Becoming

Looking for
Little corners
For my secret
Madness

Things that would
Comfort it
-Would let it be
Things like coffee
Cigarettes
Alcohol
Movies
Pot
Travel
Poetry

Places where
I can't be seen
But still mean
Something
Becoming objects
Of the frame
Of a stranger's eye
Easily missed
And just being

Looking for
New people
For my secret madness
People that would
Comfort it
Would let me be
People like you
Me
Silent
Strange
Fun
Ordinary
Simple
People with whom
I can be
And mean something

Becoming children
Of our own self

In a way
Becoming significant
In front
Of our own
Eye

Windows

Windows
Let in light
For the
Dead things
Craving bright
Ideas
To wake up
To a fresh day
To strive
And be alive
Through you
Through what
You take in
Breathe in
Eat
See
Imagine
Experience
Drink
Smoke
Be

The light
Is a medium
Like helium
For balloons
To rise
To great heights
Achieve
And descend
With glory
Another story
To be told
To the rest
Waiting
To be told
To be inspired
To be cold
To other
Dead things
That have no soul
But will be alive
Someday
Like your
Dream
Rusting
In your past
Give it bridges
To make it
To the now
Let it
Make you say
Wow
And smile.

Fountains

Water
Trickles down
From the fountain
Goes back up
Much like mountains
Healing every drop
That drops down
Only to fall again

Fall
In place
Fall in light
Fall in love
And make a sound
A vibe designed
To calm the sight
Of the third eye
Feeling lighter
Clearer
Feeling wonder
Throughout
Shout
At the beauty
Inspite the doubt
We have
About falling in love
Serve your thoughts
Serve your seed
Give it light
And then you feed it
With love
And soil
And water
That trickles down
From the fountain
Of hope.

Boxes

Store your
Happy moments in
Boxes made of
Colored sins
Sins of yellow
Sins of green
Till mortal's
Theory
Intervenes
Sins not of the
Dark and dull
That hamper
Chakras
Hearts and skull
Sins of
Michevious blue
Stuck with all
Children's true
Innocence
Made of
Nature's dust
Which is fine
Even if you
Do not trust
It's
Consequences.

Motion

Steady and slow
Neverending
Flow
Of time
Grows
Around my head

Outside my bubble
Inside my core
Two parallels
In
Oneness flow

Bridged by
Intuition
Feelings
Meanings
Reasons
Beliefs
Stored
Deep
In my
Subconcious seasons
Growing
Outwards
Growing inwards
Into each
Other's core

A network of
The inside you
Outside me
And within
Hold you breath
Hold your thought
Mould your soul
And begin

Bound by
Mystical math
Monitoring
Most mailable
Meanings
Mind
Moderates
Mindlessly

Steady and slow
With it
We flow
In it we grow
Carelessly

One more latte please.

I don't know
What it is
About you
You seem
To be mixing
In me
Like the ice
And the whiskey

I don't know
What it is
About you
You seem
To be making
Me nervous
Like jumping off a cliff

I don't know
What it is about
Every latte
I now taste
It seems to
Remind me
Of the conversations
We had
Whisking in
Your eyes
Asking me
To shut up
And smile
As I talk

They are playing the same
Music again
Out here
You know
But romance
Is for loosers
Nowadays

I wonder
If I could
Wake you up
Like the latte
And the kiss

I know its creepy
I sit in here
Thinking
What I miss

I thought this was easy
Go home
And switch on
My laptop
Switch on
The rest of the world
Again
Switch to
Who I was again
Switch
Like how the others
Taught me

The others
Didn't prepare me well
I think
Didn't prepare me
For a complicated
Latte
With brown sugar
A piece of cake
And a biscotti
Should have been

A piece of cake
Instead
But I guess
I like my latte
Like this
Now

One more latte please? 

To stop.

Tersely designed
Concepts
Methods
Structured dreams
Still lucid
Intelligible
Realms of imagination
Extending beyond
My fingers
Beyond my reach
Teach me
How to tame
My mind
Blind fuckin mind
From wandering off
How do I convince
To calm it down
To stop
And take a deep breath
While it panics
Drowning in
Heavy breathing
Seeing no reason
To stop
Hop hop
Hopping all over
Souvenirs
I hid in the
Cupboard
Of my reckless
Feral
And free mind
It wouldn't
Care to even
Scare you away
I'm trying
But it giggles
When I tell it to
Shut the fuck up
My pen doesn't stop
It seems more determined
Than me
Loosing out ink
Faster than time
Could comprehend
What it tries to say
My pen knows
A lot more
About what I have to
Say
Playing on this sheet
Exploring corners
Of cheeks
Beautifully using them
As matter for poetry
Set it free already
Please let me go
But my pen
Just laughs along with my mind
What do I fuckin do
With this limited
Memory
Playing in my head
On loop
Again and again
About how I threw
The chance to
Caress your skin
And here it
Begins
Again.

A nightmare from the woods

Today I dreamt
Of people inside
My mind
When I was small

Surrounded by
Their energies
Running away
A little more

Self induced fear
In the self induced dream
I was only walking fast
There never was a scream

With not much
Difference
Between the time
And place

They were of different
Eyes
They were of different
Face

But I knew them well
And I knew them right
It was my own dream
From the lucid night

Walking through
The corridors
Walking through
Their sight

The way they looked
Cold and blank
Almost ready
To fight
Me
Again and again and again.

Roaring daisies

Transparent membranes
Like that of bubbles
Making layers
For me to see
My reflections in
So many me

Why am I
The one I hated
Why am I the one I swore on
Why am I learning patterns
From people who have moved on

We are but the actors
Of how we would have been
No more battles to lose now
None left to win

Why is it now
That I can feel
Your breeze
Across my mind?

What is it now
In your innocence
That I am about
To find?

Where is
The kindness
And the love
And passion in the wine?

Riddles

It feels like
There is
An even bigger
Being
Inside me
Bigger than
Anything
You would have ever seen
Made of
Light and darkness
Yes and no
Things you do
And things you don't
So much bigger
Than this tiny
Body
So much bigger
Than the hole
Of the pupil
You see your world
Through

Its been as big
Since you were born
And it will be
When you do
Not see yourself
Inside the body
You thought
You grew into
Also made of
Dreams,
This being comes
Out of the blue
To surprise you
When
You feel
Its alive
Just inside you

Somewhere
In the bones
Somewhere
Right outside
The goosebumps
It gives you

I look
In the mirror
You can not see
You can not touch
You can not feel
It in the reflection
But only
Inside you
Is that being
That is writing this
Down
For you

And as far as
You can ever go
Searching
I will always be found
In you
Always be found in you

Unfinished

Your fingers
Are so thin
As sharp as
My heart has ever been
Tracing treasures
On your skin
While your eyes speak
Of the darkness within
The funny kind of dark
Lit with a bit of spark
Of your smiles
And the seeds of your
Soul
That you thought
Will not grow into
What you have become

Sit with me now
Keep talking
Your voice and the vibe
Heal me so
From all I have been
To myself within
Breathe on my skin
A little more
After we have kissed
And the after taste
Of the coffee your soul
Drank with mine
And the ciggeratte's smoke
Going up with each other's
Ideas
That we might never discuss
Again
Begin another
Conversation
In this moment
To the next
A word attaching
Past to the rest
Of what is happening
And what will happen
Like a vibe
So lucid and real
That it exists in
Different times and places
As what it is
Throughout
It only evolves
But much like branches
Of the trees
You never know
Where it turns
And takes rest.

Alive

It wasn't easy to be doing nothing when she was there. He kept trying to refine his image. He wanted her. She wanted him more than him. He knew what was going on. He knew he didn't have to do all that. She kept touching her hair as if to retain the decor of the frame of his eye. She didn't want him to feel she wasn't pretty. She kept doing things to get his attention. The gloss on her lips and the shine on her nails were suppose to dazzle him and so they did, much like her eyes but never as much. They had barely spoken. The best kind of conversations are never aloud. A smile for a smirk and a blush for a touch. They both were enjoying this. More so, they had never spoken to each other before. Silence became expressive after a while, almost tangible, like colors to an artist. Liquid, lucid and alive.

Kasol, the afterthought.

With 25 thousand tourists a year, Kasol isn't a secluded part of the hills anymore. It is growing and so are the locals out there. They never imagined that people would come rushing in for the river that flows so fiercely that it becomes an echo in the minds that land up there. Soft minds, or to be softened minds.

We don't know if its famous for its brilliant charas,the beauty, or the crowd which definitely looks more creative than a club on Saturday night at haus khaz. We don't know if it is the plant (widely available everywhere anyway) or the freedom to smoke it that brings the modern Indian hippie culture together.

From debates that have neither legalized it nor told us the reasons for why is it still illegal, parvati valley offers a getaway for all since the spliffs have been lit from either side of the debates.

The beauty of the place, the plants,trees hills and even the evening breeze, the nutella crepes, the bridge that has been swinging between chalaal and Kasol and the thrill of walking on it (at least for the first time), the religious brand ambassadors lighting up chillums, the group of friends who have lied to their parents saying they are in manali and are found holding coconut shells as their crushing bowls in an environment which has almost a nil chance of violence when compared to our country's capital are smiling after smoking the joint they just rolled pushes me to question if we are fighting the right war at all.

The perspective on marijuana is changing with the western culture realising what they did was wrong. Take off the blindfolds of fear of the unknown. Know and not believe. Research and not agree to voices that apparently lead us to a brighter tomorrow. Marijuana isn't a big deal, the fear of it is.

Keep

Open doors

Knock knock
Hey there
Thought you were dead
I'm standing here
Let me in
It's raining

Thank God it's raining
Some excuse
To let me in
My God it's so warm in here
Away from logic
Away from fear

Sit
Why do you stand
I hope I don't make you
Uncomfortable
Stability is for fools
Travel is for sailors

Make a spark
Light a fire
And in that
Hotness breathe
So let the cold
Sleep some more
Some smiles
Let me steal

Why do I feel like
I am
The one you were
Waiting for
I'm just a passerby
Who'd travel
Door to door

I ask not of food
I ask not of wine
I ask not for sleep
I ask not to make you mine

I ask for comfort
I ask for care
I ask for light
And love that we share
I ask not much
Just this night
Next morning I'll be gone
Out of your sight

For I am scared
To stand
On the sand too long
The impression
It will leave
Will have me gone
In just a wave
Until I keep running
For far too long
But then its the same thing
You see
That we will be
Gone along with the wave
Along with our impressions

Let's just fuckin sieze this day

And poof.

From Sleep To Supernatural

It was in the middle of his sleep when he was shaken. He didn't wake up. He knew if his body woke up he would miss the reality his dreams were showing him. He was told that the body is separate and his soul resides in the body like a priest in a temple. He had ingested herbs that would let him reconsider his beliefs. He wasn't sure if this wasn't one. He had a habit of sleep-talking at times but never had he come across such an experience. 

His eyes opened almost as if they were meant to be opened; much like when you wake up on your own. He was awake while his body rested peacefully. He tried to move but he found himself paralyzed. Fear was the first thing that struck him but he controlled his breath because he also knew that its the tempo of the breath that signals the body and wakes it up. He understood the mechanics behind it. He felt like moving his feet and so he tried. What happened next gave him much clarity of who was experiencing everything. His feet moved but not physically. The feeling of the feet moving was felt but it was just his unseen self. He learned quickly that he wasn't a part of the emulsion between the body and the soul. He go excited and scared at the same time. He thought he would die. "If this is how it feels to be out of your body then death shouldn't be a difficult thing to handle" he thought to himself. He could feel himself floating above his body. suspended and gripped back only by what was behind his eyes. If he were to shut his eyes then, he would easily slip out of his body and go to his own wonderland. Like how the mystics talk about their own wonderlands. He was afraid to let go then, fearing permanent paralyses. This is how profound the experience was. 

Solitaire Sunrise

Cylindrical shaped

Bruises in the liquid soul

Intact within feelings

Colors and flow

Slow down beauty 

Slow down smiles

Slow your wheels

through the miles

Covered through 

The path you chose

Getting wetter 

Getting close

Damp and dark

Mud and snow

Walking through the

Mountain roads

shaking hands

with mountain ghosts

Sunrise with

his lover

Day dreaming 

Day dreaming. 

The Reverie: Chapter one.

Within this world they had no name for, was this particular conscious mind with the least appreciated art. He had the right eye and the right ears to connect to different vibrations , listened to good music played along in other's dreams really well but none could empathize with his. The colors he saw had started giving a depth to the basic foundation this world was made of. the glittery dust was feeling weak before his eyes and his eyes only. He began questioning everything he could but he was trained so well in attaching himself to the dream he survived in. he tried and tried to express it through his art but none could recognize the meaning within. What could they make of abstract art with no particular rhythm to it. His songs weren't melodious but just beats without a pattern. The concept of leaving patterns was declared as giving in to the system. The system was designed around the insecurities for people in many different ways. "Safety" was on the top of the list. 

He sat next to this river of energy, much like water but not as affected by gravity. It Changed color every time someone drank from it Or if any foreign glittery dust with a different vibration fell into it. It came from the minds of the highest order of consciousness in that particular dream. They were to sit in places away from other dreams and had become so good at it that their vibrations became tangible, changing forms. The river was a way for them to spread love among all, but the fact that you can only receive once you want to, drink when you are thirsty, the river became an open source of warmth and love. The river wasn't restricted to minds within those dreams but flowed through all dimensions because only love and light could penetrate everywhere and its absence was bitter. "Bitterness is as important" he thought. 

A branch of a tree lowered to heal his spine that had been feeling stressed. The plants in this world were perhaps of a giving nature. They had understood giving was not from something to something, but only a matter of support. There weren't any hospitals either, there was no need, intention and touch was enough to replenish love in one's self. 

Next to the stone where he sat, grew some color changing grass which he pulled off the ground and smelled. It was alive still, and had whispers from other dimensions. he smelled them and they smelled of fragrances that weren't of his dream. It was good grass. He took it home. He took out a pipe that was given to him by his father to be used in times of contemplation. I had a crystal from another dream to confuse consciousness and shake the dream he'd live in all the time. A reminder of where he came from. The state of nothingness. 

The Majority of dreamers wouldn't agree or even try the grass or the pipe. Fear of the unknown does that to the mind, takes it over and turns it black in color; Not the subtle blackness which comforts one at night, but the one that haunts and gives freedom for the fears to grow. He wasn't one of them. He understood that questioning everything was necessary and that he was a dreamer after all.   

The reverie: Introduction

There was a new world found. It was made of the same stuff dreams are made of. It had the similar dimensions that we have, only that it was flexible. The understanding of that world was also pretty similar to ours since it came from us and our collective consciousness. The only boundaries it had on it’s map were made up of the space between the two dreams. It was colored with different emotions and different shades of different colors pertaining  different situations. Pale yellow for  monotony, purple for celebration and so on. However, the people in it knew that everyone sees different colors. Not one person could tell what yellow meant to someone else. There wasn’t any source of comparison there. There was only acceptance. People had the same state of mind as the one when you wake up. The amount of acceptance one has when one wakes up is immense. There isn’t much judgment but there is witnessing. People fed on warmth of each other. There wasn’t any food to survive on. The concept of food wasn’t there. The five elements that make up our world are what give the whole need of eating or feeding on something else so as to replenish. In that world, everything was made of that glittery dust getting together to form different shapes. The question was who were these people witnessing everything? But the answer never mattered to anyone surprisingly. 

Since people fed on warmth and love, the only thing that cut the monotony was art which inspired warmth and love. Some preferred contrasts in their art, some liked consistency, some liked wild expressions.

Poverty was of different kind here. Lesser the colors you see, lesser the art you can recognize, lesser the vibrations you connect to, lesser the music you could hear. The idea was to magnify witnessing, but regular art sent them in their own little trip restricting them to boundaries and to the same dream. People would become so comforted within those boundaries that they wouldn’t want it to end. They fought their hearts out to stretch them as much. They feared what would happen after the boundaries got over. The space between the dreams sent shivers down their spine, much like death. 

Attic

Clouds become

Darker 

Become deeper

Become stronger

 

Rivers rush harder

Rush inwards

Rush downwards

 

Skies become

Gloomy

Become brighter

Become higher

 

Sea becomes louder

Becomes wilder

Sending chills

Down my spine

No reason

Some more wine

I'm silent

I'm scared

I'm worried

That I dared

Layered 

With laughter

With tears

Stairs

Going up

to my head's

Attic 

Someone switch the light on

It's dark in here. 

Acid

Brooding
Shooting flowers
Shooting stars
With dreams
In reality
The duality
Is false

Breaking
Breaking chimes
Filling wines
In perfectly round
Glasses
Glasses made of
Mischief and blood
Studded in
Perfectly round rings
That always are
Too small for her fingers
Given
Given away
As a sign of love
Signs only point
To the places
That they know

Know
Knowing is an art
Like perceiving
Listening
Seeing is
It involves souls
And spirits
That fall out of glasses
And into your minds
And let loose
The suppressed

Suppressed
Are the volcanos
Once dormant in time
Following rules
Like fools
Reflecting on their screens
With wonder while they
Read this

Read this
Read that
Eat this
Eat that
See this
See that
That's all they'd say
Pouring on you
Like the rain
That gets you sick
The first rain
Acid rain

Acid.

Away

She was away
In every sense
We never met
Or spoke
Or even smiled

But there was
Something
Only I felt
I'd like to believe that

If she had felt
And hadn't held my hand
I'd feel less important

I walked as if
I didn't see
I acted as if
There weren't we

But every cell
Called for her
My being
Slowed for her

"I'm not that bad"
I lied
I even tried
To call her
In my head

But she was
Away
In every sense

Sentences
Of her beauty
Kept fighting
My inner self
Defending itself
From the hurt
From not being
Able to get her

Forget her
Said my head
And then our eyes met
I was a fresh lover
Since then.

The split.

A reflection
Of me
In a reflection
Of you
Had brought
Me up
To see
My truth
Reflecting
Past
Reflecting
Sins
Reflected
Heart
Staged
Wins
Just to
See
A tear
Of You
Tear apart
Me and you
The rivers
Flowed
Their own
Ways
But the ocean
Sits
Where it stays
However still
The river
Filled
With
Reflection
Of me and you
A reflected
Heart
A deflected heart
In the end
And from the start
Will abide
By nature's rule
For those who
Question are
Either fools
Or separating
From
The rivers flow

Every rapid
Every tree

The rivers feel
The rivers see
Have memories
Once
They reach the sea.

Rants

Questionable signs
Questionable mind
Questionable existence
And within the blinds
Offering spectacles
Of nature
In the near future
Creature of habits
Creatures of unprocessed desires
Now slowly aging
In death
In the ends of
Different tangents
Bending insides
Note the rules
Not the boundaries
fools
Teaching Ecstasy
Through different tools
Self induced
And real too
Made by men
For Men
Through men
Getting closer
to Zen's
Image

Everyone likes pictures
We feed upon them
The image in our
Needs of everything
Like hungry monsters
Or tornadoes to the weak
We feed.

The third one.

Once upon a time 

There were three kids. 

None of them really wished for being someone amazingly wealthy.

Almost as if they were enlightened. 

Almost as if they hadn't come down to your level to be risen.

The way they were and they way they had been was so comfortable. 

They experienced their mother's womb in their living state. 

What job do you have in your mother's womb? 

What debts? 

What relationships are you thinking of? 

What comfort do you wish for? 

Which drink would like in there? 

What gravity could pull you down? 

What guilt could you feel for being who you are? 

Which friends did you wish to meet in there? 

What expectations did you have in there? 

What dreams did you manifest? 

Were you even happy? 

Or sad? 

Or reluctant? 

What abuses did you learn? 

What languages did you have to communicate in? 

What was death to you in there? 

What was life instead but being? 

What questions did you look for? 

They just didn't know what to do. 

There was nothing to do except... accept. 

'Kill everything' one said.

'Cowards' said the other.

The third one kept quiet. 

Posing Indifference

We hadn't even looked at each other. I had seen her hands in my dreams once. Her perfect set of hands held a cigarette in one. I felt like offering a joint. I was afraid to look at her face though. Self doubt has it's own trip. I thought I was ill once, falling for what others hadn't recognized as beauty; little did I know I was gifted.

I hesitated before looking at her. She looked like a moonlit candle. I saw the fire lit inside her through her eyes. I did not want to freeze that moment in time because I was familiar with the pleasure of ending things. I let it be. I knew I wasn't even going to regret not trying. jungles look beautiful until you start living in them. in between the excitement for taking the first step and reciting my past with her, there was a bridge of insecurities and fears.

I let that moment end without being noticed. It was a beautiful moment in time.

Stubbed Buds.

There are
Six senses
We always forget to count ourselves in
Gods don't live without disciples
Butterflies are not pretty without our eyes
It's not hot until you've felt it
Its not wrong until you've realised
Something known can only come from the unknown
Real comes in from the dreams
In between all of this lies our perception
At the other end is reality
Opposites
No wonder they are attracted to each other
No wonder they are in love
And no wonder they keep fighting over small things.

The Yellow Colored Crazy

She didn't know if she was going crazy. That question wasn't important at the moment. She had thoughts that gave her shivers throughout the day. Real shivers, visible shivers. That sensation between the brows kept flickering in terms of intensity day by day. At times she wasn't she. Not even human. It didn't matter what she wore, or what her skin was made of. She only knew waves of sensation that kept telling her she was alive. She couldn't just depend on what she saw or felt. others said they were dreams. When she slept, she felt dead; we create our own dreams and for that one needs to be alive, not one but something.

'Why not our comfortable madness become our religion rather than someone else's as your guiding path for life?' she often thought.

Connecting Dots

Connecting dots
All the way
Like stars
And their constellations
So far away
Floating here
Floating there
What's the need?
Who cares?
But they float
They exist
In spots
Where
They had to be
A connecting wave
Dreamy dust
Sparkles
Glowing winds
Picture it however
Doesnt matter
It's still there
You cant question why
And they will be
Where they stay
Guiding people
Gone astray
But what if
They questioned why
What they do
in this unknown sky
North star guides
The happy
The sad
The miserable
The rich
The poor
The needy
The greedy
The 'wrong'
The 'right'
Towards
Where
They want to be

I wonder why
The first guy
Felt like
Following
A star
In the
Night sky.

The Balcony

He stood
In the balcony
Up in the
Mountains
Staring through
The blurred air
Through
The fountains
Stilled in time
And in
Its own sequence
Floating
Enacting stories
For wanderers
Colours
And shades
Of all trades
Limited
To
Black and white
Within
The minds
Of me and you
Stories
Of lust and power
Over love and hope
And he stands there
Still
Waiting for
The happy ending

He has
Found the string
Between
The undone
The un-experienced
The unknown
With happenings
Of daily life
On which he
Tries
To balance
Because trying
Is so comfortable.

Poetess of love

I hover
Upon her
Skin
With my
Fingers
Free
From our history
Our future
Right
On her
Spine

She belonged
Only
To herself
And I
Was
Because
My fingers
Couldn't
Penetrate
Much
Of her insight
Much of her
Mind that
Made her
Smile
In its absence
When she
Wasn't
Just
A bottle
Of water
From the sea
But emptied
Back in it
To infinity

But for
That brief
Moment
In time
When we
Munched
Upon smiles
And each other's
Skin
And its fragrance
And its existence
And its manifestation
On our will
Her eye lids
Her mascara
Her plain white
T's
Her toes
Seemed a miracle
And a gesture
Of blessing
From the gods
Within

Her taste
Was of fruits
Unknown
Fruits from
The tree
Of love
Berry like
Wild berries
Lucid
Pretty
Intoxicating
Vulnerable
Delicate
Limited
To herself
One of a kind

Her body
Spoke
Poetry
Through
The way
It explored
Me
Imagine
An island
Exploring
You
And
If you had the right
Eye you could
Even read her
Through
She was
A poetess
Of love.

A good feeling

I don't want much
Just a feather touch
Of your fingers
On mine
Cheesy
Not so easy
But its ok to want
Its ok to be
Under the clouds
And screens
Showing us
What we
Want to see
Like finding
Dinosaur's head
A baby's bed
A half eaten
Piece
Of bread
Or dragons
Wagons
With horses
And other
Pretty things
Its ok to want
Its a good feeling.

Living being

Birth life and death
Are the same for
Everyone
Every being
Every thought
Every image
Every person
Every relationship
Every laugh
Every tear
Its in acceptance
Of it
The process
The nature
The beauty
Of it all
When we
Do away
With reliability
With dependability
With expectancy
With looking forward to
Living being
We are living being
Living beings
Talked so casually
About
You are a being
Which is inside
An insight
To you
Not your mind
Not your body
Not your love
Hatred
Hope
Depression
Success
Guilt
Irritability
Or any of
Them
Many of them
Together
Just being
In the moment
And humans
Are lucky
To be able
To be
The way
They are
Just being
You know
Human being.

Prostitutes

I don't like 

comparing

but now that you

have

let me begin

I see these

so called

men with

rationality

with egos

harder 

than their 

hard ons

impotent

unjust

unworthy

swinging

between their dreams

teaching others

preaching others

ridiculing mothers

calling others

prostitutes

as if 

prostitutes

are not people

not beings

but 

dirt

(that they often dream of)

and for

some reason

some funny reason

their 

own will 

wisdom

has turned to 

treason

for they cant see

the rationality

prostitutes have

the level of acceptance

the level of pain

they have conquered

they keep 

telling me

to focus 

on the wants

to focus on the

goals

not what

you don't want

good

thanks

thank you

for that freedom

but wait 

you turn around

and slap me

with your

impotence

while

you blow

the corporate 

day in

day out

playing with 

their balls

made of

measurable

freedom

but only to

a certain limit

a certain limit?

are you for real?

you fuckin unpolished

shoe's heal

of the one sitting

on top

of your corporate

food chain

and you talk of freedom?

and poets

are not paid well

and poems

do not sell well

just b'coz

you can't measure

such depths

with your

dirty

little circle 

of paper exchanging

hearts and dreams

my poems aren't 

worth

your fuckin paper money 

they are worth

the paper they exist on

worth the hearts 

they heal

and if my poetry 

can not feed me

id rather die hungry

for my soul feeds

on feelings

on patterns

on love

and if you cant exchange that

for the same

then fuck you

i'd rather die hungry. 

Titled tornadoes

winds from

one dimension

fire from

another

water from

the thoughts within

earth

from another

brothers

of stones

and grains

and strains 

of you

and me

jump

laugh

move

excite

waves

from the sea

whales from

the sea

are swimming

right now

looking for 

another

some bird just

formed a nest somewhere

a caterpillar died

a bee fed

it's queen bee

a carcass

just dried

a star just smashed

into another

earth rotates

still

waters crashing 

On the rocks

On the rocks

a whiskey please

buying drinks

that guy 

for her

expecting love

in exchange 

of some whiskey

whiskey

isn't his

neither is the body

nor the love

he's still trying hard

he is still hard

she is shy

the wales swimming

stars crashing

cars crashing

lets get out of here

she says

he won

what did he win

or did she?

the whales in the sea

are swimming

this very second

someone just poured

some wine

with tears dripping down

with laughter

with cheers screaming out

a dream got

fulfilled today

a master just died

the whales in the sea

and the honey bees

swimming

in dimensions

of their own

why tornadoes? 

you know what i'm 

saying

and here is you

with your eyes

on this

very dot

.

now.