Why is it
that The Poet
gets along
quite well
with queers?
Is it because
in some, of yet,
unopened closet..
The Poet finds
direct affiliation
with the community
mentioned here?
The truth is
less straightforward
than it may appear.

Nayy,
The Poet’s wisdom
isn’t all too joyful …

Why does the bite
of the mad gadfly
sting?
Because
it opens up a door
for you to painfully rethink..
your own relationship
to the unthinkable.

The so called
“good and just”
would claim
the gadfly
is The Devil!
the corruptor
of impressionable
youths, but nayy..
For, it is
the …

The greatest privilege
that we may offer
to each other
and ourselves,
it seems..
would have to be
the privilege
to unapologetically
dream.

Because in order
to accomplish
anything of worth
at all..
one must have faith
that he is strong enough
to climb the tallest summit
and not fall …

Nobody had to teach us
how to cry.
All of us do it
when we are first born.
Some of us do it
even on our deathbed..
Have you
ever wondered..
why?

We cry as babies
for our parents..
when some need
or whim of ours
goes unmet.

We cry …

A stronger body
is a vessel
for a stronger will.
By maximizing
its capacity to live..
you heal.

To make your
living body
better capable
of living up
to many challenges
that lie ahead..
it is your duty
to transfigure it
into your strongest ally..
and your closest friend.

Because …

A bird in your hand
is worth two
in the sky.
Why is that?
Because the bird
you hold already
loves you, silly,
that is why.
It has seen
your many struggles..
and the times
when you were weak
and misbehaved
and cried.

Because already
it effectively elicits
for you …

You may love me
or you may hate me.
You may choose
to keep me in your life
or to forsake me.
You may admire me
or, at the very least,
the strange finesse
with which I play
my fiddle, night and day..
or you may detest
both me
and …

so many people
would much rather
keep it quiet..
than speak it loud!
when nobody else
may even listen..
when their heart
is overfilled
with doubt.
and especially
when reputations
are at stake..
so many people
choose to
shrink themselves
and play it fake.

well.. I am not
among them …

indeed,
dear muses..
though my name
may not be
quite Anubis..
and though
it isn’t Ra,
there’s still
a bit of fission
in me left.
one thing
is certain though:
I am become Death!
the creator of nostalgia.
reckless inducer
of wanton cardialgia.

it is as if,
not …

The Two Observers are back! To raise the bar.. To once again strike at the heart of what it truly means.. to observe. This age-old mystery has haunted us ever since we became observant of the truth.. the truth of ourselves being the observers. I observe; therefore, I am the …