It’s dragged on today.

It’s been a long day
Longer than most I’d say
They say time flies when you’re having fun
By God has it drag on today
Pass me the wine

What’s been gained from it?
I suppose I have learnt things
Now there is less space in my brain thanks to
Statistics
Pass me the wine

I reread the same page
Seven times
Pass me the wine

I took a nap
But by God, am I still tried.
Pass me the wine

There is a willow
That weeps in my head
Pass me the wine.

U.S. drones kills civilians
Posts on posts on posts on
Twitter and wikileaks
People still don’t give a sheeit
Pass me the wine

Hyper connectivity costs us our
Souls. We want more likes
Not a utopia. Not a free society.
We want more fame
Who cares about famine?
Pass me the wine.

Morality is a choice
A choice that’s best not made
Evil is too kind
Good is too careless
Ying yang.
Third eye’s blind.
Pass me the wine.

I write but no one reads.
Pass me the wine.

Play for me

October 19^th, 1853.

Shanghai, China.

 

I am spread across the couch

Of velvet green and satin sheet;

I am sick, unwell and unbecoming.

My imperial nation has done well

To strike up such relations with China

To form a tyranny over the poppy.

It has nothing to do with me.

I rest on my comfort and poppy seed.

I feel sick, and ashamed.

“Won’t you, play for me?

Won’t you pick up that instrument

And play some tune to carry me away?”

The girl is not explicit,

She’s not interested in these worries of mine.

But she picks up her tablet

And sets it down on the table

To play me the strings

She’s practiced since she was six.

Her lips are poised in a pout

As her fingers trip the strings

To play me a sweet melody.

And it’s just what I need

To not feel so

Overwhelmed.

 

I notice the soft lines of her face, her rosed cheeks,

The soft skin that leads to her chest

Is covered by the red silk of her dress.

I look at her like a bride,

A bride that could have been mine.

Her beautiful eyes, a hazel nut brown

Keeps watch of the strings,

It’s all we can do.

Sometimes I even ask myself to keep playing.

 

But oh, won’t you play for me instead?

Je veux vivre

I remember sun kissed streets

Where the smell was sweet

I woke up to breeze

Clinging on the sheets

 

The sunlight danced on the drapes.

 

I remember taking walks

Circling the hilltops, even when it rained.

To the coast of Les Issambres.

I faintly remember the smell, flowers and rain.

 

I was happy then, when I was then.

 

And my friends. O, my friends.

They who I grew up with

And truly cherished

Even when we fought we blemished fairish.

 

I longed to fight with you.

 

But daylight passes to dusk

And memories begin to fade

One face becomes another’s

And now I share my story with them

The bay of rust.

The bay of rust
And below the ships’ bed.
Distant shallows
Where the ships lie sink’d,
Rusted red, battle bled.

The wind passes through their shells,
And their skeletons bellow to no end.
Haunted hollows
The shipyard of death within
Captured a child’s interest
And deeper he went in.

The gaping mouth of metal oust
With wind running in
Seemed to scream at him
Yelling at him to come in.
And so he did.

Dark was the ships’ corpse and damp was its’ mildew
A smell of green musk hung in the air
And a stale iron stuck to the boys’ lips.
Tasted of blood.

Light only crept in through the deteriorating skin
Splotches of holes. Gaps of chores.
He felt a concern
He felt a fear
And alarm as he stood there. The soles of his feet
Slowly getting damper.

“It is not clever young boy,
To search for answers,
In the shells of the dead.”
The voice that spoke was
So bitter and cold. Not a human’s voice.
But this did not stir the boy.
“I’m only here,
For I want to know
What lies inside the shell.”
“You can find that out
By yourself.
Seek inside your head.”
“I want to know how the corpse rusts
Lest the engine stops to run.”

No answer did the boy receive.
No answer did the boy need.
Instead he stood and stared
At the holes breaking through
The light always breaks through.
No matter how strong the shell.
No matter how stiff the dread.

All the world’s a stage.

And I am merely a poor player here 10

That sits and sits and waits to come on in. 10

To play my piece, say my words, until my exit 12

Some nights will stay restless for things not said 10

Do we leave the script, or is it a part of it? 12

 

We nest the plot in our thoughts. Give it life, 10

The scene comes alive, unravels our minds. 10

Every decision, every light, pastime 10

Guiding us to our unhourly blight. 10

To breathe, to feel, to see, this play is too real, 12

This life feels undead. Where is choice? Where is it? 11

 

But choice – Here reality is defined. 10

Would I give up my line? No, I heed it. 10

Hear it now. It is mine. I give it life. 10

Because I choose to speak it. That’s my line. 10

 

There is a rhythm in the centre mere 10

It has been writ by the script of arithmetic 12

On its’ resonance we can hop and skip 10

To enjoy life, would be hard without it. 10

If in search, you do not know where it is found, 10

Alter not the hearts’ beat; this play is full of sound. 12

 

You just need to hear it.

 

 

It’s late.

• It’s late… you should go to bed
• I can’t. I’m too awake.
• What are you trying to say? That you want to stay?
• Perhaps, not in such a bold way.
• You know what I’m going to say.
• I know… But that’s the way.
• What’s the way?
• Life is meant to be like that.
• You’ve got me confused now.
• For who? What for?
• Stop with the silly games mister, you know it doesn’t help you.
• I know. What was I trying to say?
• Something about the way.
• Oh yeah, the way. It’s the way you seize life.
• Seize it?
• You either live in the comfort zone and get nothing, or you rise through the fear and whatever else life throws at you so you can reach whatever it is that you truly want, and seize it.
• So what is it you want?
• I want to be happy.
• But silly man, don’t you know happiness is found when you just sit and breathe?
• I want more than just happiness for me. I want so much more. I want happiness for me and for more. Happiness for you and for all. And I don’t care if I’ve got to fight for it, because as much as I tell myself that all of us intrinsically want happiness, I’m beginning to feel like it’s a sham.
• What do you mean?
• There are some of us who are ready for happiness. But others, they are so afraid of it, that they’ll fight others for their own misery instead. And they’ll tear us down to get it, I won’t let them do that. So I’ll fight for my happiness, and I’ll seize it.
• You really are something else you know that?
• I’m just what I am. A man, and nothing more.
• Nothing less either.
• Good night.
• Good night.

She stops him before he leaves. They kiss. The scene ends.

Time-lapse shore

On the leaves of evergreens
Heavy snow doth glow.
Hung down low the branches hold.
There is ice to see,
But I care more for the trees.

Footprints on soft snow.
The fire kindles at home.
Dark skies above, stars unknown.
Go on into the dark.

—

Chirp of birds wakes me
Where am I now, where have I gone?
Rub sleep from mine eyes,
Yes I am alive; it is nice to find.
Wrap myself away from time.

The curtain flows from the window.
The wind blows and runs in with the light.
Shining summer light, warm on my sheets and cheek.
Is this a happiness I seek?

—

Oft it starts soft. Then the thunder drums it in.
The wind sprays it on my windowpane.
Rain has come again. Why do I think it a shame?
Its’ laid claim to my sentiment,
I sit here and stare; it’s fair.

Mist of grey, sheath of may,
But still I keep inside.
Is it rain that keeps me confined?
Or is this a lie I hide behind?

Break free, and rise.

It’s so bright, and so loud

You can’t distinguish sight from sound

The world moves fast,

And you spin around, around.

Your life seems to pass too fast.

 

And nothing seems to last.

No joy too glad, no smile too sad,

The craving clay of desire is mad

And it puts such dirt on our hands

That nothing ever seems to make us glad.

 

No matter how much we will it.

This satisfaction doesn’t give adherence;

We’ve gotten our fix, but we want more and more.

We crave more and more. But it doesn’t give it.

We even grow livid.

 

Of these cotton bonds we must break free,

It’s our mind that is the prison you see.

I’ll give you a remedy, but it will cost you.

You don’t need to pay me, but it will cost you.

 

The deepest of these depths

You must sink, sink, sink

Down, down, into the bottomless pit

And when there is nothing around

Nothing but silence and sound.

Then you will know, what it is to be alone.

 

And here in this hole, you must grow old

Learn to see without sight, feel without doubt

It’s the current about you that is you

Not the confines your mind binds you to.

You are more than your thoughts, and more than your faults.

 

When the sage in mind you have found,

And lover at heart you have bound,

Then ascend the depths and be renowned

For you are free, and always will be.

To be One.

Our lives are battles

Fought in unending, everlasting scope

Against ourselves.

 

The darkness we see in the mirror

The evil we hide in our mind

Comes to eat us. But we fight it.

 

We grapple fear, and push deceit to the curb.

We are One Not Unequal to Any

And God forgive whoever tries to convince us otherwise.

 

If they do not reach for Love,

We will defend ourselves and show our hilts.

If they do not see us as One,

Then we must teach them.

 

But if this proves too forlorn,

If good will and kindness is too feeble for their stubbornness,

If their foothold sees to break our line,

Then hold up your shield and their resolve will weaken here.

 

No capacity can live so endlessly as the strength of love,

And with clarity of mind, with the power of the One

We can change the world

And We Will change the world.

Hour on hour

Hour on hour I sit locked in my tower                                              12
To channel the power of words in script.                                         10
I write lines on lines of rhymes to see them fit                               11
Ten thousands hours and more for this shit                                     10
I’ve become an addict in finding it.                                                  10
I think and think and think til I am sick.                                            10
Be sure of it, I sink my life in this.                                                    10
Layer on layer of duplicate failures.                                                 11

I sit and pick fates’ strings to hear them ring                                  10
But nowhere nearer have I come to hear her.                                  11

Hour upon hour, I work on the spire;                                                12
A slave to the craft, an age at my task.                                          10
I have seen the divine, this is the sign:                                          10
There is no coincidence in this line,                                               10
Won’t you come and see synchronicity?                                        10
It’s for this I write my rhyme so fine;                                               10
To do it methodically would be wise.                                              10
I have torn myself to shreds to be read                                            10
But it’s for naught if the meaning is shed.                                       10

There is a line that signs my life to thine,                                         10
We must confide so we don’t split what we’ve entwined.                12