Moans of your entity

They come out of you in floods and torrents;
Peeling a face that you don't have.
Making words live as far as they 'll take you
Perhaps as ambassaders - the only bond related to something called existence.
Wonder sometimes how secure you feel in your words.
Feel their stone weight oppressions struggling to break into bubbles of nothingness.
Hammer your rock if you must - who knows what you might sculpt out of the moans of your entity.

The night catcher.

The boat takes into the shadowy night;
Discretly i hope- in the dimmest light
To what you keep- within you seek.
In secret whispers inaudibly speak.
From hidden pages to your sight they leap.
The psyche-- does it laugh or does it weep.
Now recall, do you -- the tale of your sleep.

The shadowy boatman comes again
To take you those darkness deep.
Thus, she-in your mystery translates your fear
Not more than which you long to hear.
They mount from a pit- so it seems
On strange subways travels- all your dreams.

Orgasmically, the timeless sky-song

A timeless sky- song sings to the river.
The river carries it to you.
Your mouth calligraphies cinamon-kisses
All over the my body with the lyrics.
The song runs meliodiously deeper- a new river born.
Your feminity wet on my skin
Murders every solitude i 've ever known.

This is how i look at it

Time tatoos memory on your skin.
The fatale relationships of your life is all etched in there.
This is how we look at it.
But a self regenerating rythme beats in the invisible spaces of your flesh
It dances; it rejoices; it escapes all tangible claws of pain or the carresses of false promising joys.
Have you ever found yourself on such a road of freedom.
I'm not your Angel yet .
Yet, angelically i brush against you as many moths before a devouring flame.
Will it help you to stay alive.
What use in being a feather when you can be a bird.

i watched her face.

I watched her face while she told me,
We who are born out of hell don't expect any heaven.
You who are in heaven have no idea of our hell.
Between crawling zombies -- we struggle in our spiderwebs
Surviving daily --is our only freedom.

Then, she said again;
To shatter the darkness -- the midnight ink sprawls out of my head with a verbal axe.
Cutting; chopping; scribbling --arranging a recipe out of insomnia.
Garnishing with my two eyes--two tombs
Probing into its own history
The dust settled on thoughts does'nt even move.

Light oozes through unmapped capillaries

iN sILENCE --tHE sELF iS lESS dILUTED
lIGHT oOZES iTS wAY oUT tHROUGH uNMAPPED cAPILLARIES
wHAT eLSE cAN bURN lIKE tHIS iF nOT tHE oIL lAMPS iN mY sOUL
tEMPLE bELLS rING, tHE bEING iN mAN bENDS oN hIS kNEES iN wORSHIP
bEFORE wHAT bOWS hE --i cANNOT sAY
nEVERTHELESS --hE bOWS aND hIS fACE gLOWS.

The red rainfall

The warrior takes his sword
and cuts the sky into two
the East and West.
From the zenith the sun drops bleeding
The red rainfalls on the lotuses,
A rare bud blooms from the moon
And the soul is awakened by its perfume.

The last blossom.

Heavens blossom --from a tree in my Soul
A basketful of moons -- i harvest.
Fields of silence in which everything grows
And in silence grows -- the mountains meditating in the snow.

A Monk i am --in Saffron robes,
So your womanliness -- i leave in the shadows.
Though everything here whispers your name
Not a word shall be uttered, should i be heard again.

Years have passed --the tree has dried
Beautiful swans --in long wings go by
My robes are torn, my lips have sighed
Your face i long to see --before i die.

When will she come again.

Though the sky in my body is full of stars
When will Love kiss me again.
No pillows soft enough to sooth my sleep
No wandering clouds to carry the Soul's heaviness.
Thousands lines of loneliness writes a wordless poem of Pain.

Stay my Soul -- with my thoughts.

Stay my Soul -- with my thoughts.
When wounds open again
Is quietness a bird flying away-- afraid of its own nest;
I wonder what bleeds through your silences;
When you're on your own -- what lights licks your face;
Why make me feel that a teardrops is so beautiful-- painful at the same time;
In my bossom are pathways; precipices; high montains; dense forests; torrents of emotions;
But there's also this lake upon which the moon bathes ,
And someone walks in the valleys of my thoughts, gathering the aromas of the earth
And nectar from the skies.

Stay my Soul-- with my thoughts; invisible, but existant.

The legacy

It is while the slumber gets deep

the mystries sprouted get ready to reap.

Each day's work knocking the inner door

Where Will is the potential wind that blows.

The blissful beams from the golden eye

of sudden bursts to signify

Never of chance is man's fate

Unless to watch its dance, he waits.



Hither directs each contracting breath

Further away from the path of death.

The oars; the boat of Will - thus row

when intelligence can trudge no more

to seek the secrets - the unknown stream

which meanders arround eternity.



Unfold then, these images of life

Retrace - the miles of inner reality.

Where reason dread one further step

Faith- unperturbed went ahead

The ordeal of reason could not meet

the juglary of such unconceivable feat.