I feel that to those in whose conscience the seed of the acceptance of supremacy of the patriarch is planted are, to a great extent incapable of acquiring help in any form whatsoever offered to them. It is when voiced with concern, denied at first glance under the socially constructed claims of disrespect and ill manners for “empowerment”, such a word is received as an offense and further shun the individual seeking to challenge this thought  process , making the latter in my not so humble experience, feel like a complete fool.  It is so deep rooted in the conscience that the hegemonised individual lives under a false consciousness where she understands that chores are solely a part of her job description in a household as a wife and, a minute part of a much greater responsibility- motherhood.



I oftentimes fail to identify with their external bound validations, the limiting labelled definitions and mainstream interpretation of beauty injected into the stream of thoughts of the masses by the poisonous media that results into the formation of a falsely conceived identity of the self, pregnant with the fear of rejection and alienation .
Beauty is plain, simple and yet infinite in its entirety and devoid of definitions. It is intrinsic like the brightness of the stars impregnable and brilliant yet, wonderfully ordinary .



The morning is heavy with sluggishness to which the eye awakens,
Completely unaware to what awaits in the pre-planned hours
That are yet to arrive in the most unexpected moments,
When anxiety kicks in like a rush of waves in an ocean
And, we like paper boats without oars, set sail like heroic sailors at war
Unwilling to bend to norms that are blindly followed
By hegemonized zombies who walk inside the class rooms
With the purpose of persuading handicapped education
Upon our conditioned heads, heavy with the burden
of their unsuccessful dreams and aspirations
that stem from ideologies of
“ they whose names shall not be mentioned“.

They appear in the idiot box in saffron and white, uttering holy lies
Accompanied by X,Y and Z protection with one eye closed;
One eye closed to the shock of misery clinging to our bodies
Like leeches sucking dry freedom, dreams and desires
Treasured like a pearl inside of an oyster, on which they greedily gaze upon,
Laughing at our powerlessness with their instruments of repression-
The robots in uniforms,hungry prisons and well fed court rooms.

We wait now. We wait now for miracles and magic to materialize into reality,
And until such time we seek comfort in escapism
by stroking our dreamy cocks and consuming manipulative hallucinogens
And, In feelings of oneness, brotherhood, friendship and love ,
Passed on to us like a pack of cigarretes and cheap liquor
That keeps us from drowning
In the ocean of chaos within our giant boulder like heads infused with
Passion, poetry, confusion, misery, nightmares, anxiety,their crazy expectations
A tinge of hope and insecurities, forbidden ideas and restricted dreams
Beyond reason and meaning can ever describe
To a blindfolded face and a hypnotized  mind.

Ah, the youth that learns and unlearns;
The youth that dreams of revolution and challenges authority,
Ah the youth that seeks the sweet nectar of liberated truth;
The youth in pursuit of that beautiful glory.


vang gogh.jpg

I oftentimes feel like the brilliant moon,
Projecting her radiance brilliantly into the darkness of the skies;
I oftentimes feel like the brilliant moon whose brilliant radiance
Was never her own but,cast forcefully upon her by the majestic sun
So that the rest of the earth could offer validation
By making paintings and writing romantic tales and verses
Of this radiance that was never her own and,
That which was projected onto her, rendering her choiceless,
Forcing into submission her entire being,
To his unremitting heat over and over again
Only to be deemed brilliant and beautiful
And remain steadfast in the skies,
So as to remain satisfying and beautiful
Solely for their uninspired eyes.



Beyond names and religion that limits us,
Beyond creed and complexion
that resonate on our skins and,
Beyond curses and language
that reside on our holy tongues,
Before boundaries were drawn to demarcate
territories and superpowers and,
before the perception of the birth of a society;
Life was one. Food was one. Home was one.
The blood running in my veins were running in your veins.
Still is.


In dreamy silence under frosty and fiery stars I laid still
In a state of nothingness, divine and eerie amid
loving and compassionate bodies with whom
I had the rare privilege of sharing, this state of nothingness
infused with profound silence that formed a halo over our existence
at that holy moment of togetherness binding us to the earth as one.
Bodies become a body. Heart beats became a heart -beat. Breaths became breath.


Powerful becomes my mind and peaceful becomes my existence
On freeing words that remain otherwise caged under my tongue
Ecstatic and aware becomes my soul and naked are my thoughts and
Truth, exempted of the clutches of fear, boundaries and
Ruthless norms explodes within me violently in brilliant shades of blue,
Yellow, red and white at that auspicious moment and, I realize that life has become me.


Before thoughts found a medium
To be expressed by words, discharged by the tongue,
Before music was created to dance with our emotions
And  summon hope in times of heart breaking silences,
There was life;
When  enemies were made nemesis and  friends were befriended,
When children were educated and  intellectual heads were beheaded,
When innocence and dreams were shed from the youth of today
And when malice and trickery was hidden
Within religious pages and idols sculpted with stone and clay,
There was life;
When lovers beheld each other’s sight as if it was their own
And cherishing  the moments passing  in silence,
Contemplating  the depth of each other’s soul
From the warm breath exchanged from passionate lips with eyes closed,
There was life;
In words that created poetry and art, kissing our imagination
With beauty and truth dripping like the morning’s  dew,
Singing sweet symphonies to the ears
Of how love and passion are intrinsic to the soul for,
There was life and is.


Who are you beneath the skin concealed with
fancy clothes with a hint of pride on the patterns?

Who do you propose to become when you utter
insignificant words in hopes of describing yourself to me
and when the truth behind your mascara eyes changes
like the skin of a chameleon to vanish before its’ predator?

Invisible you may make the truth to my eyes but
I am a predator you see, with a sensitive and highly receptive nose
that can snort the truth right of the curvature of your almost
crescent smile that bears the burden of your caged thoughts
lingering under your tongue like prisoners of war in the gloom of authority.

What becomes of you when you sell your individuality to they
who are enslaved by the ever blinding norms of the society
that shackles your freedom from taking flight into the glorious skies?
What becomes of you when you put up your tanned and fair skin
for an overpriced exhibition of lost art for lustrous eyes to feast
solely on the outline of your already artful body?

At the pith, the very core of life, what role in this infinite
and ever dynamic universe of parallel existence do you see
your agnostic eyes perceiving?

Do you dear sensitive person not feel bloody alive
to the marrow of your bones when you listen to raw poetry
that escapes your naked tongue setting fire
to all your fear and insecurities, giving birth to wild passion
that glows brilliantly like a bon-fire in your eyes, emitting
a shaky maddening aura on the outline of your body,
that of inherent courage and intrinsic truth that dances
with your words making you feel invincible and heroic from within
at that fleetingly terrific moment of untamed  emotions
and supernatural state of being and, yet undeniably  vulnerable
and aware of the surrounding atmosphere and absorbing faces?

It is indeed true that wild thoughts are awakened in your titanium head
where they move hither and tither in erratic madness rekindling the
forbidden flames of insatiable curiosity and understanding of reason
that may be oftentimes received in the form of lewd
ill-mannered perceptions by the prisoners of widening ignorance
and authority to which they succumb like puppets to their puppeteer.

Do you dear person with a naked tongue not see
that when you narrate poetry from a piece of paper
that poetry itself becomes you?
Do you not see that when forbidden words escapes
your brilliant mouth in the form of holy truth,
you experience the sudden beauty  of sheer realization
and the sweetest pleasure of insightful orgasm?

Do you not realize that you are a protagonist in a scene
within the powerful and immortal play called life?

In all curiosity, I ask you now once again who the fuck are you?

"…but only in poetry can men be truly free. It was always thus and always thus will be."