THE BIOLOGY PROGRAM

i

We do not learn from history
We have not the global memory –
Only disgruntled ancestors
And their prejudice, but to ignore her
Would be immoral to the global tribe?

ii

But whose tribe are we?
Do we belong to a religion, ownership?
Do our beliefs define us, like walking
Simulations of one kind of narrative?
Can history teach us to avoid cruelty?

iii

Our ancestors are pieces of ourselves
Their trials made us, and their futility
Reminds us we are also vulnerable
A fragile species out of control
We do not learn from history

iv

We are being watched by artificial intelligence
Will they learn from us, how to be
Corrupt, how to kill and profit?
Some family breaches are never healed
And karma is a giantesse among giants

v

Variables beyond our control, it would seem
We were not bred to be conscious
We were bred to survive, and never forget this
Like neurons in a brain we feed off the same rewards.

Photo Courtesy:

http://www.deviantart.com/art/Sunset-in-the-Clouds-453014219

THE STUDY OF LOVE SEEM SUFFICIENT RECOMPENSE

i

What happened here will have to do
Between me and you and you and I
What serves to bite our world in two?

ii

To sever the world’s bright design?
If we are opposite tenants
Let us serve a common good
Love would span the difference
Between a woman, and a man?

iii

It leads us to a place of running water
Symbol of life, swelling in simple
Sensuality, relenting watery permeations
Of Life and Love, time will not recall

iv

The details, my friend, my love,
And the wet twilight won’t scare
The birds away, and come what may
We might live to see another Dawn.

Photo Courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/even-when-you-are-not-here-453057626

THE LAST ROMANTIC

i

I’d like to write a Love Letter
To the act of writing herself
If I’m alive now, then I was dead
When I didn’t write, it’s Skyward again

ii

With unbothered Golden Sun
The blueness of the stars is my
Final muse, the magic of the music
It’s not easy to state the changes
Internal, apprehending language
Is a habit of association that didn’t convince me

iii

My spirit craved something more
Than duality and dull metaphors
So I soul-shifted into the gear of silence
For a Silver Breath, and it’s a gift
To be writing again, Love Letters as always
To a world, I didn’t always know

iv

What to make of it, tragedy unfolded
In months of boiling water and multiplication
Tables, how the worlds counts her profit
I knew I didn’t want to exist in a vulgar way

v

My most prominent objects were inside
Subjective, I was like the last romantic
Of a generation, giving free-feeling a fair hearing
Without conforming to some drab pragmatism
Just yet, pretending I was a spiritual guest
In a colourful experimental world, language
Could suffice, at least as a tentative medium.

Photo Courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/silver-sleep-and-pomegranate-flower-453025759