Sunday, April 19, 2015


Within a momentary span of time

I borrowed yesterday from tomorrow

Altering the past, in the here and now

Spinning the wheel, turning it at will

Until it comes to rest, I'm staying still.


Friday, April 17, 2015


Voluntary confinement is a valiant quest
Outside of the established pecking digest
A space where nothing could entirely rest

In such absence presides the holy guest
Lacking in presence, but as real as can be
Empty, though there may be myriad to see.

Existing exiled from the established way

Is a blessing in disguise, in a funny way

Freedom can always be a choice to take

Not just imposition for some other’s sake

But humility, reverence and deep solitude

Can embrace absence with such attitude.


Wednesday, April 15, 2015


Ardor is subtle when enticed eagerly
with purity and clarity, full heartedly
alongside passion comes vulnerability
should it crumble, there will be no pity.
Romance in bloom, such is pure delight
must cherish beloved, hold on to it tight
faith is liable, can be challenged by fate
fragile and delicate, should treat it right.


Tuesday, April 14, 2015


The further we go out in the universe
The deeper we see inside a particle
When horizons curve into each other
The meeting point of counter cycles
Is where we may find the true answer.


The established order has favoured the lusty
the prey could resist and the shark will insist
survival of the fittest is the accustomed way

the bigger fish will swallow the smaller ones.

We are the threshold of a universal change

anyone can casually interface in cyberspace

at this time and space this is not so strange

the world wide web is at everybody’s range.

This age of sharing is the outcome of caring

this might take daring, should we be willing

there may be eminent change in the making

a renaissance in the near future is emerging.



The universe is contracting and expanding simultaneously
Erratically, a push here, a pull there, occur inadvertently
While we regress implicitly trying to to avoid confusion
The illusion of the illusion of the illusion of an illusion
Tending as we might, to the solidity of our resolve
The quantum equation, the riddle to be solved
Hence, the whole plexus might be involved.



The grotesque visions of a life's discarded reverie
Alienated from the cultural roots, wanting to be free
Holding on to the body, eyes wide open, but can't see
The soul has taken to ether, yet the mind won't let it be
A transient entity, grudgingly clinging to genetic memory
The psyche yearns to leave but the mind clings stubbornly
Spirit longing for eternity yet unable to leave indiscriminately
The entity need shed density, lighten up and rise past periphery.



First would come 
the stimulation
with smart foreplay 
emotional savvy
charming small talk
sudden mood swings.

Pushing buttons

pulling strings

devious means

dubious flings

an assortment 

of sexy things.

The elevation 

of potential lovers

to sensational peaks

then, all of a sudden

the bottom kicks

in moody squeaks.

Falling is almost 

like flying

when there is 

no ground

to fall upon.

A sudden stroke 

a seizure, a fit

a crack in the yoke 

darkness unlit,

sucking every bit 

of tender feeling

leaving behind

an empty shell

a bundle of straw

a dried up puppet.

Wake up puppet

wake up and play!.


(Action Poetry from 

"Blood of a Puppet"

a play in rhythmic verse.)



Uncanny convergence of the inner & outer
circles move within cycles out of bare time
a sharp thin line from sublime to the divine
so fine that only the seeker might ever find.


The initiation is brief
thoroughly executed
swiftly implemented

scrupulously injected
to eager consumers.

Soldiers of misfortune

cerebrum whitewashed

cleared from intuition

a current version of

concurrent software

intricately planted

into biased minds.

Solid loyalty established

unconditional obedience

to pre-conceived master

the manufactured drone

in blood flesh and bone

planning a suicidal task

far, far away from home.

The state of the art, intact

will blow up in contact

just a matter of fact

martyr of hallowed act

will not remain intact..

Fanatically coated policy

a state of bigoted zealotry

what an terrible pity

unacceptable to some

yet just a matter of time

for this abominable crime

to affect the things to come.




I have been doodling since I was able to hold a pen
Scribbling on school books was an automatic habit
Totally unintentional, I didn’t know what I was doing.

My hands do their thing while my mind is elsewhere
Only after doodling many years I started wondering
If the significance of an hidden aspect is appearing.
I am always scribbling, half conscious, half sleeping
Am I sketching what my subconscious is revealing?.

Faces within faces appear, strangely familiar images.

There is no telling if my genetic memory is engaging 
I scrutinize them consciously now, once they appear
Scan them into digital format, dissecting meticulously
Suboriginal is the term I have bestowed upon my art.

When I am finished I release them loose to the www 
They are constantly changing while I am expounding
Even afterwards they will go on changing according 
The state of the mind of whoever is looking at them.
I am not merely the executor of my art, I live my work!.