Poets have no dreams

Poets have no dreams
They die before their words prevail
No verses could sing their praise
Be it ever suffice

Pilots have no dreams
They crave only the sky
What consist of no edge
Can never be broken

I have no city
As no city has me
One step away
From that city inside me

The Ecology of Hope

Some spared life gave birth to the ootheca

That yield hatchlings translucent and pure,

What seems colorless jams then thrive at scraps and odds. 

Meeting days' ends, meeting each other never again. 

Scrabbling on their journeys to the end of catacomb,

Spreading here and there, spreading down to a handful. 

Cherished less by even fewer,

Cling by resilient existence, refuse to be forgotten,

Lurking in the corner of the darkest, 

Holding its breath for another breath, 

for light, for another day to thrive. 

Waiting for the day, ere too late,

Someone spot it, recognize it

As the weathered hope someone once hold. 

To Those Brave Souls

See those paper? Those remnants of prayers
They were pulled from my shelf,
Torn from off the Golden Book I cherish.
They swirls and circling over my home ablaze.
I see you attempt to cease its dance
Running to capture that relic
Of my sacred loyalty.
Mad with frenzy anger
Your face distorted with heat.
They are not just paper, you see
Nor are they merely relics that
Emblem my undying identity
When this life you take from me,
When every atom in me dispersed as I perish
You will forever more breathe the particles of my immortal faith.
So, these words I pronounce to you,
To shake every cell in you and to remind you:
“Remember, I am a Baha'i!"
"Every atom in me are thus named! ”

wings unleashed

Come fly! come fly with me!

Come join frolic into the free space with me,

and feel the wind rushing through your face

Come now! and stop calling me!

Come! ere the dusk fall and stars be my company

I sing and call for you to take flight,

taste the joy of flying with me.

Why are you still calling?

Why not spread your wings? you have not?

Then it is all too right for me to indulge,

for your share as well

in soaring through the open field.

lasted night

I look at the night sky, find none but Moon and Jupiter
in search for that whisper haunting me,
from eternity it derive
to eternity linger,
"Now is never here to stay," it seem to say
"It flees to every next moment"

"I know!"said I, with feeble reply
"I know now."

630720000 seconds

20 years=240 months=7300days=175200 hours=10512000 minutes=630720000 seconds.

I don't use the word "soul"

just like "love", both vastly over used

the word "passion" means but shame

of a mortals like me could easily commence

sometimes after 20 years, perhaps

I'll gain words to venture the land of poems

but as of now words flee

for shelters away from ambiguity

they too, are fear of the infidels

who fiddle the reign of His mighty cause,

and claim all their callings righteous.

perhaps a word a day shall suffice it

to gain my words in 20 years.

to sleep

Words vanished,
Thoughts escaped,
I dare another notion
will challenge my resting bed.
All asleep now, as I lay
my solitary in dreams to find
free from this cage in which I reside