The Search

Yes. 

I did it.

If only to understand,

That pride comes before the fall,

And nothing less, meaningful,

Than my quest, 

To find questions, answerless.

And say, neigh scream, 

In the blind stillness of this primordial night,

That I have come, 

Afore all, and demanded,

My rights,

So that I can, as I did, stand,

At my pinnacle,

Unshackled, 

Unchained,

Free, of dread and dogma,

Cursed, yes, in orthodox minds,

Marring my divinity, 

Yet oblivious,

To all the visions of heaven and hell,

For he who stayed by me,

In the sanctum of my heart, denied, 

Judgement, 

Anointing it a scheme, 

To tame all that surged within,

Us all, us all!

Was I mislead? 

I know not.

Was I wronged?

I care less.

Because the fall, the fall, had been mine,

The same way, my pride and flight was,

Soaring, 

Through dream, desire, 

Baptized and redeemed,

With freedom and by duty,

Of mine to me,

Ah, 

The scarcity of words, 

Makes me pause, 

Makes me wonder,

If you, yes you, 

Can truly understand, me, 

Or just shrug and go on,

Passive and restless,

Under the same shelter,

From whence you have escaped,

In search, of … What?

The Silver Eclipse



Stay.

There, beneath the moon,

Wet in it’s shadow,

The night flowing through your tresses,

Whispering lullaby, 

Forging dreams, 

Of summer and it’s secrets.

Let it trickle, the moonlight, 

So that it can gather in your palm, 

 And see for once, 

Your face, 

O star. 

May, the world still, 

And gasp for breath, 

As you unveil, 

In searching glance, 

Your eyes, the violent petals,

A mirror to search and find,

The side behind the eclipse.

Semblance


The mirror broke,

And so did the image, 

In thousand, thousand pauses, 

 A violent birth that altered all,

The semblance and the sync, 

By the valleys of crest and the peaks of trough, 

Everlasting ephemerally,

To shatter the illusion,

Restive to change,

Of face and fate, fickle of desire

the ring of truth, absolved by fire,

Sand, silica and stone of lime,

Filling the void, bereft of heart, 

Gathering, gathering,

In ages untold, 

Layers of past and of that present,

Dust and ashes, Bricks of blood, 

Raised in memory, forgotten barrow,

Tombs of today, altars tomorrow,

True to find,

In semblance, of semblance, for semblance, 

A voice raised, in echo unheard,

Whispering reflections, the sentinel erred.

The Form


It takes but a moment, yet lingers for a lifetime,

Such is the mystery, 

Of dust and the shape of sand,

Of waves and the alchemical moon, 

Like freedom caged in verse and words,

Indifferent to change, still inimicaly altered.

Such things speaks of a nature, 

Adherening to the desire,

That pulses, and reshapes, 

Reshapes and regains,

New meanings, new understanding,

An attempt, nothing more, 

To leave a part, a living part, 

So as to be remembered,

In quest of the flaw, 

For being remembered, is being immortal.

And that is all there is, such is all there shall.

The Day We Stand.

Feel free to fear, and dear to dread,

Ye, searchers of true happiness.

In quaint ways, do stumble and fall,

Bloodied, broken, as alone as all.

Gather wind, must tempest sing,

In wails mourning bygone days, 

Just as each stone is tempered bone,

So are all legends, stories sown.

Let nightmares guide, your quest of truth,

Each martyr a milestone honed in ruth,

To find, and find, the pledge of faith, 

By life’s sorrow, and peace of death.

Rest not till blood, gushes white,

Rest not till withers hardened lies,

Rest not till tomorrow touches dawn,

Rest not till each is on his own.