The Seas

The merchant ship was billowing over the charted waters

And Isco smiling smartly to heave a sigh of scented air

as the chirpy wind of the southerly seas dampening

the milieu on the deck where lay under the sun, Nikita

The day was a bright jewel that Nikita wanted to wear on her finger

but the sun cast shadows were soon eclipsed by the clouds

and she fidegted the finger with a wire of the mobile phone

It was all dead matter and only thing that mattered was the sea

the water soon became flushed with the rainy water and

everything abated in the mad rush for a stream of love

Nonetheless love is the dose for those who lack pain

whatever is the name, the cascading curtains fill the space

as if Cinema has let loose all the goons over the swoon

of Nikita who now tangently drew the cycle of cirque

while the sun rested and rested till the silence of yes

was faced with the hop s,oked by Isco and dressed negeliently

he jumped into the sea.


I wished I were a hero

The last day I wished I were a hero

Tasted the wine to morph into Superman

Only to be denied by the  marvellous age

as the dying man pinning hopes on providence

of the lord who would not rescue Christ

from the cross and denied the Church a faith

to love the prostitue and call her a lame dame


A hero to worship the heroism be my breed

nonetheless silence about the room was pinching

like a five year old crying for a supper

and there was nothing in the world to hang about

but the World Cup of my dreams when I was a ten year old

to become a captain was the chance time had given me

only to be spurned in the morning with a loss

to the kids on the other side of the street

never mind the coin toss


Today in the morning I wish I were a hero

and the heroism will be defined to play violin-

the game of roses only if there is an answer in the mirth

of morning upon morning being churned  day after day

and something huge happens in the world cup’s way

as a fair agenda game, how the man has grown over?

since the days of the third reich and violence on display

immortality eludes me as a lawful wed wife


if only the last day were Sunday and heroism was

the talk for the day! I would oblige with a random

tip-toed walk on the pavement, slowly  gauging my days

after the dead winter had waylay the month of December

and my partner was away never to surrender.

I reckon the last day I wished I were a hero


The Boss

As caterpillar closes on the mount

silently the time rolls in the moments

and thence I see the pact

between the caterpillar and the mount

scarcely the love is pitted to the human

who is your boss and the work committed

as the caterpillar to the mount is

and ink impregnating the paper

makes the boss work like a madman

arching like that in phobia

A World Cup 2018

The beats come to uphold the battle of soccer giants

from the hooting of the spectators

to a truer challenge of grit and sitting in an Italian association

I walk down the prime stairs of heaven as if opening into an open space

sinking with the soccer was a team who kept Hertha Berlin silent

and Madonna glimpsing the sky in anticipation of a goal

was on the other side of heaven punishing the heathens

Thence rip off the talent of Cristiano Ronaldo subdivided by men

left to pick ups gifts from the stalls on the lower side of the mall on heaven

stuck in Mississauga was the woman who thought zero was invented

for a goalless draw while the enchanting of the bold claims

for a World Cup triumph parried Peru and Poland, lowly among the supple

who could thought the socialism will pave to the doors of World Cup exits?

In merciless stair the queen of Japan saluted the spirit of fine men!





A Strange love

Hiding behind the fence

picking love at last in flowers from the floor

there’s a hand of God in the reckoning of love fete

where the pygmies fall for the giants

only to be called moles on the mountains

To watch the movie in tie-breakers

as the game of soccer which like

the bees walking upon the behives

leaving behind the love potion in making

consumed dot by dot by the gents

on a June day that’s usually hot

and they fancied poison for a strange love instead

The Vocalist

“Jam it,” said the violinist

“there goes the hell,” said the guitarist

while the vocal artist sang the dead tunes of winter

now in the month of June it felt like a December solstice

when she would tie her head in a drape calling for the days

that she roamed around the outskirts of Montreal

She sang the Marine Song of long farewell

While on the beach in Mexico she had left the seas to become a doctor

and in the US she fairly lipped the tunes of time

She sang a lovely forlorn tune of separation

The lead drummer caught in the eye of the storm

and said Good Bye!

While she hovered with an intellectual,

who was dead drunk on time and space

and who held her hand and danced the time to forget

Canada Day!

The Evil Afternoon he took the bus to Puerto Rico

And slept on the floors of the bus station as if mopped by wind in his salutation

She called the evil afternoon a gay science to recover from

throngs of love.

They both skid on the surface of sea to stop the killer love game

of evil afternoon in its empty shoes!

The cosmic spirit, knowledge and time-space

What is the abandonment of life? Killing the will to choose between the material gains. We have common consciousness, having common evolution. Did evolution leave space for something other than matter? Is there a conception of the soul that eternally recur, though historically? Something that lasts between the birth, an immanent part of spirit circles the existence.

The evolution is a slow but gradual process how matter evolved into a shape and form that could navigate the space around. Is it there a reward associated with nature which has delivered what could be called the spirit? The spirit that pervades the cosmos in terms of (a) knowledge (b) existence in time-space. The knowledge is stored in the one Akasa and the akasa has time and space piercing it into infinity. It is from this common consciousness of evolution that man has been made aware of the cosmos and then he must pervade the cosmos scaling both time and space.

The spirit is the primordial sea in which lingers on the knowledge and with that knowledge is the necessity of occupation of time and space. So as I occupy time-space, I draw from the common pool the knowledge. So spirit is associated with knowledge. The more I draw on this knowledge the more I become cosmic.