The wind blows through the palm trees
like someone passing by without a sound,
but leaves the trace of its presence
in the song of the birds.

The sun is already low,
and the earth, warm, breathes slowly.
Each step is a reminder
that time is a road that doesn't turn back.

Life is made of small gestures:
the worker’s embrace,
the child's smile,
the gaze of the woman who makes a home a...

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A lonesome vagabond

Whistled away through his life-

Through autumn, summer and the cruel cold.

He lived a life, so kind, so benign, 

Myriad pathways he could've chosen.

Pathways adorned with petals of roses,

But a bed of roses would've given him no thrill 

Through summer fever and winter chills.

Today he lies in moth-devoured drapes,

At the edge of the very road that gra...

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Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,

And both that...

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Could You Find Reason
With What I’ve Done,
Even If I Hide The Truth?

Would You Believe
All I’ve Become
Is Everything I Wanted To?

A Couple Times
We’ve Grown-Up
And You’re The Only One I Wanted Too.

Forever Young
Is Holding
On To You.

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Road crashes are every minute 
Here and there, in every point 
More than a million killed a year 
And speed is death, no doubt 

“Drive Safely” is only choice 
ٍSafety belt, has no "price" 
Come back safe for the family 
We live "once", not twice 

Road is not real excuse 
But the behavior is a main cause 
For crashes all over that world 
No more anger .. no abuse
 

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In cloaks of words I wrap myself against the weather
Storms I conjured up as punishment.
Hands full of swords thrusting up out of the earth
The round route I take.  Gazelles return again
To the brink, to drink.  And me? To think.
So I skirt mans burning fire, hyena lurking
Laughing in the dark.  A great arc I make
Like a dim sun at the end of his leash
Scribing the day across the sky...

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For Robert Watson Not so much walking, as rocking side to side, each step an inch at most, like a wind-up toy.  It's a long hallway, but it's early yet.  Boiled vegetable puree and chicken broth again.  Everything hurts.  Most of all, the children.  Sleepless nights, unawakened days.      Brethren will come when it's too late.  there's nothing left but to linger.  The road ahead is grim, thi...

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