One with Darkness

We shall rendezvous at twilight my love,
Amidst that brief encounter of day and night.
Where cosmic players await their third act,
And the almost stars stare back in silence.

Before the day beckons,
Cancelling out the moon and stars.
Before darkness retreats into an invisible cup
And before we awaken into the dreams of another.

Before unforgiving light arrests our reveries,
And the hands of sorrow shake our souls.
Do not be late in arriving at the jungle of shadows,
To be lost in them and together become one.

Mason of Dreams

Little threads of reality weave,
Into a delicate tapestry of infinite dreams.

Images of life are shaped and formed,
In the likeness of a passing memory.

And credulity becomes the conjurer,
When synthetic scenes are spliced together.

As the cement grip of sleep loosens,
A burning sun rises in our hearts.

A sadness grapples with this morning,
Failing to catch what is now lost.

Like holding onto a wisp of the wind,
Or skeins of smoke rising to oblivion.

With a certainty of the sea in its wake,
Sandcastle worlds accept their fate.

Kaleidoscope Skies

Cascading contours of colour,
Pervade kaleidoscope skies,
With shifting patterns of hues,
That trickle like timeless tears,
Recounting prophetic tales,
Speaking of days gone by,
And the morning of the moment.

An electricity of blue diffuses,
Concealing the stars, the night
With the revelation of its reveries,
Bearing the scent of silence,
Where only a softness of light,
Flowers that spring like fountains,
And a whispering wind can wander.

Melancholy of Night

The night heaves a deep sigh,
For departed day and a morning gone,
Contemptible clouds gesticulate
An unbearable longing for a distant dawn.

Exotic eyes rescind tears,
Returning sadness to its source,
Like the reluctant rivers that flow uphill
Pining for a once forgotten force.

Climbing hills genuflect to their valleys,
As darkness melts into obscurity.
Neglect seizes the moon and stars,
As nightfall cloaks its own vanity.

Circle of Impermanence

The whispering waves of the sea,
Collide against shores like glints of daylight,
Swaying to the beat of a magnolia moon.
As obsidian darkness caresses the land;
Quiet shadows retreat homeward.
A thousand suns sleep in blanketed skies,
Where the circle of tedium smiles back at us.
As galloping horses of thought flutter
Like the variegated wings of a butterfly.
The impermanent leaves of autumn
Fall back to the womb of life,
They ascend transforming into iridescent stars,
Leaving the rolling hills and raging oceans
Towards an inevitability of calm.

Supernova

Like the magnolia that opens her petals,
An ebullient star explodes in open sky,
With waves of apricot, damask and indigo,
Colouring the cosmos with compassion.
The most radiant in all of the galaxies;
She is the bearer of an imploding past,
But nurtures a hopeful future,
And with intensity of a billion suns,
She illuminates the universe forever,
Within this galaxy (her womb), new life is born.
Displacing a vast emptiness with pure love.
If I am to be her sky at night; she is my supernova.

Phantasmagoria

And there he was,
As if swallowed whole by a smiling whale,
A soldier sketches from a hospital bed,
With remnants of a star emblazoned on his collar.
Laying there in blood- soaked linens,
Delirium spills from his opened wounds:
Fantastical winged-dragons, witches and warlocks.
Multiplying sea-horses.
Princesses on parachutes.
The grim reaper dressed as a cherub.
Elvan warriors tasting their fresh defeat.
As gilded lanterns scintillate in the distance.

Burnt sienna ashes float up towards sky,
Parting the clouds in a peculiar pattern.
Violins weep, as the rain inside subsides,
Igniting fires in a solitary heart,
Playing with this involuntary mind.
He lay there still in a wistful dream,
A past soaked in melancholy,
Drenched in a mountain of regret,
Where shadows emerge colourful.
As night tangos away with day,
Silhouettes of a windmill carve the earth.
Obliterating a land into oblivion.

Tears of a Violin

Desire weeps from her strings,
Like the grief at the onset of a requiem.
Tears shatter into a thousand shards,
When mirrors stir without reflection.

She sings as the nightingale laments:
A tragedy of lovers who never meet.
Distances between them pushed further,
Where sadness imprints its feet.

The sky satiates with her yearning,
Shadows forsake their pursuit.
A clenched soul bursts on brimming.
Molten rivers infiltrate the street.

The rose knows her own petals,
And the face recognises it's skin.
Wind comprehends its own subtlety,
As she tastes her tears with a kiss.

Magnolia Moon

As celestial artist
Sinks into unthinkable horizons,
Hues of amber, saffron and gold,
In broad swooping strokes,
Paint the surface of a magnolia.

The fiery medallion ascends,
Drifting slowly past nefarious sky,
As the enemy of sleep, adorned
In gleaming robes of silver,
Guides the night through darkness.

As sinuous light shimmers,
Oceans rise clothed in jewels.
Floating on tips of terrific peaks
Her face reveals through lofty trees,
Appearing to reach out and catch her.

Nostalgia

There is a sense of longing,
For places never been,
Within vast citadels of truth,
Where time melts away
Into irrelevance.

There is a sense of yearning,
For dreams unfulfilled,
Inhabitants of possibilities,
Where within consciousness;
All becomes permissible.

There is a sense of craving,
For a wind never felt,
A gale bearing the scent of sky,
Where the blanket of existence,
Envelop us as one.

There is a sense of pining,
For a silence never heard,
Freed from shackles of thought
Where avenues of the mind,
Descend into unfamiliar quiet.

Dance of the Fireflies

A hard, tropical sun sinks into the horizon,
Melting away mountains tops in margarine skies.
But as evening gale affectionately whispers,
It cools and then settles; Returning
To them their accustomed ruggedness.

Flickering, always flickering.
Out of the woodworks, emerge:
Flashes of red, green and gold.
They float about with a peculiar insouciance,
Painting psychedelic trails on blackened skies.

Glowing, always glowing,
Like skeins of neon smoke,
They flutter about in Cimmerian surroundings.
Through companioned trees, they glide,
Paying homage to matriarchal moon,
Bringing closer the distant stars.

Dancing, always dancing.
To sounds of wild rippling echoes,
Casting sonorous hums into silent spaces,
They dance away in magnetic forests,
Always playfully in a nocturnal trance,
As they patiently await a somnolent dawn.

The Siesta of Reality

It is when dreams turn to reality,
That a dream no longer is, but was.
Reality is now the interpretation of that dream,
Where the infinite struggle begins between,
What is real and that which is not.
Or so it seems, for what is not real
Is still real for it permits that which
Can be imagined. So it is real and not.
They say that dreams are perfumed,
Exotic, and overly romanticised.
But how could they be? If only
In dreams that a certain longing is permitted.
But when that longing is no longer,
It is the reality of that dream,
Which becomes the here and now.
But what is not here and now? For
Dreams are here, now and then.
To live out a dream is only the
Animation of that dream, The
Reality of which is still a
Somnolent dream, now turned to
Complete consciousness within
Another dream! But through all this
It is the imagination that never rests.

The Seeker of Things

To gaze the ebullient stars above,
Is to observe the lightness in your eyes.
Together, illuminating a universe where
Infinite possibilities are made clear.

To examine the velvet leaves of wilderness,
Is to recognize the smoothness of your skin,
The deftness of touch that shapes worlds,
And all that has feeling within.

To explore smiling valleys that caress horizons,
Is to acknowledge the curvature above your lips,
Displaying the undulation of a lively ride,
Swaying with the precision of a pendulum.

To sense the endlessness of a river,
Is to ruminate the surge of your thoughts,
The interminable distance between dreams,
Reflecting the imagination of life.

Silent Crescendo

The other day I chanced upon two lovers,
Embracing by an observant sea
While giving them a scornful look; I turned away.
And pangs of sorrow enveloped me.

You see... love’s always been an undrawn curtain,
An elusive treasure behind cautious drapes,
Occasional light may slip through its apertures,
But an all- too- familiar darkness holds sway.

Sometimes I feel like that little kid,
Desperate to peer over frenzied crowds.
Climbing, jostling, pushing myself upwards
To see what all the commotion’s about.

For love is like those implausible peaks,
Picturesque from afar but hard to achieve.
Encircled by the concealing of clouds, only
The tips of which aren't covered in shroud.

I suppose it’s like that mysterious ballad,
Where but shadows pirouette to its tune.
And as the music gains momentum,
A silent crescendo comes crashing down.

A World that Blinked

Enchanting Eyes.
Treasuries of sorrow;
Impermanent as the smiling night,
Invoking rapture and delight.

Wild Eyes.
Like silent daggers take aim,
Accosts this accurate heart,
Piercing it countless times.

Vigilant Eyes.
Lighthouses that navigate souls,
Guiding spirits to safe passage,
Windows unto worlds unknown.

Ancient Eyes.
Recounting tales of poised rivers,
Of grieving forests kissed by morning mist,
And clumsy peaks battling infinite sky.

If she is to look away:
All shall parch in great pangs of thirst.
All will burn, wither away and die.
All shall subside and reduce to dust.

But alas she looked away,
And the world blinked with her.

Elements

Just as the piquant Sun rises,
On an early wintery day.
A familiar warmth sensed,
As entangled lovers lay.
A conflagration of passion,
Under white glaciered sheets.
They slowly drift towards another,
Where love and fire come together as one.

The impermanent gale,
Blows wistfully through hay.
As her cooling breath whispers,
She speaks of places where-
lives are borne on motionless winds.
And swirling columns of chaos begin
The lovers torn by tornadoes of thought
When fire and wind become one.

The spring’s rain falls on downy plains,
As tears flow like enraged rivers.
Lovers separated by seas of change,
Where streams of passion,
Are coaxed by breezes of rage.
The morning dews of sadness,
Collect on the leaves of reunion
As fire, wind and water merge into one.

The scorched terrain,
Extinguished by tears of compassion.
As ashes of love settle and abate,
The winds of empathy begin to gyrate.
As the distance between them converge,
The path to passion almost renewed,
With mutual mingling of dust and dew,
Fire, wind, water and earth are but one.

Burst

Reservoirs of disquiet
fiercely imbue
and saturate the soul,
As emotions pound
loudly on the walls
of suppressed dreams
and desires untold.
Only tenants of woe
are in the know,
of deep-seated unrest
within cavernous mind
and cutaneous mold
Entrenched in
inconceivable sadness.

The soul bursts
on reaching brim,
Like eyes that well
of lachrymose
Or inflated balloons
of sensation explode
Where volcanoes
of thought erupt and flow,
as rivers of molten rock.
The wise pen then bleeds
on the papyrus of emptiness,
As the soul escapes.

Warriors in my Sky

Rays of light assault
the afternoon sky,
like a thousand Samurai.
As ancient warriors from,
the Land of the Rising Sun
Slice through white headed clouds
With a rapier precision,
Where torrents of blood
colour a kimono sky.

The Sun,
Our Samurai King
Awaits twilight,
To perform the rite
of Seppuku (Hara- kiri),
Sacrificing innocence of day,
for ominous night.
Brandishing katana sunbeams
Massacring all in sight.

The day now slain, turns to night.

Madrigal of Souls

Sometimes I hear the madrigal of souls,
Seep through impermeable walls,
A music shorn by seas of existence,
Fleeing the shackles of thought.

Whilst mortals only dream of song,
And troubled minds lay at bay.
Nesting in cocoons of consciousness,
Unaware and afraid.

Souls in search of a longing wildness;
A place where fear has no sway,
Escaping this eternal sadness,
To dance in sweet serenade.

Phantom Love

As the Sun’s meeting adjourns,
Lingering thoughts begin to yearn,
For a love not understood,
Nor experienced the way it should.

In parched deserts alone I walk,
Where mirages spitefully mock,
This misleading spectre by moonlight,
When day surrenders unto night.

It’s madness to think this way,
To endure another day,
Without you my phantom friend,
And quiet solitude, my only end.

Now dreams taunt me incessantly,
To awaken to more haunting realities;
A life without you, your love, nor mine,
More false promises of the mind.

This ghostly love imbued with madness,
And a beauty that aches with sadness.
With shrinking echoes of exclusion,
There’s little comfort in love’s illusion.

Paradoxity

When in utter darkness you can still see the light,
And when violence begets violence; we continue to fight.
Where the recluse is still, with the ability to explore,
When more becomes less, and less is more.
Where the stationary mind is yet set adrift,
And the altruistic soul can still attract rift.
Where dreams are real and reality is a dream,
And all is nothing and nothing what it seems.
When Nature nurtures, and plays the serial killer,
And the glass half empty appears to be fuller.
When one flirts with death and returns back to life,
And the war against terror perpetuates strife.
When one can find nothing in something,
Yet conjure something out of nothing.
Where meaning is lost and meaninglessness found,
And the sound of silence is still but a sound.
When you’re free to love and yet bound by love,
Receiving little refuge from the heavens above.
Where you can laugh so hard that you begin to cry,
And seek unattainable truths yet continue to try.
Where further from Nature, approaches the confined city,
Where there’s even a paradox within paradoxity.

Chasing the Sun

Where are the days spent chasing the sun?
Tantalising afternoons kissed by the twilight hour,
Hurried footsteps towards unreachable horizons.
Where impish shadows follow closely behind .
What were we searching for?
An ancient land cast amid day and night?
Some sacred wisdom held in a golden ray of light?
O guiding light, O unconquerable Sun.
We chase to witness your inevitable demise,
And in your last hour, shake hands with the Divine,
To experience the sky; a canvas strewn with colours.
We fail to catch, thus embrace your tender light,
But why forsake this evening and each night?
The hour has all but closed O Dying Star,
Enveloping us in darkness, yet we take comfort,
Smiling at the silvery stars, your distant cousins.

The Deep Within

As he explores the universe within,
An undulating ride beneath the skin.
Without a north, south, east or west,
To find some truth on an infinite quest.

An adventure replete with twists and turns,
The reasons for which cannot be discerned.
The closer he gets, the further he remains,
All while the riddle of life pertains.

To the heavens he looks for answers he seeks,
Devoid of which, his world would seem bleak.
But now navigating through an inner space,
The world no longer looks that of a forlorn place.

But still another path, and yet another turn,
A soul- fueled voyage which fiercely burns.
The passionate discoveries and all that it brings,
Such is the tale of the Deep Within.

Silence of Silence

Is not the sound of silence still a sound?
Where than can the silence of silence be found?
The endless thoughts of which are heard,
Where ceasing to think would seem absurd.
As the restless sleep in charcoaled dreams,
A silence so silent, you’ll hear its screams.
For quiet music that colours the tireless mind,
A stillness of sound that I cannot find.
So for now it’s the clamour and clatter of noise,
The chitter and chatter that makes me coy.
In complete stillness, still the body vibrates,
A silence so silent, it will not abate.
The silence of which is not found in rhymes,
The silence so silent it’s deafening at times.
If one can see through their ears,
And hear through their eyes like me,
The silence of silence remains a mystery.
Is not the sound of silence still a sound?
Where than can the silence of silence be found?

Planet of Emotion

Pride rests firmly on her shoulders,
With surprise floating about her seat.
A mountain of regret fills her bosom,
And happiness swims at her feet.

Love escapes her encased chest,
As sorrow trickles down her face,
Compassion flows like the tresses of her hair,
And embarrassment colours her fair cheeks.

Anger seeps through the pores of her skin,
With joy enveloping her lingering legs,
Fear climbs the nape of her neck,
With wonder clutching at her knees.

The Hourglass

Am I but a lonely grain of sand,
Amongst a throng of hopeful grain.
An eternal captive in a foreign land.
Where little hope remains.

Thus begins the inevitable fight,
For a seemingly equal space.
Toiling through, from morn' to night,
To win an unwinnable race.

Like a trains endless journey,
Travelling between two stops.
Creating delicate peaks and frail valleys,
With insurmountable tops.

With each passing second,
As time slips away.
It’s the call of freedom that beckons,
At every moments stay.

The wind has gone, yet do I long,
For where I ought to be.
Where time rests and in it's song,
Across the desert and by the sea.