Alexandrian Ink

Time from its premitive
Has been sensitive with nature
Growing and changing in a holistic perspetive;
A dance for every creature.
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From the pen of the abused sad child I present this to u

I curse the day I was bored,
A greater curse be this day
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We are all Pilgrims
from far-away lands
like allians we come
but this is my real home
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Before this year comes to an end,
Let everyone to my call kindly attend,
To the earths furthest end, this will I send;
If I have offended you, lets make amend.
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Her last Dolour

Where your treasure lies
There the heart dwells;
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This fruit from devil's table,
The wit of the non nimble
Shining like the summer peacock,
Hovering in the heart dark
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I am the voice you hear
From your sweet love dear
Which like a swift sharp spear
That pierces a young deer.
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I wonder how the world would have been
I there is no sun,
I wonder how, if anybody has, or have seen
A family without a son.
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To that place where snail is not eaten
There snail with the inhabitants compete for food and space
But where it is hunted like one who has just stolen
There is snail's desert, always seen in such rareness.
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#The_Dolour (the death of Jesus)

On that mountain of sacrifice
Is erected but two alters;
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The foolery of men oft provoke me
Those who build their faith in this blind illusion
'I shall not die, ' as if life will always be
As their wishes are and their untrue vision.
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I woke up early this morning
saw the little time passing
looked at the flowers before me laying
gazed at the birds singing
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Bird sings from the eaves
The heart ekes more and cheers,
But in sorrow immersed
With saturated joy, unfained,
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I was watching a TV show
Saw the nature in a simultaneous flow
The child is father of the man
The daughter is called but woman
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Alone with my thought
I wish my days could be so
bounded each to each;
Make me Little Lord
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On the horn
u take the bull
but when It's stubborn
on it you pull
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There are many worlds
but there is one sun
we live in one,
the world of frineds.
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Laden is the Cross
Synapse week, strength exhausted
To and fro life all about toss
And drives weary, countenance sad.
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With no eminent will of egoism
He gives with a good heart and will
And wished to give all still
To the last of his helpful dream.
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I will sing for you my song
It importunes my mouth
From this cradle of my inmost heart
And I've let it throng.
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