Category: Poems


On the seventh day, we should have rested, cradled in the seventh realm of our heart, the choir of all souls we should  have heard, we should have lived the bliss of breathing light. Bewildered by a myriad of stars, our eyes have drowned into their milky shine; their fast pulsating orbs, our heart pulled

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The waltz

If perfect triads twist our mind, reality is waltzing   (on earth as it is in heaven) while one plus two plus three is always six, a double three (the rhythm of our steps) in perfect harmony with our spirits (unfolding symphonies of senseless sounds) filling the gaps between the words (a seamless canvas paints).

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