BEAUTY IN THE BEAST (PART I)
I fix myself to catch my inner mind set
I close my eyes into my sealed window of breath
I listen to the voice of the unsung composer
The night falls to welcome the unsought conjecturer
Too many thoughts, too many uncertainties for the singing still
There’s a storm-like power I can’t hold on to my will
I open my eyes for I don’t want to walk in someone’s dream
I collect myself to do some dreaming for my less-visited stream
I don’t have and never could have a jewel beyond measure
I’ve been in a place where there’s beauty in
everything and everywhere
No one can ever get there for true beauty is for the great thinker
Where I find true beauty is the place I least expect
It could be the place I always travel and see
Unseen beauty becomes no great shake
It is invisible, intangible where many can’t see
woods for the tree
(PART II)
Beauty is where the heart is
It is a person’s missing piece
What is beautiful is invisible to the eye
Sometimes we are blind and tell a lie
The best display is the hidden treasure
Like a precious jewel beyond measure
Sometimes, beauty becomes no great shake
It has a strong power to make or break
Beauty can be found in the face we always see
But sometimes we cannot see woods for the tree
The promise of beauty is to give us a high esteem
And deliver us a soul so pure and clean
UNTITLED POEM
I am an ocean of sea-grief unity
I am a little bird that sobs among the tree
I stare at the jolly bird who softly hums her melody
I am the unprotected bird begging for warmth and sanity
I am a grain of rice
Everything has its price
I think love is so expensive and hard to give
I am broken into two and painfully grieve
I am the utter fantasy rocks
See…. I call the stars in the morning skies
I ask an affection that never lies
But I shun the passion of the music box
I am a parasite of five elements
I diffuse in the atmosphere my ungrateful scent
In the southern rain, I lost my sentiments
I stroll the road-less hay field and been out of bend
I am a color promise of despair
I am a dreamer struggling the star of hope
I watch the flying birds and timelessly aspire to fly too
I dream to ascend but slumber with fragile rope
I am the unwritten writer because someone
quoted my felicity’s imprint
I am the unnoticed creek…
…where I bathe you of my sadden sweat…
…where you drink my tears…
I NEVER GIVE UP
I couldn’t love myself now if I didn’t hate myself before
As dawn broke, I enveloped myself high with guilt pleasure
And the mood of the spirit did not fly and linger
Would I yield to an orthodox or believe the lie?
Is it I who choose to be bold or demure?
They seem a modest figure but always belie!
I psyched out the animal instinct
And it suddenly became succinct
But we would rather have nothing but the map’s destiny
Some people find stars that crush in the ocean
It is the fatal prone some people lay
Prowling in the dance of dust to find their heyday
There’s an unconscious competition
making ourselves better persons
But me, still reflecting like an insight provoker
I am loved by Man Above….. I am loved by Man Above
You ought to know…. I never give up!
YOU NEVER WILL
The stars climb into a sunless sky
When my fantasy never dies
Precisely 12 midnight I compose a haiku
I used to hear the echoes of déjà vu
To understand what I feel
You never will….
Riding down to the reality, weakness is my talent
The moon makes me mad with my letters unsent
I can create something out of nothing with my bare hand
I compete with myself because birth is my end
To understand what I feel
You never will….
The vision of you is my first cause which sparkles in the shadow
The soft clouds cover the sunrise and reflect a rainbow
The journey intricates a spectacular life it wants to show
The field intrudes the hurricane along the green meadow
To understand what I feel
You never will….
Do you promise the sun to rise in the west?
And tell the mediocre to do his best?
Within the miracle you keep, what is your hue?
To search for your star, I bade adieu
To understand what I feel
You never will….
I don’t ask your window-shopping stage
I don’t know your story on Shakespearean age
My whole life wonders when will you tie the knot
Down the tree, I love forever your whereabout
To understand what I feel
You never will
GROWING UP
A BALLAD OF A YOUNG BOY TO A CHARMING GIRL
If I were to ask, ‘where is love?,
let me first ask, where it is not?
Then I notice a girl who passes this way
Blooming inside… glowing at the innermost heart
A girl spending her days learning to love
She is a built in rose of passion with long-felt affection
which outbursts its lyrical portraits
She is the portrait of feminine touch that is beyond forgetting
No vision is more ineffaceable than the sight of a girl
who drew breath of admiration…..
I serenade her:
I am looking for love and you spell me up by your charm
Would you not listen to my heart’s beat but sing it?
Would you get a magnificent chance to know who I am?
Let us dance to my line of song
Let us walk to my frame of garden
Let us learn love together and be not impassioned young travelers
Can I offer you flowers for your discerning answer?
Can I kiss you warmly asking… would you be my girl?
GIRL’S REPLY TO HER YOUNG WOOER
If I say yes, will you go on hunting me?
If I say no, will you stop serenading me?
You would never made me spellbound
with your sweet-serenade
I remember what you said….
‘Let us dance to the tune of my deep-rooted mind
Let us wander to the garden of my heart,
Let us see the beautiful flowers’
How true is our window-shopping stage?
How far searching goes between us?
How your admiration remains so?
How my reply becomes forever?
This is my reply:
‘Unrequited love is not meant for you
So be it to be your little girl my dear wooer
Don’t make me tired wandering to your garden of heart
Don’t make me shun smelling your love-scented flowers
Be as worth as gold to be my little boy as I am your little girl
My dear wooer, remember your most requested kiss…?
I am thinking about it!’
HOW MUCH YOU LOVE ME?
I ask how much you love me
And I give my heart to thee
I ask if bliss is mine
And ask a life so gentle and fine
Shall I ask a mathematician how he could
count the sands on the seashore?
Shall I ask a bird how boundless in the sky he could soar?
Shall I ask an explorer where is the end of the distance?
Or a traveler where is the heaven’s entrance?
But will you answer me truly?
If I ask how much you love me?
Shall I ask a blind man how crystal clear is the sun?
Shall I ask a paralyzed man how fast he could run?
Shall I ask a dead man when he will wake up on his grave?
Or ask a king how he remains faithful to his slave?
But will you answer me truly?
If I ask how much you love me?
Shall I ask a loser an advice on how to win?
Shall I ask a withered leaf when he will turn to green?
Shall I ask a sun when he will melt?
Or a rich man when he will give all his wealth?
But will you answer me truly?
If I ask how much you love me?
Shall I ask a Catholic how much he loves Satan?
Shall I ask a Buddhist how he likes to read the Koran?
Shall I ask a drought how voluminous his flood?
Or a Yuletide Season how ageless his blood?
But will you answer me truly?
If I ask how much you love me?
Shall I ask a dreadful shadow of future
how much he could give love more?
Shall I ask an uncaring heart how much open his door?
Shall I ask a musician how soul-stirring when soft voices die?
Or a poet how sentiment-filled poem when it loses its rhyme?
But will you answer me truly?
If I ask how much you love me?
EMOTION’S DIARY
The feeling of emotion is a pitfall in the world of emotions
It is a balloon of emotions where there are critics
Prickling holes in our balloon
We are frowning…
The emotional twist is the aftermath of our bargained emotion
It is the low class diamond I can twist and turn
We are choking…
The counterpart of our lousy emotion is the emotional threat
Rational equation is its major formula to get even
We are mumbling . . .
Emotional business is our vocation while
emotional overdose is our avocation
We burst our bubble and cast out our extraneous system
We are studying…
To articulate our emotion is beyond the eloquent emotion
Let us put our best foot forward to qualify
in close- to- perfect emotion
We are comprehending…
Our reverence emotionality is gladiator in emotion
It is invincible when there’s no covenant between
real and ideal emotion
We are learning . . .
Let us interview ourselves and let not speak
but our feelings’ memoir
Let us judge ourselves and explain our emotion legacy
Right now . . . we are empathizing…
WE’RE FEW MINUTES AWAY FROM THE TIME OF OUR LIVES
APRIL 18
Was when I drew breath like the alluring scent of roses
My tiny fists were rosebuds yet to bloom and swing
My supple skin was a fleecy cloud so fresh and fine
SEPTEMBER 27
Was when you breathed life full of hope and promises
Your shining eyes were innocent and unknowing
Your responsive lips created a blur of vision and time
Now… the wind blows through my silken hair
And you dance with the rhythm of air
I am the artist……
I paint with my quivering brush
And design with flawless canvas
You discuss the elements of art
And inspire me to create with heart
You are the critic…..
I am the writer….
I put my thoughts into sentence
And imprison them with cadence
You pick up the figurative language
And remind me the Shakespearean age
You are the editor…
I am the singer….
I hum through the musical words
And synchronize with the playing cords
You applaud my singing voice
And hear my music with rejoice
You are the listener….
I am the performer….
I giggle my butt with smiling lips
Move and sway my curving hips
You cheer me on with grace
And scream through the race
You are the audience…..
But sometimes we swap our job and I do your role
We are the two rings that interlock and the twin soul
We have friendship and love well-born
A deep relationship we will never ever scorn
PUT WORRIES IN YOUR POCKET
If these teardrops would fall in the soil
and make a blossoming flower
then I endure my teardrops to continuously fall
I opened my eyes and found myself lying in the sand
Blue sand waiting to kiss by the cheerful eerie splash of sea
The sound of voices echoed along the tree
Beneath the tree, there is unruly wind smuggling
my soul like a gigantic cell
I put my worries in my pocket
The wandering waif stole my pocket
I got rage but I remember I put my worries there
The ray of dawn was covering my teardrops
The moonlight flickered through my face
And left a freezing air so clear
Now the tornadoes swept out in the sky
Because I put my worries in my pocket
The one who stole says….. ‘What a damn!’
And I say….. ‘Thanks God!
ANGER MISPLACED
I have with me the competitor of God
Being good is enough; it’s time to be bad
It is the demon-substitute on earth
Revenge is my reply to heal my hurt
Anger roles my tongue and dismal face
It backfires in the blood of my human race
Tomorrow will be my red-letter day
I will get the payback and surely be gay
I will slit your throat and break you into pieces
You will suffer and there will be no forgiveness
I will never take my revenge for granted
I am only human whose kindness is limited
I know my plan is between the devil and deep blue sea
But now, I will cancel my anger because I am so busy
Just look fearfully at my eyebrows forming a sharp triangle
Suddenly, there appears a man with wings like an angel
I have a soft spot in my heart…
so forgiveness….. consider it done!
Oh! My anger….. I am actually not having fun!
PEN AND PAPER PSYCHOLOGIST
Bloke! You’ve got your brain in gear
So be it not lifeless and sere
You are not born yesterday
And be that as it may
You refuse silver for you look for gold
Be contented for luck will be cold
Sailed by the soundless cry which is hush
You need a push, a priceless in its cash
Spring is not in you despite you grow
Just think that you reap what you sow
There is still the benefit of the doubt
For this world offers no time-out
THE POETESS
Composing poems is the job of an idler
I won’t tell you that I compose poem
Perhaps yes, perhaps no
Giving poetic skill is the job of nobody else
I won’t tell you who is the poetess
Perhaps the philosopher or perhaps the fool
Perhaps the philosopher is my mind who thinks
Or the fool is my heart who reveals
My mind is out prowling and my heart is out searching
My soul evokes its spirit and spreads its elements
It’s not what you’re thinking
You don’t seem to get it, do you?
And it is to be continued……
Yes, I am the poetess
My poems are just impromptu
Poetry is me, rhapsody is my waterloo
I am but the answer’s irony
It is the philosophy of my own life
It is the psychology of my own self
It is the history of my own past
It is the language of my own behavior
I die but my poems would not fade
So long as I live, they will survive
Not the Statue of Liberty, not the Great Walls of China
shall overtake their substance
Not the age of time, not the hundred fold history
shall run their content
I myself shall discard poetry writing if I stop breathing;
once I become the poetess,
I will be the poetess forever in its single moment…
WIDE AWAKE
I played a game and little did I know the game was me
I was like a magnet for troubled souls whilst
in favor with tragedy
Is there a longevity for the perchant for pedagogy
when the rendezvous was sabotaged for necromancy?
Out of the blue, I got a short-end bargain for the itinerary
I asked why somebody didn’t do good
and realized I was that somebody
When the images of rapture were in fool’s paradise,
The naiveté was calm in sun’s warm embrace
I was in a world of reverie as I was wrapped in a cool breeze
And came the deafening silence of the
session of sweet benevolent thoughts
In the world of literature, I succeeded to juggle my composure
It began to roll and crumple to greet the paradise creek
Bundles of words sank deep into my heart
It aided up sentiments within my long-bashful sleep
I called into an enthusiastically new road of thought
….and I am wide awake….
WHO AM I? (PART 1)
What is the truth behind the mirror and myself?
Could I cling a mirror or my portrait?
Should I open my inside’s outside?
Is my self – portrait a picture perfect?
Would the mirror talk inside me
as I gaze deeply and highly?
Do I deceive people by my facade?
Does my body make me who I am?
Does the variety of wearable things reflect my character?
What kind of wearer am I?
What is my inside?
Does my mind belong to me or belong
to someone else’s mind who is less a portrayer?
I know that I am the portrayer of my own self
I made my life
It is my inalienable inside
Does my body crawl inside my heart?
Does it speak a volume of myself into my soul?
Who owns the reflection standing forward
and backward at me?
Does my shadow ever loyal to me?
Does it haunt another man and
deliberately flaunt me?
I pretend who I’m not
I am the original version of myself`
I never portray the second version of myself
I am still the person that I was
I am me
What I am is what I am
I am who I am
(PART II)
I CAN BE BUT I CANNOT BE
I can be the master of the plane
But I cannot be the master of the sky
I can be the master of the train
But I cannot be the master of the land
I can be the master of the ship
But I cannot be the master of the sea
I can change, I can grow, I can leap
But I cannot be nothing to be everything
PAIN WARRANT
Is there such a thing called pain warrant?
A natured-way that is infinite adamant
Pain can hurt all but arrest you to be tough
Suppose to be a road that is narrow and rough
I feel pain but I have the joy collection
And that is my emotional exploration
When pain ceased to be
Oh! The big moment is to me
Actually we are not pain free
Just welcome pain warrant for life’s fee
FRIENDSHIP OR FRIENDSHIFT?
I think we have a serious business
Enough about you and me but a couple of us
We have to talk about the dignity of our aloneness
I think we are hurrying along too fast….
…too fast to say I’m gone
…too fast to say I’m done
…too fast to think we are not one
…too fast to change the side of sun
We give no hatred but genuine affection
We’re neither friendship’s creator nor destroyer
Sometimes I think of our unbecoming connection
And I feel the less sharing of ourselves to each other
Can I write our so-called uncopied friendship?
How do I know what I know about you and me?
Should I discern how mattered thing will be?
Would I laugh because I cry for our friendshift?
MOON’S ANGEL
Mimic motions
Morning bursts
Trade the feet of the chilling dawn
Shades of dreams
Pass along the sleepy dusk of angels
Only anchors of lullaby’s will
Sealed with faith and hope
Ray of light covers the winter
I travel in the shadow of yesterday
Images of past moisture me away like an angel
Over the lofty ambitions
The furnace is over
Tranquility zone is vivid now
Clouds quarrel the husky wind
Unveiling the footsteps in the sky of angel-like
Noonday dreams
Nostalgic moments
Night’s memories
Always meet with your angel
Behind the clear blue sky
A GLASS HALF-EMPTY GIRL
I was a crying child in my shattering cradle
I was too much of nothing to be everything
I was ailed by emptiness in my mind whispering
to the inmost dimension
I was cramped by turmoil episode crossing
the startling empty heart
Had I not been empty, I would have not been
dignified for my doubtful quest
I echoed in the four-sided empty space but nobody heard me
I traversed in out of nowhere point but nobody saw me
I was numb with holistic sense which treated me as a lower soul
I was empty because I was climbing deeply without a ladder
I was lying in a ship of lunacy heading off
to an unyielding melancholy place
Nobody knows that the sea I was sailing
was my own overflowing tears
I was drowned in tears and created a river
of pain and nothingness
I was journeying through far-away distance
loaded with heavy boxes of words
And the heavy boxes of words
were the parade of my boredom
roaming in the island of white-darkness
The stillness of my emptiness had sulked
into the Great Beholder
He drank my tears and I had embarked to the ship of lunacy
He’s been my great sounding board for He never gets tired
listening to my soul’s cry
Now, I am less-alone, half-sorrowful
Less of me, half of me and more of Him,
full of Him makes us one
Life’s journey takes me now to new meaning
of my undaunted existence
I am craving for spirit and blissfully so into
the Great Beholder
Turning Point 