An Open Book

Look through me for a second,
Open my eyes and dive into me,
Behind the blink the city lies,
Streetlights on steps to ascend,
Towards the mind and its heaven,
Or descend to a rainbow gathering,
Flutes and harps strung in peace,
Let the sky twinkle in your smiles,
My cosmos at your warm heart,
See for yourself my evolution,
And the rise of a civilisation,
A leader, thirty years in the making,
Who is mad about natural beauty,
A nature to search for pure souls.

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Unlocking My Screams

I am searching for a key,
One that can release me,
From unwanted thoughts,
Hammering my pure mind,
Onto the walls of agony,
Nails piercing the heart,
From all directions,
Leaving no room for confessions,
Or even a moment of solitude,
The solace of serene souls
Driven away as I bleed out,
But the key will guide me,
To wield heavenly whispers,
Forged in ancient constellations,
And if I were to reignite my diminishing smiles,
Then I need to unlock the screams of my soul,
I am fighting my way out of this,
With warm beats of young drums,
With melodious bangs of Eminem,
And even if volcanic eruptions were
Loud and fierce,
Damaging and deadly,
And even if earthly quakes were
Trembling and traumatic,
Thunderous and wild,
And even if oceanic tsunamis were
Humongous and crushing,
Treacherous and drowning,
I know I will crawl my way out of this,
Because I know I will never be alone.

Urbanisation of the East

I dig into the graves of the butterflies –
Once soaring over the habitats of men
To share a dancing ritual in a ceremony –
And I find the final jigsaw puzzle piece,
Puzzling my peaceful self as I unearth the truth,
Concrete cremating our buried Mother Nature.

Slán Abhaile

Today, I inscribe warm letters from my free soul,
For the land who speaks an ancient language,
For its people whose voices resonate within me,
For those from other lands with different tongues,
A mixture of magical luminescence living together,
In symbiotic attraction dancing along a constellation,
Governed by voluntary smiles and peaceful hugs,
Twinkling in their lovely portraits within my poetry,
And I forever remember them as I place each star
On my heart’s ceiling for guidance at each heartbeat,
Lub-dub for few tears, lub-dub for more smiles,
Lub-dub for a farewell, lub-dub for a way forward.

The Secret Garden

This is a story about our encounter:
A secret bestowed upon a garden
By the keepers of a magical town,
Centred within Gaelic wilderness,
Frivolous birds briskly fly their wings
Into the flowers of a peaceful summer,
We become trees: young and wise,
Organic leaves delineating our soul,
Signs of nature pulling us here,
A nest for storytellers, a sanctuary so
Sacred till the last sip of a teapot,
Brewed within earthly volcanic
Waters to be consumed by many
Celestial souls of serene beings,
The story tells of an enigmatic
Inscription well-preserved within
Its silent walls and cushioned floors,
Within its dim lights and fragrant
Candles, within the cheerful friends
And the veiled whispering couples,
The story discloses to the passers-by
The will to dance a tribal ritual
Energised by the rare melodic aether,
Strings of a golden harp revealing
The vivid colours of this garden,
The story now flicks to a different
Chapter as the door cracks open
And the chimes of our steps reach
This realm’s magnificent keepers,
The same ones who forged this
Hideout for us to share something,
So, relax, take a sip, and enter the story.

Two Sides of the Same War

The space is spilling its own secrets,
But a void is trying to interrupt the
Communications, and a wooden door
Was opened, I heard it myself, stars
Running through it as if horses or
Soldiers or freedom fighters, or waves
Upon waves of nature’s way to show
A peaceful movement, and there –
There! A shooting star leading the
Resistance against all of the void,
And the horns of battle have been
Blown, and now, stars clash against
Blackness somewhere into the space,
The sky starts to be filled with fog,
Obscuring the battlefield, everything
Is now cloudy, but I can feel the stars
Are starting to diminish – our poor
Sky is gathering their dust and is
Now full of tears, we are getting
Drenched by their sorrow while
Both space and void sit back on
Their comfy chairs shaking hands
After all pawns gone: checkmated.