The wind blew hard,
I saw stars in the sky,
I heard thunder and wondered.
Then I turned to my door-steps;
They did not know I deciphered.
I slid the window panes in terraces,
Pulling my armchair I marveled.
Men were grappling along the road.
I queried within my heart,
In broad day-light they envied a man.
Then I saw pebbles in some,
They were not hearkened at all,
I felt pain gushing up the throat—
It’s you they are pelting at,
Boulders to pulverize the mortal flesh;
Then I turned to an old book,
To read the codes and the nuts,
At first I contested to revoke;
In my own world of avarice was the same.
When I sat wide on the desk,
I was breathing best in me.
The old man was standing in-front,
In alacrity, he walked between the aisles,
Then everyone was embraced.
Yet it was not easy at the begging;
The background was blunt and crooked.
Those at my bosom may not have seen,
They could not give me hand;
Regardless they knew the bill was in me—
A token flowing in the veins and blood;
The switching hub is open for them—
But they did not reckon to my help;
Nor picked my call when I greeted,
So I settled my bid in the right season to come.
They were watching him in startles;
Then that woman brought papyrus seats.
She had seen him in the infancy;
She knew him in the root.
So they inquired her of him,
How he had been in exile for yonks.
She added more liquor for the blow,
To keep the business burn,
She did not know that boy was me.
The spree was disguising,
Yet there was vision in the cutting.
He sorted his gallantry and waited;
He opened the drive and printed hard;
There was some truth in them.
He pushed the waters down his gut,
They saw him stiff and strong to the end.
And that another man was increasing his paws,
So the boy cuddled and conjectured;
The heart desires to see the nakedness of a man.
Grandpa gave me a secret—
We were walking in the woods after a matinee;
I did not see the ant-hill;
A crag was there but we didn’t go up.
He held my hand as we hunted;
We were not to eat the spoil,
I was hungry and killed a bird,
Then he rebuked me for the folly.
Other birds saw us and fled,
I was a pig to look up,
So he pushed me behind him,
Quickly caught a bird by his hand,
I slid my bucal wide in amazement,
The bird was sound and breathing,
That he showed me sisal thread and a jar of termites,
I dropped the catapult and ran to the ant-hill.
Can a bucket be comparable?
Sometimes it’s nothing-less;
When forgotten at a far entrance.
For the layman who does not comprehend—
He has nothing to brood him much,
Regardless of the object he sees.
When empty, it’s seldom cherished;
When half, it’s partially gratified;
When full, many will fetch from its brims.
Yet its effort is never appreciated,
It labors in the rainy seasons,
It’s littered when disowned,
Yeast and mushroom grow on its compost.
A distasteful allotment on the earth’s portion—
In the horizon of events,
All conceptual models are schemed;
Where attributes are navigated—
The property of place and change,
A man is the entity of the design.
At rising and down, we count days.
A walk to the ant-hill, we count weeks.
A step to the drive-ways, we see months.
A path to the high, a year is ended.
Its accountability is upon man.
Time will tell—goes the saying,
Yet no one has heard it tell.
It’s the effector of all elements,
That man is distressed to seize its pace.
Until he toils, he can never exploit the realms.
I dissipated when I heard the lies,
I was listening to a radiogram;
Then I saw the scene on video.
It was a nation’s note to attention,
The horrible mood at the shopping mall;
Unscrupulous men had gone away with murder.
Intelligent men a rounded to curb matters,
And it just happened—
‘All terror suspect reigned in court’, they said.
Perhaps the statement was not infringed,
When it declared its universal prowess—
Yet the argument was completely invalid.
If Boole was to hear this—
For his investigation of the laws of thought,
Of and, or and not—
The statement was true,
But its negation is the reality;
Boole: there exist at-least and not all—
A pole of everything,
A vault to cross the bridge;
A maiden name to refine work;
Old scholars had seen its technological promise,
The coordinates of our transformation,
From wave-like to discrete marquee;
The amplitude was glittered:
The shining of stars in the night;
The rising of the sun;
But malady was brought by—
The skirting terror of the day,
Joggling of the young mind;
The little siblings are baffling,
Hurling their eyes on the market,
And watching bedroom stuffs at comfort—
Discovering the truth?
Reality stands on this ray;
The great purpose about us;
Able, earnest and best individuals,
Indeed to discover thyself,
A portion not to be defiled,
So special inscribe in the heart.
A feeling of complete energy and quench,
The working master of personality and—
You will never be annuye man.
Step on stage to rock,
Unleashing to the mini-world,
That you understand the problems,
Decomposing them manageably;
Refining further into that resultant purpose;
The preliminary interrogation of oneself,
A neat top-down approach of analysis;
What is that in you?
The thing needed to be out,
The fulfillment of more than a gift,
And attain the daily living opportunity infinitum.
A spark liable to cause explosion,
Are creatures of emotions and prejudice!
Pride and vanity—
“That’s my hubby’s piece of land,” cries a widow.
A landmark tree witnessed.
For clues, a baobab tree stood glued to the scene,
But heads couldn’t stop the swine-man.
He was increasing his mark in a territory;
Seizing upon the opportunity;
A piece to add up for his bricks,
Posterity for the genealogy—
Looking at angle nothing impacted him,
People forging to mass the wind,
Earth and water they are made of.
Human’s free radicals,
They don’t know –
Perversion of activities,
That they are sick of intruded things.
We may walk physically fit,
Thinking we are pirates,
Not knowing that we are misfits
The pre-occupation of wildness!
Food and body brood us much;
The tangible man has much to munch,
The premonition to cadaverousness,
Our subtle man feeds on nothing.
Ingredients of man are five senses;
Not sugar, non-dairy creamer,
Nor premium instant coffee powder,
And for subtle man is the sixth sense.
Is the world moving?—Not
Is it ending?—yet
Is there anyone holding its blossoming?
If it’s not its Infinity,
The measure of metrics—
A waxed man should not walk in the sun,
To see the varsity of stars;
Galaxy and celestial bodies!
Consider the sky—ascending to infinity.
Tenants we are, renting this colossal room.
Leased we are, financing this car.
We all have subtle houses—
The common abode, we shall thus go.
Evacuating the room for others—
Excavate the house until you see the splendor,
Solacing your soul for the spirit man,
Chanting your Deity for immortality—
A knot for new life,
The beginning of another event,
Equable moments and ways,
Singing and moaning are all done!
Ineffable melancholy at times,
Sometimes I dread at it—
To the indefinite shape of this matter—
Many are taken with sorrow,
The give-and-take account—
Yet I don’t fathom the process well,
It just happens to take form.
No one knows where it will assert next,
Neither whom it will liken to be—
As seeds fall, die and live again.
If my future was my past—
And you sat there to see,
The little life you have seen,
The more life you have lived.
The great pain you have endured.
Then there is one thing to know,
Did you see it pleasurable?
Or lived with nostalgia—
Can one hang on it contentedly?
With the possibility to reverse the motion—
If my past was my future—
And you walked there to see,
The little hope you had;
The more love you enjoyed;
The joy you encountered.
Then there are two things to know,
One is half-life gone,
Two is the potential life left.
Were you engrossed?
Did you perfect it?
For the lifted spirit,
Dawning of the day,
Rubbing of shoulders;
A bit molding of hands,
The clay’s made item.
Little buzzing in the streets—
Click! Ring! And melody,
Unceasing singing of birds,
Space, peace and pace,
Walking and making of place.
Standing on this podium of Deity—
Lute and the harp,
Smothering of the soul,
Mending of the heart,
The pavilion of health,
Like saints’ protection pinion.
Higher, higher and above—
Gibberish I would say.
To jump-wagon is for the docile fools.
Trotting of pawns,
The master-piece of the evil lords—
They give drivel insights.
In stow of copper, silver and gold.
I met such docile in town
Many have flocked behind deceived.
He sketched me a diagram,
His companions showed me a mirror,
I drifted, rather in terror—
My wells were tight to open doors.
Lastly caving me to the voodoo,
When I saw a fellow inmate in-tow,
Caring a dark fowl in his hand,
They were making an oath to eat the Relish.
Then they took him home more sorrowed.
The faded hope didn’t incarnate.
The hole in his mind was the perfect charm.
Poking the sixty pence and clearing off his bank.
The topology of God and Man,
Asserts the prayer in form of bits;
That prepares and checks for errors.
Adding address and routing destinations,
Alas! Our Helpers ensure reliability.
To set up sessions between communication,
For display and encryption—
Where our seven application layers run,
Using—here to generate request;
Dependent on the logical or physical topologies—
On the wall small beetle tried to fly.
Its heavy wings couldn’t make it.
At the corner, two walls converged.
Some ants moved up the walls
The beetle was caught in siege.
To escape away from predators—
Five male ants on its wings;
Pulling it down for a good feast,
Fortunate a small window opened in terraces.
A switching lane for every Meeker—
Team and jersey, there goes the game.
Sports and stars, the company is tamed.
Soccer and kicks, they stood one day watching.
Mine wasn’t a spectator but to act.
An observation saw more faults.
A spectator guided more than the referee.
Seized opportunities were many.
Like alluvial salts in braided channels.
Yet our passes didn’t yield any moss.
There were more noises than applauses.
The coach and seats were like poles.
Firing arrows to the target—
The final whistle brought societies.
Roughing the field to dust of the morning race,
A game that heralds many events,
To draw, lose, or win.
Liquor and the dissipation!
But man will not stop.
In the temperance to eat and drink,
His virtues that lead to elevation—
Who can then convict him?
That what goes down the throat is defect.
And what settles his guts defiles him.
Temperance, temperance but not dullness—
Stop the distilling ponds and cease him.
Else he has more reasons not to cease.
Bundles of ways to frequent the ponds,
Temperance, temperance but not elevation—
Have they not made enough havoc visits?
Harassing and chasing around the drunkards!
Playing cards with the enforcers,
Temperance, temperance but to neither blasphemy nor treason—
Wretched many are!
Our situation tricked in herculean.
Both ends of galluses are weak.
Let him go1 ye that believes—
Enlisting fast to open a campaign;
Thus making a good precipitous militia,
Not that savage or rebels.
Ye that wounds not but solace
One that may rejuvenate—
To haul a fleet of men,
Holding matters in bold stand.
And lying off the whipping hand;
Putting him to ashore and rest,
To an escape from the gutters—
Kill the notion.
Consider this—a picturesque!
Look upon and weep over it!
This labor under-mistaken for men’s own sake—
Inoculated with logic, are toiling instead.
Stop the old fogey—we gave bravo!
Was it a bravado or hip-hop hurrah?
So it’s difficult to eliminate mediocrity.
Perhaps mitigated but not eradicated.
Is this laborer vaining after the wind?
The poor man’s child fails the element.
And overtly misses the currents of the tide.
Must have been son of ‘so and so’—
That’s what all turn to its drumming beat.
“Who is your guarantor?” they say to him.
The commanding poison, intra-veined in everyone’s blood—
Hear the singing of the land.
Those of knowledge behold it in hand.
The children reciting the row-boat carols,
And the learned impelling didactic moral—
An eagle swooping to the summits,
All what the plough men need in river banks is the silt.
The raging of the waves depends on the tide.
The domain features standing by side.
Now make haste to measure the work.
The casual man wages for his folks.
The tertiary consumer goes for the prey.
The other one in the chain can’t go out to play.
The hearing songs of the people,
Rich, rich go people,
Poor, poor go people,
The day’s song for the people—
Who is learned and not educated?
When proved, we see the difference.
The figures and proofs are in clear columns.
Measure them and validate the seams.
Add, divide and put into variables.
Gliding by to assert the effector and the predictor
Not shown in the charts of astronomy.
In the mystery appellation of signs;
Nor by the chiromancy and the wit of palmists—
Love has its unciphered reasons.
It’s personal not pinked universally.
A germ that grows in an individual’s mind;
And crosses the stern borders with ease.
I shun no one for this relish.
Regarding that it’s godly ordained.
Him and Her not Him and Him or Her and Her;
Go over, fly for the catch.
I see no reason for parents to dictate.
Lest I clobber her to their disappointment!
Did a man cascade his own window?
That another should put his prowess?
And bind him from scripting the codes?
This carnal I meet berserked a lot.
We accosted each other with smiles.
For introduction we were shaking hands.
Then he flayed a chair and I sat.
Our life-hood realms were clear.
The purpose stood between events and methods.
Mutual clicks witnessed the property of our walls.
Several reasons kept us a part.
Then one matter swayed.
It pervaded me in the deep chambers.
Looking over, I seemed pale and in appellation.
The old junk had pasted me in pricks.
Behold, he had been loafing around me.
To the earnest that I shouldn’t scribble;
Nor endeavor to learn much of his work.
Attached to his nice cubicles, I was a bit wit than he.
Last—fear collected him in surprise.
He had not encountered an adroit as such.
The philosophy of the organization was at beck and call.
That I become an enemy at his vicinity—
A man grows over and bends.
Yet he has little to recall.
Few he can say that he saw.
Many he has done in the time.
But most what he sees is vanity.
I have eaten Virginia peas, he says.
Also the swans and all kinds of beast;
I have gone to states and back.
Watched the agricultural shows and theater plays;
Mended my designs and parks,
Saw the nature and man-made.
Just bought and sold my new Ferrari.
Then helped that rampant tramp with a coin;
I took children a broad in the summer.
Nothing does a man have than pride.
Over there, I saw one in such vanity.
Altering his ego than esteeming others;
And when he goes—he goes forever!
He that remains has himself in others.
Picking up the rod to guide and lead his path.