isolate the modernities
carnations touch the wind, mocking them,
like a cigarette in the abandoned sunlight
Faith
“Heal” by Navnidhi Vyas.
Words can touch and sooth the soul
Words can heal others and self
Words can do miracles
“My Symphony of Angelical Pain” by Benyin.
Then, was enslaved in your sheath
in a bosom of appearing angelic roars;
hosting daringly with perfectly
groomed verses, of
your patterns of inflictions
Unfold me; mold me!
Flowers for you.
flowers for you
bursting
like a ghost
“Closed Eyes” by Navnidhi Vyas.
She must be a queen of innocent eyes
She must’ve sweet smell of incense
She must be a stunning beauty
She must be a quiet music of all your poetry.
Raven by Mark Borne.
Fly, fly, my little Raven,
Reach, reach for the sky.
See the world from the air,
My little Raven, and show it to me.
Look at all the eyes.
Look at all the eyes
of humanity and light
cry into blood-welling
forgotten in unbridled free verse;
“From This Voice” By Brand.
Sweet soul, I can see you, smile
As we hike in rugged beauty
Pausing to touch fingertips
I step away as you call me back
Collaboration Poem Completed.
Upon the dark winged azure, the dream invites
Light freedom from long ago; the tumult births mankind, and through my lips,
I will have recognized the shadows beyond the world,
With eyes among the laurel leaves, I see tears upon the rowan fields
mind’s end.
the winter sets the dawn
Spillwords Press Publication “We walk alone.”
In a world torn with a hunt—a slow death for us all,
Then don’t let us go then.
in the cool light, in the darkness.
onto the cherry blossoms silently
with bloodshed, caressed to dreams
in the awakened winter, arak trees.
Ocean.
stretches the wings, forgetting the language
upon the sanctuary; midnight timbers, and the wind
murmurs a Hebrew song—
assails the salty waves in a coup, the air free of scars
Exist.
nude into the enraptured
forbidden sea, behalf the whisper,
its madness in autumn at its wake,
unknown into the burial of yellow roses,
in the tears of ghostly sands,
tossing from forgotten sea light
silhouetted against torn anamnesis
The tree of apricot.
the waves in the dying of the dark
by frozen, alluring dreams when you’ve never dreamt
unsheathed upon each layer of rock that bleeds out by daylight
where we see the blood drift, sliced in a sleepwalking geyser
the dispensation of mid-summer
The last thought.
Rocks lay before
the last thought and solipsism;
Inside a frost stillness, decaying by the tree;
Forbidden—the serpent’s blood betrays
the bone fingers that lay upon stone.
Awake (Draft).
overripe in its practice,
abandon
abandon Disinherited
dark mind
walks alone
you have nowhere else to go
beyond dark shores,
there’s a fog that blooms;
you can’t go back
Ghost street.
A leaf falls
Into the monsoon shadows.
I turn by the grazed branches
Trembling by the dark windows
Into the blustering
Of frost and the muzzled crystals that lay
Into the black linen on the ground.
Amnesiac.
There is no sun.
There are no wings
in the abyss
with black fruit
April.
it is April,
Among the years broken in winter
When it was not winter,
And we could not have been alone
