You Are Not Gone Forever

For long I wanted to whisper to you,

That you are not gone but missionary to the sky,

Incandescent in the galaxy,

Lost only in the day,

But I know you are there still,

Stubbornly lightens the sky,

Shadowing the mortal time,

It will only be time again next,

To slap myself awaken from the languor,

We have distant, long enough to purge you,

Several folds of time-space over,

But I have not despair,

You are like a destiny star guiding me,

Waiting me to hold you nightly,

One lifetime here,

But ageless in the universe,

Looking through your brimming eyes,

I have confidence in you,

Floating my hopes on you,

Now you are with me forever,

Without the air I could not breathe with life,

And without the tears I could not wean with thrift,

Feeling so the only consciousness I could construe.

That you are not gone forever.

I walked this path before

This path,

Long and weary,

Steep but scenery,

I walked here before

It was evening before dawn,

Getting darker, getting quieter,

Only crickets’ fiddles clearly in my ears,

I continued walking

But the deeper I trot,

The more jaded I become,

More aimless I should say,

That this path I walked before

Had this be morning,

The rundown might not be heavier,

As the breeze will lift me,

And the birds will sing me

I waved again the joggers,

And laughter the kids’ funny mischief,

Despaired why the appetence,

Perhaps this path I walked before alive.

The Works

In the stillness of the hall,

Frigidly forced on the wall,

Masterpiece they so called,

But my sights refuse to recall.

In the stillness of the images,

Recollected from memories,

Captured under the dabs and strokes,

Under the entangled shades.

In the stillness of the sculpt,

Wash-out white but not discolored,

So cold like a frozen spirit,

Fool to wish its intent.

In the stillness of stationarity,

Everything in perfect proportion and measure,

Hard to describe monotony,

When a person single in enclosure.

Cucumber Sate

Taste of roast and juicy cucumber,

A harmony of sort,

Onions with meat,

Cube-rice and meat muffled in gravy sauce.

Bitter taste of onions,

Tingeing mix with meat,

From sweetness of sauce to bitterness of onions,

A blend of misers but pleasure.

Gorge down roasted meat,

And succulent bits of cucumbers,

Pangs of heat from nearby grill,

Pale by the coolness of night’s wind.

Raw chance out of misers,

Tasting pungent onions and roast,

Sweetness and bitterness muddled,

Giving the night a goodnight toast.

The Emptiness Within You

Greatest of remedy is emptiness,

In everything I ever wished,

And nothing I never ditched.

Greatest of effort is naught of result,

Because of keeping wish afloat,

That has a circle without a knot.

Non-existence of wisdom to carry the emptiness,

When never wish, never measure,

Afloat only of mind in composure.

Greatest of happiness is everything but emptiness,

Because never hold wish, no more hopes,

Impregnable mind as indestructible as the will.

Will that has no existence at all,

From naught of hopes that is never kept,

Thence a beginning of true mindfulness.

Undying Flames of Love

To you my Love,

The flames I do not want it to die,

Thus I lit the room full of candles,

Till your heart move

Rose a symbol of my passion,

When your heart move,

I coveted to be your rose,

The sign of lasting passion

I want to hold you in my arms,

Kiss you in the lips,

Bring you out on a special date,

Whispering Love by your side on the bed

Embracing you fully throughout the night,

Wishing the dawn will never near,

And only brood in contemplation,

With only you at my sight.

September Blues

September a month of evergreen playfulness,

During childhood I do always remember,

September, a name so nice it was sung,

Wake me up when September ends.

Blues away, maladies everywhere,

Flood in Nepal,

Gustav floundered in the States,

And Quakes again in Sichuan.

September a month of woes,

There were never before a malady of many,

September, a name so somber it was sung,

Wake me up when September ends.

There was also a memorial to remember,

Marking the day ended of liberation,

Will we ever be free again?

Wake me up when September ends.

A Jester's Tease

Jester: the King of Humor,

Humor, chuckles the demure,

Laughter, a remedy for a gloomy day,

It shouldn’t be anyway a serious day.

Uncorrupted by despondence,

And still sober while others mourn,

Neither happy for achievement,

Nor contented over sojourn.

Dispirited over failed melancholy,

Rejoicing over agonies,

Untwisted dilemma, tease joyfully,

In the Joker’s land of cronies.

There was no hope in anticipation till,

No faith in justice writhe by the corrupts,

A mockery of system runs by filth,

No end to chaos till anger erupts.

On The Hundredth

Just another two days a hundredth falls,

Though counting in agony,

So long the fact when sadden,

Time is likened ice thawed in flowing tears.

Never thought a lifetime of sisterhood,

Be severed by unwelcome submission,

For long wanted to confess to Lord,

That perhaps all are mere delusion.

Once mentioned our tales will be a fable,

That union again will be a fabrication,

Like the tale of the Lost Soul and the Lonely Bird,

Both perished under the disguise of ignorance.

Not withstanding the strong attachment,

Yearn for a beautiful fabrication,

A fable of marvelous infinite love,

Only between you and me to last.

In Remembrance

The pain misery felt like own,

Memories flip pulsating like beats in the heart,

Inappetence, by whom not from the crown,

Palpable by our very own heart.

The only solace found in weeding the emotion,

Very much like stamping out the wick, our pretence,

No more warmness, but darkness motioned,

Light again the fire of existence.

I remember her, I remember not,

Through monographs of lives,

Monographs of thoughts,

At times better than evenings' jives.

I love you always, but time doesn’t consent,

Chance unforgiving, time irredeemable,

Soul mates meet and end,

Shall we meet again, it will be a true fable.