Foreshadowed Bear

Foreshadowed Bear

Just one moment,
A silent pause,
A stare at the less than impressive mirror,
That’s all it took.

Behold a flash that is my future splashed before me,
So brief, yet reveals an eternity.
An eternity of struggles,
And of contest.
Man vs destiny.
Generation vs generation.

My father’s face shadows mine,
So too his deeds?
His great strides, yes.
But his flaws?
To look forward but see backwards,
That’s the reality I now see.
I can’t help but fight for my space.
Its my life!

The past and Future blends,
Mine and His.
But must we end up like our parents?

My identity isn’t too mush to ask for,
Or is it?
Tag me a rebel,
But by God some things have got to change.
To live a life unlived is that which I seek.

Before The Darkness Came

Before the darkness came,
Before rivers dried,
Before the seas froze,
Before Ra’s fury weaned,

Gabriel’s horn blew,
Harvest time came.
Aries’ trumpet echoed,
And Boots crush the earth,
Whips let loose,
No amnesty, just damnation.

Screams and scars dance in synchronized horror,
Tag or death………?,
Too late!
Tag or horrific horror.

Life pervades,
Ruthless Sickness cascade,
Running through earth,
Flowing as tributaries,
Reaching far,
But no death.

They survived,
The weak lived,
The strong died,
Our existence re-defined.
For we found life through death.

Hope: The Slave Driver

When is it right to let a vision perish?
When is a mission worth abandoning?
When is the time to let go?

Shackled in the bounds of vision,
Hope becomes the merciless slave-driver.
Constant whips and lashes;
Become the echoes of a better tomorrow.
Hope fills the heart of falling men,
Renews their resolve to fight on,
To live on or die on.
Oxygen to the breathless but hungerd.

Tribulation and trials,
The two wretched Ts.
They seldom leave,
Their presence remain dominant and fostered by hope.
Hope I wonder,
Serves what purpose?
To keep us alive?
To keep the dream alive?
To keep the struggle on?

Asking enlightened ones proved futile,
“Everything serves a purpose” they cry, Let all be.
People living good lives don’t need hope, I say.
No, they don’t.
People with fulfilled lives don’t need hope,
Today carries all the dreams and vision they have,
Tomorrow, they wish carries same pleasures as today.
Who does this merchant of doom serve?
Its hands stained of blood and tears of the weak,

Let them fall,
Let them fail,
At least in their failure they find peace,
Surely even the most gruesome beings have a spec of mercy,
No, not hope.
It grabs you and takes you all the way through.

Coup de grace!
Coup de grace!!
Too deaf to hear,
The more you squeal,
The more it compels you.
Be victorious Or fall.
Only then does hope let go.
Still it lurks waiting for an opportunity to linger.

Building Poetry Communities on

Originally posted on News:

As we’re entering the final week of National Poetry Writing Month (NaPoWriMo) in the US, we want to celebrate all the wonderful poetry-centric community projects here on

The sites we feature today — like many others we follow and love — make an important point. We may all write on our own, but it’s only when we join a community of other writers and readers that our voices are truly heard.

Keeping it local

Some of the tightest-knit poetry groups are bound by a shared space, where writers know not only each other’s work, but also each other’s face. Over at Poetdelphia, Philly-based poets share poems, announce readings and other events, and celebrate community members’ achievements.

typewriter poetry2Ghostless Sleep, by Yasin Chines at Xsentric.

Similarly, .: Poetry in Chicago is a project that aims to bring together writers from across the city’s eclectic poetry community, with posts on

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Poetry Is?

Poetry, not exactly what is expected of the
“masculine” gender.
Yet, I do it.
To be soft, tender and violent at the same
time? Poetry does that.
It is the dusty street with coloured walls
where blood is represented with bones,
where toothless people grin, where flowers
meet barrels, where kings knell and subject
It is rational made irrational, and irrational
made rational.
That’s poetry.
It is where romance meets horror and they
dance to one rhythm.
Poetry, my escape made real.
What is it to you?

Think Of Me

Imagine me,
Imagine you.
Imagine that I am you, yet stand apart.

Think of me,
Think of me holding you,
Leading you to your groom.
Think of me as your groom.

Think of the light at the end of the tunnel,
Imagine me with you in the dark,
Yet, I am your light at the end of the tunnel.

Think of me as that silky-smooth clothing you love so much,
Think of how warm I make you feel,
Think of how close I am to you.

Think of me as one who would never leave,
But know I may leave.
Still, think when I leave,
I leave with you,
With you in my heart,
With you a part of me.
You are me,
And I am you.

GENERATION Y (YOLO: You Only Live Once)

At first glance my mind is struck with a contrasting view of generation-x, A second glance reveals something more. More striking and less uncertain, the You Only Live Once crew (YOLO).
Its a motto that fits into the agenda and desires of the average youth. YOLO is the new cool, its the rave of the moment.
YOLO is not just some kids trying to have fun, its them living life to the fullest, doing things their risk shy parents couldn’t do, it is them breaking free of the “mind control”, breaking free of the constant search for tomorrow, it is them living today for today.
YOLO doesn’t permit regrets, it doesn’t permit could haves, would haves or should haves, it is the fulfilment of the best present, it is youths living life to the fullest: no excuses, no restriction, no regrets. Afterall “You Only Live Once”.

YOLO through the parent’s eyes is devastating, its like watching your kids “throw their lives away”, knowing fully well; though they ‘Live to

Her Royal She-Devil

“Hell hath no fury as a woman’s wrought”,
A tale all too familiar.
Woman, your mood is rivalled by none but the pendulum,
You live worlds apart,
Still our path intertwine.

Woman she is,
Modusa, Aphrodaites, Delila
She is the drug embedded in the innate desires of man.
He is cursed to seek her,
She is proof of he lost glory.
Now he must take her to be complete.
Such cruel truth.
He is pacified by her sight,
Disabled by her touch,
Mesmerized by her voice,
And crushed by her treachery.
How great you are,
What power thou possess.
The wolf in sheep clothing thou art.

Still I’ll take her any day.
Man beware, she lurks in serene places,
Adorned in seductive garments,
She smiles behind fallen emperors.
Woman thou art the devil,
The devil man bows to,
The devil he trembles for,
The devil that damns the souls of wandering men,
Thou art woman,
Adam’s falling.

I love poetry, I write from experiences (yours and mine), explore common areas (life, love, pains, fears etc), I share with you our world in ink. This is my sanctuary. This my opportunity to share my works with you. Kindly read and comment. Enjoy.


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