By your warm, unwavering hands,
You watered the sleeping seeds sown,
Over the vernal, varied lands,
And thus, I had in your hands, grown.
Comforting hands, culling my weeds,
Suavest shelter when storms had blown,
Sapient grace, drying my greeds,
And thus, I had in your hands, grown.
Now a throbbing tree, teeming glee,
Leaf-full, fruitful, flowerful, free,
Under my shade, place your sapient feet,
Through trying seasons, make it your seat.

Life is a jaunty journey to the oblivion,
A blind mapper's origami ornamenting scenes,
That shadow the scenes to come
On a road misted with malingering memories.
No driver can drive with eyes on the horizon,
Nor with eyes behind, but only
At the piece of road, just ahead.
With you there are travellers on warm chairs,
Broken chairs, new chairs, wise chairs,
And those that pass by, waving, floating,
Sitting, dreaming or pleading a lift...
Segments of sentimental seas embrace the road,
Clouds cast patchy rains of epiphany,
The sun and moon smile and cry mockingly...
And yet you travel forwards and never backwards,
To a destination mapped by your origami...
Until you realize....everything starts
And ends-

Where you began.

Like a rusk in hot tea -
is hate in compassion.
Like sunshine through soft clouds -
is peace amidst violence.

An old man's hands are warmed in a boys palms,
As he teaches him the winters of his wars
With sickness, wrinkling and other men.
He fed the boy a rusk without hot tea
Under the clouds with weeping sunshine.
And cried: "our land is our land and not the other man's"

But what the man said, the boy forgot,
And the man and the other man
Were buried in same sand.
As the boy and the other man's boys,
Drank hot tea without their rusks,
Under the sun. Under a clear sky.

Sometimes the surreal and the real rarely row apart.
Ascending and descending, into and out of reality I dart.
But if there was anything that could clamp me to permanence,
Nothing can be better than your beauty, your excellence.
The first step thrives me with thoughts of new roads to traverse.
The second, cowers my fears, crowning courage with your converse.
The third, trembles my worries to nothingness
as I behold the everlasting –
It gives me glory in breathing, a beginning, a benediction –
Beyond your beauty, beyond your embroidery –
Is my Love for your Being.

I sought with a desperate heart
That beauteously sheathed cart.
And my purest fleece, which I’ll wear
To my Destiny free of fear.
With me I’ll keep this happy harp, which
Will keep melancholy away.
And sing to beauteous Venus
While I’m on my way.
Here is my great Destiny Book
Which hath Words bent and twisted
To form an ever right Map, which
In my hand, lambently glittered.
I sought all these desperately
‘Cause my journey will soon begin.
And, if life is a grand journey,
Should it be to oblivion I ride?

Much have I lost these dismal years:
I rode on awry words spoken by peers.
My ears were clogged when elder words,
Pleaded me: fly with dear birds.
Birds heedfully minded, gracious, good.
Forth from folly clouds that ever stood.
Oh! If only my eyes could see, that
All these times, I was a dullard rat.
Who blindly swam in unripe streams:
And never saw the light: now it seems.
That's why Son, listen with heedful ears:
All I hath learned through my dismal years:
When our streams begin their petty flow,
They are alike other streams and flow slow.
But, as our waters ages, grows,
It's up to us what water glows.
Euphoric years amount in later years,
When choices you make are free from peers.