I See

Escape from an escape, into an escape yet more magnified than the last: And here I am, being in a place which I do not know.
This is what was predicted; this was prophecised in dreams that I forgot when I had waken to the bigger dream of Reality.
It was always grey, it was always grey. Who am I to say I have learned to see!? What I see may not exist the way I see so; or, what I thought I saw may never have existed.
It is what we choose to see, and what we are made to see. Or, what we see and never register in memory; conversely, what we register though we may have never seen so.
Seeing is believing? Not any more. Knowing is believing: And, what I never saw with the ‘naked’ eye of this body of clay, I may know better, having seen with the eye of my Spirit.

Unbound Travel

Half a century, I travelled East

Treading pathways; trading

thorns for smiles.

Time was melting in her hands;

Warm, with no fire,

it was burning

and melting, as wax

on blades of grass.


His eyes are made of frosted glass,

No light enters, nothing escapes.


From your gravestone, I pick flowers:

Flowers harvested for springs to come.

Lamps, dimly afloat in a crimson mist sky.

A quarter of my life transcended North,

then dropped back on swollen grounds.


A thousand salt tears, I travelled West!



The Wall, and I

The wall of doubt that, I with certainty, raised to glory

Stings the heart; my vision, set ruthlessly ablaze;

Sworn to be built, so as not to repeat the story,

Finds me yet again, in a maze within a maze.


What disparity lies, in what all occupies our thoughts:

You and I: do we not cherish only, tiring ourselves to sleep..!

Craving to experience in all consciousness, an illusion

Of a dream; a dream, dear Slumber dare never keep!







The Nothing

Nothing is all I have:

I do not know if that is enough.

Nothing is what seems to satisfy this mind.

Nothing fulfills me like Nothing itself,

and yet I long for more.

Disillusioned with the illusion of Time;

Not a complaint, ’tis only a glimpse

of my honest sharing.

I lose my patience to be forbearing,

then seek it back only in waiting,

for my sweet, promised hearing.

This Form, loses form

In anticipation of a demise,

Only God could ever know

of this aching sacrifice.

I must sedate the demons inhabiting this frame.

I know the rules too, yet fail to interpret

How to shift courses of an unwinding game:

Nothing to quieten thus; and Nothing to tame.

She was bestowed a valuable, the value unknown.

Now I toss it in the river, the river from her dream:

Was the river me? Or am I a sprouting stream?

The precious belongs to the beautiful,

To the other than I; she is not mine to keep.

We share dreams no more, even in my deepest of sleep!