I owe thee much, much more than odes,
and thank thee too for so much more,
thou stole my rest and well thou bode,
for sleepless nights and endless sure.
Thou brought me back to life and then,
showed me how to breathe and dance,
if thy name would come again,
in my thoughts by choice or chance.
Thou handed me a goblet fine,
taught me how to swim and sink
in my lake of thoughts and wine,
and also how to take a drink.
Thank thee I, thou brokest me,
eternal rest my restless days,
and what a life, for never free,
in fields of joy, my regrets play.
I owe thee much, much more than odes,
Walk unto my shore my soul, and walk unto my sea,
tread upon those prints in sand, and every grainy bree,
walk unto my past my present, and step into that age
where every err and every fall was the work of a sage.
Were all those times and days gone by, easier than now?
and are not all those times to come, arduous not to bow?
then walk unto my sea of thought, and every shore left dry,
and ask yourself to relish now, and give a solemn try.
If I and you and me myself could turn back all those days
perhaps these golden sands would cup a drink of joyful plays,
but walk unto where you came forth, and walk unto yourself,
and in that pool of ash and birth do kindly leap and delve.
Countless do question, yet none receive,
as to why we shall, how or when perceive,
the soul of this chimera, our shared enigma,
the illusion we breathe, the life we lead.
And have our curtains yet felt the wind?
or high bound hopes, in orchestral string,
found such reason, to share their grief,
or birthed thus forth our eternal brief.
There is no meaning, nor a thought to life,
although are paths with divergence rife.
By the end of days, I do swear by nothing,
that all our lies shall together bring
a word harmonious by all voices woeful,
“if only we knew, that falling was beautiful.”
For all these concepts, like life and death,
of war and peace, of love and breath,
were just one way, our way to acquiescence
of this sojourn fore our sweet evanescence.
Past these gates of suffering, lies the promised land
the barrings I shall open, by the strength of Gods hand.
Greener more than Babylon, neigh is our Lords plan
far from our dear avarice, but not from wealths divan.
Too long have we paid worship, unto false deities
losing our freedom in ignorance, and falacious gaiety.
I prayed to a god unanswering, wept on a wall unspeaking
gazed at stars unliving, while holding my soul sans keeping,
sauntered on a path unending, yearning for days at an end
still every bad moon waning, a black sun it did send.
In the lifeless fields I travel, my road this sea of sand
but the desert rose I shall see, in gold a scarlet brand.
Beneath this scalding hatred, our memories my sojourn
the affectation of lazarus, from death unto me life return.
Past this mortal confine, envision the liberation grand
take this soul thus desperate, to dream the promised land.
Come let us stand and walk away,
saunter to where our memories play.
Come let us watch the rising sun,
and the dawn where all days had begun.
All those faces, all those lives,
the shadows of yesterday we adore,
and from that past all that survives,
wishes fulfilled and some no more.
Names that shall no more be spoken,
the paths we shall tread never twice,
hearts we mend to have ours broken,
and bittersweet love must now suffice.
A lover who has been long forgotten,
and all those noon’s in ecstasy,
how pages turned were only begotten,
with an echo of the thoughtful sea.
I wonder where my childhood flew,
I wonder if I shall feel again
the moving earth beneath the sky blue,
or the fresh scent of the monsoon rain.
Forbidden joys we once aspired to,
drenched in midsummer nights dreams,
alas! dreams sustain but nothing true,
when taboos drown our mindful streams.
These living moments and those long past,
what remains of such propriety?
whom did we please by pleasing last
ourselves by impressing society?
The failure of past is present’s triumph,
and infamy has turned to golden days,
branded Hedonists in shrouded perception
for we willed to do what no one dared.
Where are they now? the pointed fingers,
to where have gone, the taunting people?
come let us walk to where twilight lingers,
and sets behind the highest steeple.
Soon night shall come and end the day,
put to sleep all the falling stars,
then all that lasts shall be the stellar way,
and the doorway to heaven that we walk par.
A thousand suns in restless days
and a thousand moons in sleepless nights,
my dreams are but cruel dirty plays
yet wakefulness does not feel right.
Betwixt illusions and the hurtful truth
there is a place in the darkened woods,
flowers strange and golden fruits,
the hope of wonderful waiting goods.
But every now and then some days,
along the path unwont I stray,
phantoms haunt these gloomy ways
and frighten me from where I may.
O how I pray to hold it dear
the place where you are near nor far,
what you say and all I hear,
how we both lay here counting stars.
This orange veil between me and you,
like the lifeless leaves that paint the ground,
this is my home and destiny true
let the others swim in lakes unbound,
by shores of hope or foolish fancies,
while I rest in this refuge found
amidst the forest of dervishes,
where falling trees are the only sound.
To have you is as meaningless
as losing you to false ideals
I am content with faithfulness
to what may seem a dream or real.