chimes of a forgotten melody

Two peaks, like opposite poles of a magnet, One which draws in hidden torments, and The other takes away tears before it evaporates! The guitar strings which reverberates, with it claiming to soothe my realms with musical dreams, Waits for an instant, I pause to hear echoes of wind! Beyond me is a drop into oblivious densities, Densities lined by clouds and scarcely visible trees, My mind made the leap, before my ears are blocked by wind. I stare in awe, I feel the drift of the stars, The motion of the Earth, creation and deletion of galaxies, And my body shooting forth into void space! For once, I feel the universe holding her hands inside mine! I grip tighter, a faint smile rises in the sky, 'For you I shall die', my whisper breaks the silence.

Duels, treacherous yet fought forever inside, Malignant and fetid with dead thoughts, Unburnt, reproduced at ceremonious will, With the strange retribution of a wish which is ill, Or a plain surge of lost words inside the mind. The disarray of unclosed eyes and restless mind, Often violently inflamed by countless chants, Chants that the mind plays, over and over to chain the untamed beast that roams in commanding liberty, Who shreds the nerves that pursue smiles and magnify arts, Which until now kept the beast carefully inside. Perhaps the events began with a fusion, A fusion of a fearsome dogma with a created cult, Destruction of all goodness stands at paramount priority, Put to blame are the mistake that produced guilt, Or unaccounted traces of self doubt, both of which Strangle the senses. They are wasted between the sites of production and the targets of action. Eyes turn crimson, blood clots in the brain, The fear spreads through, colonizing whole.

'Find what you love and let it kill you' - Charles Bukowski Musician in the Rain by Robert Doisneau Courtesy : The Mag Part I For a second the world ceased to be restless, Between the agonies of pasts and present an unlikely image passed by. It was not his music, but the silver in his strings,  The ascent of a desirous melody, overflown, Trapped all hopes, gave them wings, made them flow. The master weaved his splendor upon the unlikely audience,  The rains continued to totter, upon the stage built by heavens and heard by Earth, the music was spread, Between the moments, both the worlds united in a rendezvous that lasted merely a moment, but forever in the art painted and glorified by the gifts of memory. Part II The rains never stopped, but the drops failed to carry The glory of the master, and the art in his strings, They fell blankly upon his face, he cherished the memories, while his strings were going blunt. The ...

Playing the game of dice is not God's hobby, Maybe that is why whilst the shadows slither by faith hides among the silhouette of a horrid tide. Maybe Gods are Gods alone, not saviors, Neither eclectic geniuses who could dismember society, Nor revolutionaries to transform hate into fragrance of love. There are reasons to suspect Gods have rented rooms not between the hymns that our mouths utter, But between the bright gold and hanging velvets. For this, I presume the ship that slaved Africans and the ideas that caged humanity are the same, Myths are myths alone, always a misused term. And by this I do not uphold the claim of a God in coffin, But I pry on the delight that I find myself free, Both from religion and a disorienting lifestyle.

Yes, the hollowness shall spread soon, The feats conquered will fade into myths, In its place a thankless stick shall stand, Never the ideal match for the sentiments but certainly the painful choice. The horizon remains bleak, like a sky before the rise of an assuring Sun, My walks shall cease, but my struggles Shall continue till the day my eyes taste, The dark and orange spectral awe.

A bridge waits for the assembly of her workers, She hangs in the mind of the designer, who evoked the mighty image of her, unperturbed, he sketch the foundations with which she shall stand. The designer waits for the nerves to transfer his fleeting impulses onto his tensed mind, Worried, he sips his morning coffee, confused over the remarkable gift that he was granted with. The words of the needy summons up into a plea, From where they transfer it onto the designer's ears, Their troubles shall pass, the bridge shall connect their fears to beliefs and sorrows to smiles. The doubts are born inside the mind, classified as people that lives inside, the mind prohibits any action taken against the unbridged eras, there amidst the misery a spark ignites, a revolt begins.