The Young Man and the Sea

And hence he went to the sea.

Ten minutes:

The sand under his feet still;

the air salty, also the lips that held a fire.

Ten minutes:

the afternoon horizon was his. he had a right to it;

He had come to the sea;

because he had life, the sea had existence.

It was he who feared the vastness and worshiped the solitude.

Ten minutes:

he did not belong anywhere, only to that moment.

And this solitude he wanted it to be like the sea,

Solitude without pity:

Dare to sympathize the sea and it shall show you its fierce glory.

The Man wanted that from the sea, and the sea wanted nothing.

Because he had life, the sea had existence.

The Naked Rainbow

The child is naked, undisturbed and free.

Wheels for its feet, on a playful spree;

Not a verse to learn, no truth to know,

For every rain has its rainbow.

The wet brows of the city won’t worry the child,

Its concern is to run and just run on wild;

Those tiny cement ponds, how shall the child row?

But every rain has its rainbow.

The child has no black umbrella, nor any care;

For unlike the groomed dolls, it has dead hair.

Danced the child until the shower did drain,

For it truly had welcomed the rain.

Unveiled the sky, a colorful show,

Now this rain too had its rainbow

Doped Tranquility

Foul smell fool’s paradise.

In the air on the minds,

riding on a breeze yet languid;

It all comes and remains, lurks and hovers.

A stone whirled thrust into vacuum

tearing apart patience,  elevating freedom.

An act of deliverance and then submission;

Falling reluctantly into the same vacuum,

transcending into the subconscious;

A blatant cognition unmasks

like hot air on a hot coffee;

A poet's rhetoric meditation.

Blood running placid and cold,

and tranquility goes yet beyond.

Sonnet for the Muse

The unseemingly true scene of love

and my profound emotions in light,

the stage seems fragrant with thy divine

No act ever commenced with such might;

Like wry passion of a romantic poet,

Making the sun-lit lake soar;

And the whistle on the tree banked,

Song of the love-bird duet;

Struggling a trek up a mountain;

The dry enthusiastic smell of the rocks,

And the haste mixture across the twilit sky.

At the foot, on the lake again,

The breeze has ceased my sail;

Now I await a guiding row.

An Extraordinary Ordeal

An empty road in an emptier desert;

As I take the air with a friendly breeze,

a picture bestirs my thought.

The stray stones on the empty road,

lying like orphans. An abstract.

The breeze ignores my profound wonder..

nonchalant characters on a nomadic trip?

odd remnants of antiquity?

warriors suffering outrageous fortune?

The desert has its way,

this way of manifesting its power

the way all nature does manifest.

The play of perception over conception,

Delusion, hallucination, head games.

and then a dawn of truth with the falling sun,

A dream being the truth, aye!

I dismiss the subtle scenario

and embrace a simpler road.