Lake George -NY

Magician.

A jester like the magician is lonely in his craft, but gives the illusion of wonderful company.

To my beloved.

Now the moon is full,

The winding path, 

More lost,

Like the memory,

Of a dream recalled,

To the waking, song.

The river gushes, 

To the bottom,

of the ravine, a plunge,

To the depths,

With a raging noise.

To a fallen lover,

Solid and flung;

A beating heart to the nightly moans.

And the dagger 

Draws blood in silence,

As I bleed in water,

Behold, the grandeur, 

Through my shining eyes,

The forgetful smile, 

Of my beloved!!

Lost to the memory,

of her beloved, 

singing my song, 

To her forgotten love ...

My obscure sentences.

Almost everyone, I know, finds my words inaccessible. Except a few I call friends, and gratefully so.


My expression reaches those that have walked the same alley just the number to times enough to bypass the route altogether; not those who are still finding their way to their alley.


In your dance only a dancer can understand the expression while the rest are carried by the force of expression in disjointed discovery. Then there are those that walk out of your performance, who do you really dance for? Whose technique of dance is it really? How can you find your expression in the technique of another? Is that a compromise or in-consequential?


If my moves were accessible to everyone; where is my art  of chess? Do I play for you? What am I, a toad, a commonplace for your wishful thinking?


To catch a thought is to breath in the air accessible to you; but do you know there is no vacuum to fill in the lungs?


You don't have to buy my expression, for I am selling none, maybe you are blind to the connections.


Don't see the connections, please don't, I like you as you; and yes let me be me. All judgement is invalidated if you haven't run the mile to reach the milestone. You miss the context, but that is my your problem. Please make me care!


For if you can't I won't care to speak your language. And if that makes us strangers, so be it! I am not a self that can't sustain obscurity. Just so you all know.


There are no empty sentences; absolutely nothing you can fake in expression like you have taught yourself to do. A commonplace where one has learnt to talk in cliches.


Thanks, but no thanks.


One of us has to stop kidding oneself; thankfully, I have; and I'd rather you don't till you feel like.


My obscure sentences!

Understanding separation of
This space of insides
That is vast from that of
outsides.

I cannot,
May be this is why
it is so
That what is seen in the
insides is
always the opposite of
outsides.

The unsung song
somewhere lost to me
stays lost
this life without hope
now is extraordinary.

The Mind Twists And Turns, Runs And Jumps Only To Find Itself In Relationships.

It is the how - the how I look at myself that is the Story of my freedom and bondage. The question is what limits my Actions?

Words flowing from universe
To an open mind
That which is shaping
You
In your verbal self

Do your best to deny
Deny your love
Your dream
Your passion
Your existence
Your reality

What is it?
If I can't find
Consciousness
If I can't see a morning
If I can't communicate
the true nature of reality
Outside of self or
From inside the self

Here is what I do
With what I get.

Would you touch my
Heart and
Set me free

Write me on your
Wall
Look it is same as you
The content and the process
Same all the time

A phonograph
Mine and yours
Never in the middle
I believe that I was
That you were

As we melt,
What would happen to my story,
A park waits,
For us to walk in.

I Just Thought About Doing It

If there was nothing to say
No one to talk to
What would happen of the mind
How would it look upon the entirety
Would it see itself separated
Or would it see the entirety as
limitless
This I the ultimate subject
It could never be a dream
For it unfolded
After a game of hide and seek

Could I describe the captured
Seeing the eye
And then find words to
Sing to a blind me

I feel and why did
I stop myself
To be a dreamer
A dreamer
Yes the water was always wet
Knowing me in that
endless limitations

The reflection in the retina of an eye or the lens of a camera is opposite to what is being viewed, this is the point where time is created.