The Freedom of Broken Wings

I was born desiring
to soar,
to touch the sky,
to go beyond the seeming
and find the real -

which I thought was
far from here
far from now -

So I made wings for
myself:

Took some feathers from
a million birds
and some blades from
a thousand planes

I tossed and I turned
in endless dream
far into the day,
deep into the night
-
My eyes never failed
to see
a vision of me, flying,
soaring,
going far beyond
here and now

I wove my feathers
and hammered my metal.
I toiled and boiled
out in the Afrikan sun,
seeking wings -
making wings

I hammered my feathers
and wove my metal,

and
I beamed with delight
as I saw my metal become
feathers,
and my feathers become
metal -

I created wings!

then
I sat and remembered the sun
licking my face,
and the rain mixed with
my sweat:
pouring -
adding salt to a hungry Earth!

I sat and recalled the times when friends
would boo me,
and laugh at me,
and call my weaving futile.
Or woo me
into something else
more passive, more docile
more "worthwhile" -

or so they thought

Until they saw the wings
sparkling in the sun
looking at them
haunting them with deep desire
to fly,
to soar,
to serenade with the wind
and play with the birds

I remembered the toil
and I smiled as I saw them lust
for wings
I remembered the labor
and smiled,
for I had given birth
to wings

I had woven and hammered
and woven and hammered
and hammered and woven,

I had created!

I took my wings
to hide them from a bunch
of green-eyes

I locked them in my garage
and went to reward myself
with sweet sleep

on a bed of roses -
in the garden:

Aaahhhhhh!!!:

then I heard a clinking and a clanking
a dripping and a hammering
and a dropping

I arose from my scented bed
and rushed to see my sleeping beauty -
my love, my wings

I saw my wings,
I found them...
only, broken!

I watched in sacred silence
as tears washed my face
and fell to the ground,
the cursed garage ground
upon which my blighted wings
stood

I saw my feathers and my metal
I saw my weaving and my hammering
I saw my toiling and my reward
I saw it all that night -
I saw my wings:

broken!

The tears well up
now all I see is a fading blur

now I rest in
the agony of my sweet sweat
where I have learned a lesson
deeper than myself:

I can create!

I have discovered something
far bigger than me:

Love is here
Love is now
Truth is here
Truth is now

All I need is here
All I need is now

I take my broken wings
and fly -

to here and now

Beneath The Floor Of Heaven

Beneath the floor of heaven
lies a land where trees can talk
Where stones debate with the soil
And leaves chat with the wind
…and marvelous things happen

A land of stars that speak
of the past, and its glory
And the gurgling brooks narrate
colorful stories of tomorrow
…and lovely things are everything

The waves dance as the ocean
sings with a voice deep and mellow
They move to salsa with the sand
and bejewel the beach with shells
…and beauty is reality

In that land, beaches give speeches
And icicles create articles
that inspire the stones to sermons
And make the brooks write books

A man and his boy join hands
on a chainsaw and fell a tree
As the tree crashes…
the leaves crumple in complaint, and the wind howls in pain
His large flip-flops wallop the soil
His tiny feet hit the stone
– they both are deaf to the debate

A band of girlfriends reward themselves
with gossip on a glittery night
As the darkness flashes…
the moon removes the blanket of clouds, to admire the starry crowd
But the ladies do not hear the stars
narrating stories of glorious times of yore;
They pass the gurgling brook
clueless of the message that it shouts
A guy and his girl walk holding hands
And kiss on the romantic beach one night
As the waves splash…
ocean’s music gets loud, and the pretty shells applaud
Yet the guy and girl fail to hear the
deep voice of the waters
They are blind to the salsa of the sand
and sea.

People are too concerned with the here and now
that they fail to see the eternal…

Scientists busily search dinosaur prints
yet fail to see that all nature is God’s footprints…

Materialists are too drunk on the physical
And walk staggeringly through this meaningless existence…

And we all, absorbed in the “critical problems” of our world today,
loiter futilely into another day.
Deafened by our troubles to the speech of the beach
Blinded to the article of the icicle
Paying no attention to the sermon of the stone
And failing to read the book by the brook

Beneath the floor of heaven
lies you and me

Creation has God’s thumbprints all over it!
See them?

Captured!

Forgive me…I have captured you…
with my pen.

Now the reader captures you in his
mind…

captured

…again!

When Titles Don't Matter

My eyes are fighting these tears
but the tears win the battle
anyway…
There’s a wind blowing in my
heart – and it hurts – breaking
down things for long held dear
…
There’s a storm raging in the
hole in my soul; splashing
angry waves…
A thunder disturbs the delicate
internal balances that hold my
sanity and the essence that is me
…
Bolts of intangible pain electrify
my being – “Me” feels it strongly
within…
Like seismic waves they shake
me up – disturbing the equilibrium
that I consist of – mind, body and spirit
…


-------------------
>>God came in this day - and changed tha rest of my night!!
Thanx Dad!!

Coldblooded Murder | At Bethel

I was in the corridor when
I heard a thud…
Minutes later I picked a note
…and it read:

Why did you have to disturb
me as I read my poems?
Why did you just come into
my room and disrupt my thoughts?
I was seated on the bed – in the
room – alone! Why did you come?
I was reading silently – absorbing
thoughts – seeing minds at work
and you came with your
mouth – humming and shouting.
Why did you come?

I needed space. I wanted time to
be alone. I didn’t want visitors.
You came.
Why?

You disturbed me. It was your fault.
I wouldn’t have harmed you if you
respected my privacy. I wouldn’t even
have touched you! You went around
touching things in the room
– without permission!
And you made a lot of noise.

I wasn’t even angry when I killed you.
I was just a little irritated. And I didn’t
hit you badly – just one simple blow.
My aim was to silence you – but not
silence you forever.
Forgive me!
I ask for forgiveness!

It was just a single blow
then you cried… then you
stopped…

Why did you have to die?
Forgive me… but you... you are dead
…you can’t even forgive me – I just
hope guys will understand me:

I killed you because you disturbed me
…you silly wasp!

Afrika, The Baobab!

Afrika - like a baobab - big and strong:
Outwardly withering away
Inwardly refreshed and renewed -
day by day...
The scorching heat of the unending sun -
The crazy storms of life -
The poverty in greenness - drought all around;
But Afrika, the Baobab, never dies!
Filled with enough water to last all droughts...
...with a beauty uniquely your own...
...lone...misunderstood...underappreciated;
yet alive and strong!
An unspoilt virgin: Afrika, the beautiful!
Now, as the sun sets behind you
A beautiful silhouette of dry twigs - stretched out -
like a maze of a million lifted hands is all that's left!
The dark has come. All is gone.
But the strength in you remains - my Afrika!
The heat! Storms! Droughts!
You remain beautifully you: My Afrika!

Beauty - it's what's inside!!!

Rusting Staple Pin

(picked between the cracks of the pavement leading to our college library)

If only I knew the story behind
this rusting piece of metal
abandoned – thrown – into the cracks
of this olden pavement
Maybe…
tears would roll down my cheek to the ground
Or maybe…
I would jump up and down, laughing hysterically
Or maybe…
I would shine with enlightenment
Or maybe…
nostalgia would hit me – and I’d envision a long lost friend
But maybe I’d throw it down and wish I never knew the story –
or picked it up in the first place!

[haha – stuck in the futility of wishing things would be different! “Different” isn’t necessarily synonymous to “better” – but why want anyways]

A Sunset Watched From LR10 - Through The Window - Festooned By The Shadowy Figure of an Acacia Tree in Bloom:

Now - you sunset -
why do you have to be so beautiful
that I cannot find words to even
express a pinch of the grains of your beauty
- don't you know I'm a poet!?