An Era Of Clandestine Golden Coins


These days we see it differently
The ambiance of the sun is spotting
She is bleeding afternoons differently
Like a dove’s flight in a countryside late afternoon
The pictures are about breeze

In the city with an empty stomach
Always aching for the frequency of nature
It’s a heathen country, to be born in Beijing
The drinking waters’ contents are secret to us
Chancing to query at the impossible odds

I ask for directions, in a direction-less world
With only the scripts they give us
These days I see it differently
When am I to find the higher way
When the world is a sold-out search engine

It reminds me of death, the corporate-system
These people will be replaced with clones
And will not know the difference, believing
Themselves to be unique, it’s a different genealogy
I know more kinsman left by love unconditionally

Their lives a routine of pre-defined conditions
Everyone has become a fill-in, like migrant workers
Beautiful women barter the calendar of every day.

We All Arrived from Grandmothers


3

How noteless is this life
The Real is an instinct of locality
All a question of proximity
And sense to spirit integration

I’ve forgotten all odes familiar
Whims to bloom, and buttercups to smell
I’ve spurned Daises and rules of Noon
With Recollection of your numbness

How irreverent and cordially anonymous
Is every moment from the next
That fancy and sunrise
Are simply doors left ajar

This world a simulation of requests
That you disdain men, and I find women
Like Oxygen, necessarily toxic.