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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In the vast plains of time, where the wind is lost
Man, with curious eyes, gazes at the horizon
And in the infinity of the sky, which stretches beyond being
Possibilities blossom, like stars in a distant night

What will become of me, in the paths of chance?
Which road, by the moonlight, will stretch before my step?
I feel in my chest the pulsing desire of a vast dream
But doubt, like fog,...

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man is a display of man
man is a outer display
space is a outer display of man
space is a outer display of the universe
the universe is a display of the universe
the universe is a display of man
man is mankind display

man of space,man of display,man of mankind
outer space,outer mankind,outer focus
mankind focus on mankind
a focus space is a focus man
a focus space is a focus universe
...

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I don't have the vocabulary to describe it
because there are no words in any language
that would do it justice

"hopefully we have a very long time before that happens"

it hit me.
im very likely going to spend the last half of my life 
on the outside of what i want,
looking in at what i deserve.
wondering if that will be me next.
will you be in someone elses eyes?
and how that perso...

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In the fair of emotions, I lose my way
Among fruits and laughter, a mystery at play
Your eyes, like ripe avocados, invite me to peel
To take a chance, to discover what’s real

I want to know what love is
If it’s samba on sidewalks or a sorrowful fizz
Is it dancing in rain or a dream that won’t last?
A wish for the future, a tie to the past?

The clock ticks away, but my heart skips a bea...

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Time poses as a ticking god

Engaged in forward creep,

And is revered by billions

Who rise, work, love and sleep.

But time is mere illusion,

Predictable and crass;

Relaxing on its lounger,

It makes us look an ass.

We race to catch the morning train

And stay late for the boss,

But when we need the slightest break,

Time will not give a toss.

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Tears Of Nostalgia 

When will incessant rains will stop its sorrow,

when the deadlines of late assessments deepen the thoughts flow..

Thought after thought, with flourish and flow of

One's fond memories they keep inside their soul 💘🌬️

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In the first second
infinite sensory overload
will begin, download it
and then this
thought process …
it is up to you to utilize
the central nervous system’s data

our own eye of the storm
strike like
lightning …
fast reflexes at the hands
of centered command

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All we have is time

and what comes down the line.

Don’t ever think it’s more complex than this.

Though the universe - it has no end,

and there is more than one my friend,

too many to be counted. Get the drift?

For we live in eternity,

each day a fiber in a string

that goes on for forever in both ways.

So use the only thing you have -

your choices, for t...

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What is a day but a measure in time 

don’t you hear your own clock chime 

You might think it's not so simple 

So refuse to act on this impulse 

just to think of what others may say 

But now is the time to seize the Day 

Your future is earths worm food

For our life can’t be renewed 

Our ashes will be left behind 

That's how it's all designed 

So live the life you ...

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mankind evolve into a minute
mankind evolve into mankind
creativity evolve creativity
creation evolve into creation
creativity evolve into creation
beginning with time is beginning with creativity
a minute is a minute with creativity

time is a minute with creativity
a minute of creation is a minute of creativity
creation is mankind creation
creation is mankind creativity
creation is m...

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‘Time passes,’ said the man at our table.

‘People want something new.’ I guess he’s right.

It's the prevailing theory round here.

‘The same old faces,’ opined another;

‘You know, Zelensky. Always wants money.’

And ‘here’ is anywhere, maybe everywhere.

Time passes. All of us know that feeling:

You turn a new page in a calendar

Or put away Christmas decorations.

At cricket...

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every day
it’s all
the same.

together, it blurs. coagulates.
fills furrow-trod brain grooves
like grout. experience withers

on the vine, in the leaves, leaves
little brittle dust-skeletons
decomposing on the bathroom tile

so deficient they can’t grow a garden—
only this greying grieving heaving
metastasising mass breathing

again again again
once more once more
the same the sa...

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