Paths

There are, but, many ways to get,
To the Divine.
A path here, a path there..
But there is none a path so clear, and pristine,
Like the path within.

Magical gardens

Among gardens vast and open,
Mysteries unfold themselves in ways
Our veins are intertwined with the melodies of the universe.

An evening's tea

Under shadows green and mean, I sip an elixir, white and clean.

Revival

Midnight moonlight
Dark embers befall these eyes.
I yearn to see you where I never did find
A hope, a lost longing, hidden and found.

To, Paulo Freire

How do I ever thank you
How do I ever re-think
You have already written
You have already re-written
You have already won
All of me
All of me

Think again

Dreaming.
Is not an activity.
It is a systematic productivity..
Of assimilated education.
Of an unconscious sleeping
Blissful soul.