I do not know if it’s valid like
The conception of dusk after the demise
Of dawn, but I’ve heard mouths proclaiming
During stormy & breezy weather on the narrow
Streets of this morbid town— that the anodyne
Of time can sure cure all clans
Of wounds & soothe all genres of pains;
Though I have been around for a while long
Enough to know that the orchestra of life
Can chorus both elegy & serenade
Simultaneously from a lyre, long enough
To be conscious that there are certain roads
On the map of fate once imprinted there’s
No coming back, that not all dreams
At the end, regardless of prompt watering,
Will blossom into edelweiss. But there’s
Still an eloquent ache in my homely heart
Begging day & night to be silenced.
How long more, tell me dear reader,
Do I need to wait at this cloudy crossroad
On balmy time to turn the biles
Of my life into seasoned nectars?

I tread earth’s spine
As if walking on serial thorns,
As if earth is made of mucus,
Slippery as eyeballs.
I scrutinize palms for vipers
And vultures before offering
My hand, like a sacrificial lamb, in return
For the sacred rite of a shake. The
World, my friend, is drifting ridiculously
And, ridiculously, we are drifting with it.
As a radicalist,
I weigh my choices on the beam
Balance of humanity before
Advancing like a river towards
Any course.
As a believer,
I flip my decisions on the faces
Of moral chessboards to circumvent
Ending up a pawn for virulent shame:
What compels the noblest of men
To the darkest corners of their
Noble rooms.

Everyone knows at the depth of their hearts
Though some are always in a state of constant denial,
For they sow evil at the crack of the pod of dawn
And bleed their neighbors at dawn’s very demise,
But still everyone knows that reckoning & death
Are always around the corner lurking, peeping, salivating:
Famished vultures awaiting a maimed foal to sip its last breath
From the blue espresso mug of existence.
You’ve just recorded a bountiful harvest, remember,
Dear friend, drought has just moved into your
Neighborhood. I spend the dime
Of each and every day of mine
As the last. I trade sunny smiles &
Golden grins with passers-by, with faces
Convulsed by grief thicker than rods.
Neighbors, knock on my door today,
Tomorrow is still a vast hypothesis.











Photo by Andrew Neel on Unsplash