatest gift of all, say no when the dark silence offers comfort, 

do you feel like no one would understand what it feels like…? 

Do you feel that you would rather just fade gradually into the unconscious spell that consumes one’s soul in the darkness of the night…? 

Jesus Loves you when there is nobody else, He understands …. 

When nothing else works, GOD lies await, dont be afraid, 

things will work out, renew your soul in his love, 

for love is the greatest gift of them all 

Some thoughts

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Something within hardens when I attempt to write, there was a time when I picked up a pen or played some words on a few keys and immediately a vista opened within, some hidden landscape came into view, an element of beauty would make itself known. Such were my exercises into writing, for you see writing helped me see my soul, for it was akin to friendships in the outside world, for many days it serves to link one to the chain of humane connections, preventing him from wandering deep off into his own darker impulses, but during some moments they lead deeper, deeper into the heart and its mystic mansions, and in those moments one feels that tinge of the indomitable, the invincible depths of the human spirit wash over as he feels renewed in his soul. Writing to me served as a companion, someone on whom I depended with all of my heart and soul. You see writing was my world , I was a ghost in the outside world, a mere tramp and wanderer who walked by souls engaged in the rhythms of life, I hardly feel myself in their midsts, days are often painful conversations that seem to stretch into eternity, now I am not someone who claims to predict the course of his life, I hardly feel myself in the strength that I convince myself of. The only word to describe me would be observer, in some strange way the course of destiny leads me into the land of shadows constantly, I feel myself drifting now, its time i focused , for I feel that I have the task of leading today, and its not something I am well versed in. 

To lead means to walk forward, often leading requires power of will and determination, I have been over analyzing the past few months for quite some time now, the reason I feel that I have been wasting a lot of precious time. Time is valuable for a non-existent writer who hopes to make it big someday, I have been wallowing around in self pity and misery brought about partly due to affairs of the heart. Its time I set things right, except the problem remains that the unresolved still remains in plain sight, decaying steadily as would death entail, and halting normative functions of will and of the mind. The heart is at the moment either in grief or grieving over lost matters. Let me step aside for a moment from the trails of misery, for they only lead inward into what was forsaken and denied, and in these they abandon us when we are weakest, it is dawn, I walk the placid grey stone stairs and reach my room upstairs. It is private and away from the warmth of downstairs, this is what I call my den when it is not used by my visiting grandparents, I step inside and I am immediately greeted by the humid air arising from the slippery floor, I channel my inner horizons, I imagine streaks of golden yellow slicing cemented clouds of grey as the burst of pure dawn fills up the faint early skies, I pick these images from memories, most of them spent early morning at the beach. Spent aside mystic waves awakening from deep dark slumber, their pleasant rhythms mixed with the satin colored waves bursting into blooms shattered into white on the shore, and being lulled back like a net. The air is cool, I empty my mind, I attempt to distinguish the early morning sounds, melodic early morning songs chirped in by dutiful feathery nobles, a little further the early morning chatter of  passing monkeys, beyond a few high pitched notes they are almost congenial in their havoc, a beautiful stoic eagle flashes directly across in the skies, majestic and regal, swooping with his talons and his wings stretched against the infinite stretches of the conscious milky way galaxy. Does the Universe have a soul I wondered…? I felt a slight indication within that this would only disturb the transient nature of early morning , I decided to let it be, I was not going to think today, maybe not right now, I wanted to breathe the silent meditation of early morning,and effuse it deep into my spirit before the regiments of the establishment clawed in forcefully and changed the mood and the joy. I wanted to lurk deeper into this spiritual feeling that only the pleasant ambience of morning can instill. I find that my words have found themselves, I no longer am thinking in that oddly calculating manner in order to write, the words and I have become one, I am one with that deeper sense of me, for now…. My eyes are heavy now, slumber beckons me with her warm sheets…. Good morning and sweet dreams 

Man of Sorrows

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I am a man of sorrows, 

who walks in the land of shadows, 

shadows of people who have passed me by, 

tears are my refuge, I lie naked on the boulevard of broken hearts, 

I sleep on the cold slab of lost souls avenue, 

my heart is an empty church, a home that has lost its son, 

my constant companions are emptiness and pain , i walk with no wishes and dreams, 

lost forever found by none