Lost

Each day we hear silent groans,

Lived ruthless dreams, and were lost

In every ray of the rising sun,

What it is we may not know.

Every day is a sad day, just negative, 
Winds are dreadfully whistling,
The sun is heartlessly gleaming.

They reveal secrets and lies.

What a place to live these days.

With innocence gone and love lost.

Sin is taught on the street night and day
And hearts are covered in frost and stones.

We call for wars and go for wars.
No life matters in our backyard

No one is taking blame to save a life, 
Just pushing for fame in the game

Advanced as we are to the world,
We're still untamed and insane
Too much pride, too much ego
Too many mistakes, too many turpitudes.

We hurt others, in the desert-fields
Betray brothers, who trusted our values

And lies harshly feed what we preach
And our hearts know no honey.

Children abandoned, and maimed everyday
Lonely and stranded they walk on the streets

They need a guide, but who cares to look
And we deny it, and reject it with holiness.

Throughout the years, in all alleys
Innocent bloods are shed and more spilled.
We take from the poor, to enrich the rich

And behind lies we hide without shames.

We're loving no more, but who cares.

We're all wasting the life like flies.
We no longer enjoy the sights of neighbors.

Where do we go for peace when the world is dead?

Phone Calls from Home

I still receive phone calls and emails mostly from

cracked-up friends caught up in huge dreams, with no hope,

just booze and crazy American madness.

Most of their calls are flashes—“Call me back.”

They want some recognition of where they are

and it’s true, I was there, worse off than most of them.
but I wonder if they realize when their callS arrive?

When I’m dead in the library, when I am frozen in asleep.

They talk of a long driveway leading
to a four car garage, rose garden, blue skies, fruit trees,
beautiful women, a new car each month, red carpet freeways

and dream of fairy-tales in America the beautiful.

I’m 69 years old now and can’t go on retirement;

Oh! How much this flesh had to suffer, yet cannot die;

Hmm! How much this heart had to bear, yet cannot break;

raises questions that these painful tears cannot tell.

I still receive their phone calls and emails.

One came this morning when I was shuddering

At the surgeon’s knife, searching for quivering life
but death chooses its own time; not till all evils are borne.

Is the Price Right?

Marry in gray, and you’ll go lost far from home,

Marry in black, and you’ll wish yourself back home,
Marry in brown, and you’ll live out of town forever
Marry in red, and you’ll wish yourself dead
Marry in pearl, and you’ll live in a whirl every day.

Marry in green, and you’ll be ashamed to be seen,
Marry in yellow, and you’ll be ashamed you did,
Marry in blue, and you’ll know he won’t always be true,
Marry in pink, and your spirits will sink and stink,
Marry in white, and you’ll know you have chosen alright.

Marry on Sunday and you’ll feel sorry forever

Marry on Monday and you’ll mar thy days

Marry on Tuesdays and you’ll twist your life

Marry on Wednesday and you’ll wed the ignorant

Marry on Thursday and you’ll turn blue

Marry on Friday and you’ll fry your heart

But, marry on Saturday and you’ll be soaked in something.

Is the price right?

Do the math.

Which Way, Lord?

Staring out into the ocean, with no land in sight,

The world seems so vile ‘cause here and now,

It’s just me and Elyon my hope.

Often, I raise my hands in supplication,

In search of some direction,

To seek clarity in every purest ambition.

The wind and water hit my face, like pellets of reminders,

They tell me the air and water I depend on can hurt me

Just as much as they can nourish me.

Yet still, I hold on to them. I can’t let them go,

Because as much as they hurt at each step

And as much as they nourish, I have nothing else.

And I need them to understand my journey.

The Love of Elyon is pure, yet it comes with pain and pleasure

And we’re told it’s for lessons and satisfaction on the journey.

So, here I stand alone staring out into the ocean,

With no land in sight, it’s only the air and water I depend on.

With nothing in hand, I stand beneath the wings of seagulls.

Logosu, tell me, when the New Year comes to my door

Will my words need plumbers though I rest under his shelter?

Or I’ll need carpenters to reshape how I sit at my place?

THE STORM OF LIFE

Into every life a little rain must fall. How we deal with that rain is what determines our future. Sometimes humanity shines brightest under inhumane conditions, because from nauseating humus springs the most beautifully flourished lilies of our valleys. So, when the storm of life ravages through your world, you must not throw in the towel and give in to tears. Instead, reexamine your steps in life and chart a new roadmap for your existence. Remember, our life is an accumulation of our past, both good and bad. So, too, is the way we see it. That is why an unexamined life is not worth living. At times, we all search for meaning in our lives, often in vain. Perhaps the answer is not to find meaning, but to give it, its meaning. I say this because, life is filled with choices, and where we call "home" or your “workplace” is just one of them. How you design your house to be a home to fit your lifestyle, your taste and stature or personality in this world is your own choice. In making or redesigning your “home,” remember in times of desperation, what we seek cannot be easily found. It is in those desperate moments that our lives move from dreams to nightmares regardless what we do. But then, we must not be discouraged. We must just make anew each day of our lives by brightening each corner of it. Have you noticed that life doesn't just exist? By definition, it lives. And that inevitably means growth. Above all, be yourself. What we call life is a long series of discrete events, all leading to one all-important discovery. And what we call misery in life is relentless until you seek to silence it by finding harmony within ourselves and the world around us. I have come to believe that we are often shaped as much by the pain in our life as well as by the joys. And your pain, no matter how real, is but a small drop in an ocean of all miseries. So, set your eyes on tomorrow. And note, if life is like a rose, then what about the thorns? So, cheer yourself up. No one will do it for you. Let us pray.........

My Prayer

long as the morning sun rises from the east,
the Light that wakens man and beast
the Hand that pats the shoulder

and restores light and hope in every soul
the Arm that darkness can never deface
will take man through another day
draw his soul from every slumber
walk him through every burning wood
He will tender the furrowed cheek
brace the weary soul
to catch the dew of another dawn
He will nestle the broken-hearted
bathe the despairing in the warmth of hope
till there are smiles again
like the petals of a morning flower