To My Offspring

I just wrote an encrypted letter,
Layered with seven coding systems,
Then I rolled it for a forgotten era,
Picked up a green ribbon for a knot,
A clear glass bottle for transportation,
And a sea for an unknown itinerary,
Forty-six months without a reply,
Trapped in a dimensionless time,
Awaiting the whispers of an angel,
Voices of my ancestry start to tremble,
The return of our long-lost kingdom was
But a mirage in a servant’s mind,
The forest trees have burnt,
The valleys became arid wastelands,
Scorching heat and starless nights,
And all I could wish for was the comfort in
Lying over our forefathers’ graves,
Keeping an eye for the falcon’s shadow,
In hope for a living, for a resurrection,
For some powerful force to guide the
Bottled letter through the nine oceans,
But it is my time to bid you farewell, Offspring.

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No, Wrong

I found a blooming flower,
Less nourished, innocent,
Somewhat crooked, tired,
I set observation platforms,
And I water it surreptitiously,
Afraid – she bends away,
Curious – she bends forward,
A dance of some sort –
Yet, all I wanted was to observe –
All she wanted was a bit more –
Now, unable to decide,
Confusion overlaps logic,
Between here and then,
Keeping distance for a day,
Living together for three,
Into the unknown and into our future,
What lies ahead is what we do today,
And I need to learn to say no,
I think – to let it – cease –
Because – it is – I think – wrong.

National Day of Robotic Maintenance

Your story, main character, and world
Talked to me, to the elders of my tribe,
During an elusive era where simple
Silhouettes walk on a desert’s horizon,
Searching to settle near a fruitful oasis,
And when books were written to
Commemorate our legends, they were
Suffocated to never reveal the rightful heir,
(to a scorching throne buried in quicksand)
Yet, after decades of silence the glorious
Book was resurrected in a classical concert,
Soon to be confiscated, burnt, and our
Whispering hearts to be forever silenced,
Now, we are but drones awaiting the
National Day of Robotic Maintenance.

Of Moons and Men

What if two moons
Endure a fated collision,
And then plan to invade
The vibrant green planet,
Crashing on its crust
To pull it together or apart,
Bleeding into its valleys
Distancing its wounds from the past,
Their debris treasured
Within the depths of graves,
Men to erect totems
For a sacrificial burial,
A possible resurrection
To rule over other Men,
Lustful villainous desires
Ending in an abyssal black hole,
Woes to the greed of Men
As the moons glow in ascension.

Protect You, I Will

Whisper to me,
Interrupt my vision,
In euphoria,
Emotional trance,
A heart’s utopia,
Hands wrap around,
Bodies buried within,
Harmonious collisions,
Self-portrait unmasked,
Bloodshot eyes,
Ragged clothes,
Wounded mind,
Scarred knuckles,
Fading into loud sirens,
Shadows gathering,
Few coming into focus,
Gravity seems powerful,
Time is out of reach,
Hopelessness conceived,
Soldier resurrected.

Emotions in a Bedridden Society

Emotions in a bedridden society,
Inhibited tongue deemed motionless,
And if I incapacitated myself lifeless,
Under virtual euphoric white blanket,
Would you notice emotions masked?

Home housed in remote realms,
Gardening personal enlightenment,
Paths created for public invitations,
Welcome to my utopic society, so,
Do you see a resonance of despair?

The gardening granted stability,
In the scarred errs of society,
Healing a new day, a new beginning,
Thorn-covered blanket in a tumble dry,
Just emotions in a bedridden society.

Torn Pieces

Why when I am about finish my masterpiece
By patiently stitching back a torn portrait
One piece dear to me decides to detach?

Is this imperfect masterpiece worthwhile?
Should I throw it away and let it decompose?
Maybe then I can rework on my self-portrait?

Or maybe my energy is just better utilised
In signing songs to travel across the oceans –
Only sung to open the eyelids of free souls?

Maybe there the torn piece might value me?
Maybe then I will reunite with them again?
Yet, I wish the masterpiece finishes now.