Friday, August 23, 2013


Sticking one's neck out for "freedom of expression"

is a poet's foremost obligation, not just an impression 

merely to say the needed word that is beyond temptation

the poet must be able to speak out loud, no need to shout 

subtly disguised hush hush, no need to beat around the bush

this poet needs no push, the choice to make is to make a voice

why bother to struggle with half ass poetry, wouldn't that be a pity?.


A moment of repose amongst fleeting visions
a breath of fresh air, an atmosphere of clarity
all quantum possibilities are under scrutiny
a smothering of passage, all pressures lifted
mind cleared of clutters, not a puzzle in sight
spotless memories recalled in full transparency
smooth as babe's bottom, a crystal clear vision
a view so pure, a deep understandings surfaces
stretched, expanded to unconditioned eternity
if you please, focus single pointedly with ease
on such a basis, in this condition let us freeze.

Thursday, August 22, 2013


It has been said that the unsaid will find voice
in between just small talk and obscure noise 
such precise wording as a matter of choice
will grant the perceiver sense and poise.


Wednesday, August 21, 2013


Time is a mighty river everflowing towards eternity,

while we journey in it towards some destination 

the point of total change, which we call death 

where we stop while time goes on and on do we go on while time stops?  

Shall we ever know the true answer,

collectively, clearly, ultimately?.

When we are one with time 

we are not not merely 

the passengers 

we are the journey. 

Are there then, 

not those moments when

we catch a glimpse of eternity 

as time in all clarity, stands still.

Something is burning  
without flames  
somebody must be  
playing games.  
Ashes turning  
into dust  
invisible dreams  
beneath the crust  
Birds are singing  
so we must  
hear the whispers  
of the past  
find new meaning  
in ancient trust  
Time is burning  
here at last  
life is changing  
changing fast.


Intense Revelations
Layers and layers of memory traces 
faces within faces in all sorts of places
my lucid visions have been squandered 
washed against remote corners of my mind 
where the faintest ideas gather and season
longing to be set free from the grasp of reason.

My roots have been severed, my shoots leveled
my memory comes and goes, I walk on my toes
my feet are slippery, my mind is rather jittery
I sleep well though, I often see myself in reverie
always scribbling, writing and painting it seems
I come with a pair of eyes one brings to dreams
seeking for a vision which might set me free
from all the restrictions that are supposedly me.

Monday, August 19, 2013


Whispering the word
Of the poetic slick slang
First I had to cut the chord
To have a grip at the big bang
Took a look at the whole shebang
Ranting, raving in thundering silence
Read my lips as I swallowed my tongue.


Like a black hole at the heart of an atom
your paradise is a slippery slope to hell
I can tell because I more than once fell
but have survived to clasp the holy grail
I open my wings not to fly but just sail
with virtue and integrity I just can't fail.