Cosmos for a Soul

Imagine a minute circular particle,
Travelling throughout the cosmos,
Always colliding and separating,
Maybe an adventure of a lifetime.

Imagine meeting this universal entity,
You see it as a royal glistening world,
A wild waterfall to your edged mind,
A soothing moonlight to your eyes.

Now imagine it sharing its life,
You realise that what you saw
In it and what you felt for it,
Perfectly befits her heavenly soul.

A Blink of an Eye

Have you noticed how a blink of an eye
Iz so draztix that the letdez dawnt fitt
The preskribd loz of the aflabits?
But wenn the I’z blinnc mor and mor –
UUell, knaw pleez blenc a-gay-n – ohkay,
Wan mor tyme so that the two little
Curtains of your vivacious musical
Close assisted by the waters of life,
Lubricating an eye into a rapid motion.

Have you noticed how a blink of an eye
Gets an important invitation to moisten
The fruitful life and this avoids dryness
From sucking the logical sense of
These written words out of their
Natural voices, and if by some random
Phenomenon you blink excessively,
Then the world would voluntarily spin
Out of control leaving you with a
Bothersome black blind of a blink.

And have you noticed that today
You sometimes blink to change the
Visual effects of your worldly matter
Just to relive a more colourful film,
Or avoid a bright white energy,
And readjust your camera lenses,
And this might work fine, but it
Might also leave you in dismay,
Disbelieving in a blink of an eye,
Where repetition might just work.

And have you noticed that some
Blinks close to never reopen?
Their whispers have gone, too,
Never did you notice, did you? –
How a blink of an eye will change
The course of your thinking
About the ancestors that became
Your world today and how today
Becomes tomorrow after leaving
Your blink of an eye very silent.

But can you imagine that all of this
Is only the work of a blink of an eye?!

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.

Read Between the Lines

A chronicler dwells in clear waters,
Just on the outskirts of a red post,
The prison, to which many others
Have escaped, is now left behind
To crumble before emerald trees,
Maps drawn to find this treasure,
But a compass might fail to work
Over here next to the nine paths,
The legend might just be a myth,
But to me, you only have to heed,
There is this man who disappeared
Behind the shadows of two sisters
That resided the crumbling prison,
So, avoid the chronicler that dwells
In clear waters for your own sake,
Find those who escaped and set
Them free from this awfully chaotic
World that is deemed to fall in the
Wrong hands like that of the sisters,
But love the rituals in the legend,
Sketched out of suns and moons,
Sending the star back to the post.

Squeaking Lions

The lions of today’s news
Grew long scorpion tails,
A hybrid found in deserts
Away from vibrant oases:
Fresh beginnings for the
Lost animals panting on
The doors of burnt death,
Still, the deformed hybrids
Will try to be on headlines,
Suffocating their own arid
Lands until shades of red
Fill the elemental sources
Of life to water our eyes,
Their incompleteness is
The truthful buried acts
Of masking themselves
Behind defective faces,
And what we see is a
Black flag and squeaks
Uniformly produced in
Studios of modern TV
Series commercialised
At the expenses of our
Young innocent souls,
And while they dance on
Our shattered dreams,
We have to break those
Masks of the so-called
Lions and snap their
Ugly long scorpion tails.

Beauty of Running

I free a muscle to swell my eyes,
A twinkle by the distant horizon,
Only time will tell me its story,
Dreamers sitting by waters of sapphire,
Clap for all of us and move forward,
An old lady’s smile is all what it takes
As the twinkle nears my running feet,
And I speed to grab its gleaming lights,
And become the distant horizon that
Beautifully swelled my carefree eyes.