Burnt offerings



Burnt offerings


A peaceful breeze, a gentle peace has crowned itself upon my head.

Worn on the battlefield with no arms in hand.

Lost to the winds of inexplicable torment.

Clutched to my being a flame not wanted.

And there it sits in the embers of a meeting place out of reach.

Burning another chapter within the Akashic Records.

Burnt in the tablets of my being.

Contained by thoughts not to quench the desire.

The madness of the puzzle not shared in the illusion of life.

A cruelty not foreseen.

An ache, a tug, a pull from the four winds.

Nothing but fire and I shall not put my hand in the flame.

Dancing flames dancing like my fingers that wanted to touch the burning

desire within.

The sea hypnotizes me with its song of seduction.

May she extinguish the flame within.

It is only wishful that she would be a true ally.

I now surrender.

With the hope that the flame will not take wing again.




A winded stone




A winded stone


He is made of stone.

Will he change to my winds?

For my love to see,

That there is more,

Than just the rustling of leaves.


She is the wind,

That doesn’t lift my wings,

By the current of her essence.

Tell me that there is more

Than winded messages.


They are made of tired faces.

No rest between stones or winds.

Waiting for something to happen.

Finding no solace.

A happiness that escapes them to the core.


The world wants to weep,

Of stories untold,

Of stones and winds,

With unborn laments,

That will keep them still apart.



Drying out



Drying out


Cotton dresses

Hung out

In lavender dreams

Folded into infinity

To resurrect

A call back

To the Gaian way


Like the snap

Of fingers

Playing the keyboard

In unison

With living and dying

Flapping in the wind

Until dry



Per vatim poetry



Per vatim poetry


The wind combs

Its hand through

The melancholy of desire

Putting out its flames

That ignites

The metamorphosis of banality

Singing a piece

Of musical poetry

With words travelling

On the notes

Of our wisdom.

And only then

Poetry will write itself

Upon our soul

And leaving our essence thirsty

For words strung together

And having sewn

Themselves in our memory

To conquer our intelligence

Which does a supplication

Bartering every ounce

Of a renewed breath

That speaks sweet peace




Just is




Just is



Are the words

You have written

Upon my soul

And played a soliloquy

With spiritual language

Resonating with all the cadences

In my life of stillness

And of hearing

A crystal clear


That speak

To my essence

That calls within

In meditation

While vibrating

To a different journey

Within a tumultuous Universe

That expands and retreats

With consciousness

Which eventually loopholes

To a beginning with no end

And to an end with no beginning

Alpha – Omega