Simple World: dream, dream on

Wonderful plays, it seems. Slowly the tides shifts gears, with the pedal revved, the acquired sense of direction attains a new set of waves. Like a pair of new shoes, the delusion of enchantment smells too sweet at first. Only when you see the decays of the sole then, and only then you can boldly say “thou feet are worn out.”

The louder it gets, the smoother the lullabies get. The high pitched voice from the folk-place is always under the buses. Must water fall from the sky? When the land bears bountiful fruit. In the need for cheeks and checks, the kiss smears longer till the bite on the neck becomes apparent.

A striking resemblance you see on the wide world screen. It gets madder by each channel or Chanel. It grows wilder by the sound of the speaker; less reality, more distortion. The fetish of the street-grain-rodeo brings the compendium of highlighted thirst to a new low.

The steps of the queen drags a little too long. The stare she receives adds a year or two to the tale of the Sheeba and a mere man. So strong, yet her kiss settles easily on mouth. The want breaks loose setting another yearn for lust. Such and such, the silk dissipates and all that was hidden bears front in the room of embrace. The pain hints at a later time, but the Queen continues to hold her spell. The mirror says all, she reigns supreme. At day, her face. In night her cries.

Another maybe. Pass away smiles; dreaming on till laughter from the face of the passer-by rings into mind. The workout to bring sane goes south and sends messages to the unknown up north.


Bright Anita

The carvings you bring finds my bonds of paper ever so well. Hence I shall stop my wrong ways to find my right ones with you. The silence we bring helps build the bridge between sweet and slow. So let’s roll into the carriage of pumpkins and silver wheels. Most people always find new ways to find our fault. The danger we show gets the race started;

Melodies of solace.

Crisp like rice

Reddened sauce

Peppered layers

Showered hinges

An uncollected perspective

A growing spirit

A generous smiling

Lasting after the embrace

Time to sweet drive

Long; till we see a glow

The Crocodile City

The city stank of death and utter desolation. Many dirty gutters were scattered all over the city showering their many unwanted blessings to those who dared to breathe.

The city was abundantly filled with platinum lies;

“Records of misdirected words

Mixed with a rejuvenated beast

Marked with a line of ill

Too ill to spill puke

Too insane to sniff coke

How far, too long

Till she shakes off her pride

And then all that was wrong spins around

Back along that same place

Where honey tasted better than sex

There she lay, the Queen of the night, deep inside the city of crocodiles.”

Chains Broken

Every step up that ladder seemed unattainable. The progress made so far was slow as it needed to be. Our thoughts were closer to pain than hope. Pain was easy to obtain. Pain required no formalities to settle into your place of rest; like an unwanted guest who refused to depart.
So I tried; again and again, on and on, I revved, but the clock refused to heed to my words. The wheels kept pushing forward; upward to somewhere that looked like heaven. So to the edge I step; a place where I had no choice but to move on.
Silence engulfs me
A deep sigh,
Back here, one last time
Then it begins
Forgetting pain and sweat, I run
My path gets more unclear by the day
But I preserve and scratch deep down
With my heart bleeding courage
I reached
I had come in last but nonetheless I had succeeded
To my own voice,
With precise clarity
I heard emptiness had fled away
Leaving behind a taste for survival


When the young arrived the old quietly sat on their chairs

Our lives spin in circles hoping to align directly with our desires. Some people never get to see their deepest wishes come to fulfillment, but only a few realize whatever their heart had hoped for. They journey into loneliness without preconceived pressure, but with a free-flowing effortlessness. Unfair civilization; definitions of the world we continually live in. We are bound to hate one another with disdain and bitterness. Sometimes hoping for a change is like a ball stuck in a dead stream; hopelessly stagnant. Slowly and gradually we disappear into solitude and despair. Love seemed to be the right way but when sought and pursued, a cold shiver was received. SPIN

Third Person (Voice)

You know after all this; the constant pressure to succeed or fail, the pressure to fake a smile or a frown, the pressure to find one or another, or the constant looks from the street judges, there I am (moi). Standing there or maybe walking with my back turned, I look strange just walking, fighting my through another man’s time. I know that’s contemporary life; “you work to live,” but where is my own time?

The elites might know, I mean I toil for them everyday. They should know something, right?

Where am I in this ‘scatta’ ‘scatta’ mess?

Have you seen me lately?

I think I’m lost, missing in action

So is my voice lost in this strictly commercialized noise?

Oh well there it goes again, echoing away my soul

I can’t hear it, even if I lean further, it has gone too far, or am I too far away?

After all this motion and more motion

Where am I?

Where is my voice?

I think I might have to shout much more louder to get it back. Reach for the stars, they say!