Do you fear now?

Do you fear now?

Do you fear the living

For you are living

For I am living

Do you still fear the living?

The living are the speaking

speaking their living,

Yet you don't fear them speak.  

Words and meanings 

Hand in hand 

Full of the zest of living

The living are the mankind 

Mankind, living 

Yet you do not fear mankind 

You fear the unspoken

That, what hasn't yet happened 

You fear that unhappened,

You fear the unknown of the unhappened

There have been times past

That nothing made any sense

Yet you kept going on

In hopes of hope. 

What do you know...

When lips dare not move

But hands become alive in protest

Showing the way, speaking the truth

Those hands become alive 

Like the morning prayer at the crack of dawn

Do you fear the coming morning and it's light.

For you are that light, so am I.

Across this city, that feared the shadow of a specter, 

No more lurks in it's perfidy.

From the hoardes of humanity, a voice speaks out

In that mankind speaks forth, fearless

Out of the darkness,

Man flows out, like a bubbling fountain

You fear the now, yet you are the Now

So am I, the Now.

You fear the Now. 

At the end of the day

At the end of the day, when I repose

And reflect upon the hardships of my toil;

I wish for you, sitting next to me.

You ask me how my day passed.

I sigh and smile at you. It is better now

That I am in your company, for my troubles are forgotten.

The harsh words of strangers strike my heart and cut my soul.

I suffer uncounted pains, but, the very thought of you sustains me.

Nary a moment passes,

nary an hour

When I don’t think of you.

You are on my breath, you are in my blood, you are on my flesh.

I love you now and forever.

Epitaph

Who will remember me when I die,
Not for the want of coin  I won,

Not for the favor of friends gained or lost,
But the good I did, the kindness spoken,

Unbegot, forgotten, unsung,
Who will lament, rue,  and cry
As I am lost to the infinite, the oblivion.

When I  die,  all I want
is for someone
to remember me
No accolades or praise,  nor any award
Just a simple memory,
that he was a good man
loved by some.

The Dream Peddler - a translation

Scattered, strewn, in the various corners of this desolate city
Dreams, of the down trodden, bent-neck devoid of their content and meaning
Of Which the city dwellers are unaware

I go out searching for them, day and night
To gather them, clean them up,
Rinse out their grim and grime
To burn them in the kiln of my burning heart

Thus, Their countenance would shine like those of bridegrooms on their wedding day.
Perhaps, once again these dreams would get their direction.

I venture out with my crate of dreams,
As I yell out, to the people, "Dreams for sale! Dreams for sale!"

They yell back, " Are they for real? Or are they illusory,"
They gawk at my wares, as though
Only they are the connoisseurs of fables and tales. 

They look, but do not touch.
Thinking, perhaps these dreams are sublime, like mist fleeting as the sun warms the early morning.
They pay no heed to my wares, all the while skirting away. 

Day turns to dusk.
I yell out again,
"Take them for free, just take them off my hands"

They get even more scared and skittish of the prospects of free dreams.
"What sorcery is this?
What vagabondary?
Beware, he says they are free,  but what delusions  these dreams may wrought?"

The night falls,
I return, with my dreams unsold and broken back to my slumber.

As I lay my head down to sleep,
I mumble in my dreams,
"Dreams for sale, dreams, zzzz"

The Hands Tell A Story

Raw, dry with the air, Scratched and scraped, Soft or subtle, with vibrancy of life
the hands tell a story unto their own.

A handshake , calloused palms, each blister akin to the tale from which it boiled forth

The grip, firm to convey a message of steadfastness
Yet sensual when fingers tickle the inside to suggest the desire. 

I look at my own hands, remembering
When as a boy how small the were in my father's own, when held in protection

How I cut myself with a tool as a youth, in a single folly of ineptitude trying to be a man.

And now, as middle age happens upon them
I see my father's past and my own future as though the dryness carts the tracks of my passing time.

I make my future with them by not reading them anymore.

I called you beautiful and you said so was I.

I called you beautiful and you said so was I.
It that moment, it was no lark, no lie.
My heart filled with bliss,  tears to my eye,
As water falls down from the vastness of the sky.

I called you beautiful and you said so was I.
A thousand bells just rang in the steeples of my heart,
That sacred trust, that bond of hope
I yearn to keep, I promise to hold
As the story of our affection is about to be told.

I called you beautiful and you said so was I.
I call out to all that is good and right,
A prayer, a wish, a passionate plight,
For you to be mine, in Divine sight,
As this journey begins on a path bright.

I called you beautiful and you said so was l...

As I wake up to you smiling

The smell of your skin, the scent of your hair
Makes me content, as it fills the air
How I long for you, even though you're next to me
The thought of you, relieves my despair
And lends my broken heart to repair,
As I wake up to you smiling.

You blush when I compliment your innocent face.
I revel in your kindness, your humor, your grace.
You brighten my nights, you lighten my days,
By being yourself, so wonderful in your ways,
As I wake up to you smiling.

I do not know what the future holds,
Spring's warmths or winter's colds,
With you by my side, I'll behold,
The tales that are yet to be told,
As I wake up to you smiling.