hymns to a to a lost god,
they sang, all knees, down,
they forgot the stories of the sun,
which rises and sets in the inside.

a prophet,
son of the ancient ones, rose,
a fire burning inside of him, he wrote,
rhymes of hymns of the forgotten beam from the east.

he walked,
a spear in his hand,
through the jungle and plains,
he drunk only from the deep fountain.

a child of the land,
he had stories, of old,
he spoke of what was in dreams beyond the shore,
for he saw it all, a turtle, he said time winds like a wild vine.

his eye,
burned in deep blue,
he drunk deep from the sun,
from the deep; he knew the words of Spirit.

with his hand,
he fought the tempter of the false world,
for he knew the true words, the keys to worlds,
the old Gods visited his sleep dreams, he journeyed the in-between.

he warned,
speaking at the cross road,
time to wake has come, he said,
to the earth he prayed, in the mountains he stayed. 

funguo la roho,
ninayo mengi kusema, somo,
la penzi, penzi la muumba inayo heri,
maandishi kwenye kuta la roho, ninayo semi.

mshairi mwenye siri,
napanda mlima ndo nipate tafsiri,
paa kama tai na suti, lolwe twasema sudi,
songa karibu, skiza hadithi za sangoma.

saa ya ngoma,
skiza sauti, wanalia kifo cha maji,
mjini na jini, maandishi zao paa la sahau,
wanyunyuzi wa giza, anga si lao, wachukuzi,
biashara ya uhuni ndo zao, mshairi mi ntasema.

kwenye arthi natema, 
maji la Maa moyoni nateka,
nawaletea hadithi za bahari, ukoo ni tangu zamani,
si ni wenye arthi -maji na misitu, wenye rangi na mikuki.

mbegu zao chuki,
riwaya zangu ni za upendo,
pokea na mpee, hii ni usawa wa Maa,
sahau tafsiri la saa, mlimani mi ntakaa, kaakaa,
kwa hizi mistari niwakumbushe undugu na utu, toka laini za kura. 

mshairi mi nasema,
wakati ni huu, simama wima,
skiza kwa kina, wenye uongo wanaondoka,
Maa anadondoka arthini na hasira la kumbusho,
skiza kimya, kumbuka ukoo, maumau ndo nyota inaongoza hii safari.

mtoto wa Maa,
kumbuka misitu, fungua pendo la roho,
kumbuka nyumbani, ukoo la uhuru wa pendo,
kama hadithi za babu, funza watoto hizi dhahabu,
panda mbegu za pendo moyoni, tafuta mkuki, usijishugulishe na chuki.

the plains are unending,
stretching from dawn east to the set of west,
brown grass, green accacia, we walk in screech of water,
alters, we burn acacia barks in ceremony to search the deep,
we sip from the cactus for the morning dew.

...

stretching my eyes,
the plains are unending,
like the dream, free and untamed,
here, we nomad, jumping into the chaos.

its morning,
the orange has announced itself,
facing east, the sun is touching my eyes,
from this height, I see the trees waving to a high.

birds sing for heaven,
golden keys for the waking dreamers,
morning rushes with deep slowness, like a beautiful high,
the drugons that live here in a different stream call the plains heaven.

...

we are children of the sun,
we came from the sun, nomads,
travelling across streams, we guard the elephants,
the plains carry our huts, we drink from the plants,
we burn acacia barks to search the deep, we have maps of the in-between.

we carry spears, 
not as weapons, they help us navigate the dream,
the water has our ears, we dance outside when rain falls in cheer,
our souls touch the earth, each step is a story of 1000 lineages,
our blood carry stories of the ancient like the bible.

I wrap these words,
for you, little one, as a present,
the earth has smiled on you, reminding you, 
it cycles, a story of eternity, let the rivers of life guide you,
like the sun, we give and receive moment to moment.

find words of wisdom in this,
like birds that sing, with joy beaming,
never cease to praise Spirit, you will never be lost in the seaming,
read these words when you wake up from the dreaming, truth is the only meaning.

a child of the sun,
the land treasures stories in your feet,
to the east, whispers of the mau mau and maji maji flow,
rebels for freedom, flow like water, be conscious of the waves you create,
stand tall like the trees, grounded, ready to listen to the wind pray.

to the north,
children of the pyRamids live,
they carry stories of the stars, play with them,
the west has tribes that walked with the ones from the dog star,
in the south live the sungomas, they tell stories of the serpent man. 

hold your head up, child,
the games we play as children tune our bodies,
learn about the ones that walk before you, they gift wisdom,
look into the sun, outside and your inner sun, you will know,
learn the words of the poet, for they are doors and windows.

treasure guidance.
your days will be well, honor the land,
for it births a well, the stories we tell, the dances, the songs,
are all for the motherland, listen to the drums in your heart.

see oneness,
for everything is everything, 
find love in this, for all you do,
love like the sun, loom like the moon,
fear has no place in your heart, it is a shadow
of the arrow, Spirit is the archer, find balance like Ma'at,
and your flight will be of grace.

birthed in the house of the rising sun,
my clan serves the great Spirit as prophets ,
we fight to maintain the natural flow of life,
beyond time, we travel, nudging stories up and higher.

I am a child of mystery,
I jump between dreams, my inception,
the house of the rising sun,
my tribe, a family of dreamers,
we journey in the rivers of eternity,
to maintain the sacred flow of life.

our hearts,
beat to the rhythm of the one,
we serve in guidance and strength.
protecting the knowledge of old,
in the fold of love, we learn the mysteries,
bringing forth the dreams of Spirit.

our feet,
dances to the rhythm of the wind,
a song of whispers, we write as it sings.
tales of worlds, with these words,
we tell new stories when the old are forgotten. 

I remember the turquoise green.
the hue of my mother's womb,
her heart beating like the earth,
her blood flowing like the waters of life,
I am birthed to travel the secret rivers.

***

in the depth of dawn, where time and space still, I follow the silence, like a moving wind, I free myself with wings flying into a beautiful abyss where this silence becomes the breath of Spirit.

across eons it has been called the great Spirit, from whom all life is, not separate from life, but is life.  the electric feel of love that gives all the aliveness of life, the breath of the great cycle of giving and receiving.  Spirit is the ocean of dreams.

I am a traveler of dreams, a crowing knowmad. this is my diary of rhymes and tales, I'll tell you stories that are keys to doors, the doors of dreams.

***

a poet, an engineer

10-28 is what the jumpers call a civilization ready to jump to a higher frequency, advance into a higher state of being. 

I find myself in one, memories of operations on sea and land wake in my mind when I listen to morning's silence.  seated on a chair, a book on the table, smell of the after rain, my mind keeps ringing to a word, seeding.  seeding is what the jumpers call assisting a civilization remember how to jump higher.

nairobi in the 1980's moves like a retro film, bell bottoms is the aesthetic. benga played in the air,  nam lolwe is always the priest of dance and poetry. the old stories are buried in the ground with the blood of invasion, you will remember the ancient ones, Spirit says.

a poet and a rebel, in the nights I write, during the day I work as an engineer, pipes, roads, houses, I mold the dream. I move through the seam, time is not what you think, I have told you about trains, there's a field of railways, you can switch ways through frequency, the field has its own mechanics to balance trains. 

my mission in the 80's is to place a book in the right place, for somewhere else I'll look for it. the book of the sun, the poet calls it, I met the poet in a mad-house in paris,  he had interesting stories, he told me about the day of the sun. when the harvest is ready, the sun will appear, he said. 

***

this morning marks the day I am finding the book, I have already traced it to a private collection of a state family. the family is donating books to a library and it will be among them. the library is already packed with photographers for news, I find a seat and the whole scene is in my view, I see them but I am not in their view. events proceed, finally I see the book,  a history lesson is given on how it is from the old world, the stories buried. 

camera flashes and all smiles, they all go outside the library. the book is still in my view, I just need to move it across the street. calmly, I get the book,  using a back entrance to access outside,  I cross a road and enter house 95. 

  

here,
I found a new rhythm,
a new flow, glow of gold,
orange in form, like the sun beyond the dome,
soul dancing to the divine, movement of grace,
stories, I tell of prayer, depth of Spirit and rave.

the air is humid, heavy with melancholy of a life that wants to remembered and a few words, all feeling like electricity before words of poetry. I am moving, to where ? I ask. everything is moving, life, dreams, love and short afternoons.  its all a maze. 

I am losing grip with each morning, losing bits of myself in the moving. work, work has become a burden more than a solution, don't get me wrong, I love the writing, photography and interviews, they are stilling, I find a calm rhythm in them, problem is the office, it is stealing my dreams, siphoning my energy, never satisfied.

train rides in the morning and evening are soul warming, I get to see numerous plays, the market women in lesos, office men in khakis, the interesting ones are the strangers, not strangers to the city, but the ones who have woken up from the moving. some days I am jealous of the strangers, others I am intrigued. 

this small desk in the corner of my bed sized bedroom takes my nights, here, I sharpen my pen, 1000 words like 1000 swings of a sword the master says. with these word I travel in my mind and find treasures. 

generally, I feel stuck in a loop that seems to never end, and I am losing the will to jump out of it with each morning. 1931, angola.  the state is fitting its web around the country. wars in the shadows, cold war, they call it, they try to squeeze themselves into every pipe that runs the country for the next 71 years. all this is noise, politics and its wars don't concern me, unless there's a story to write for the state's newspaper. the only thing that concerns me is my small desk.  

***

today's train is colorful, the market women are talking about a slow economy, the office men are talking about headlines in the news, for a newspaper writer I really I'm out of loop with news, the strangers are lost in wonderings, they seem to be on missions, the ravers, they are hearing musings of benga from kenya and rhumba from congo, they are speaking swahili,  poetic swahili, a beutiful language I might say, I know it from my travels in mombasa, they are playing music from a radio and dancing, their smiles carry this peace of letting go. 

through my window, evening is setting in with patience. the city hasn't filled the horizon yet, I see trees and hills, it is a port city, atlantic the new maps say. the state owners came through here to invade the country, they came with stick's that spit fire, they landed here with ships. seasons have passed since their arrival, this was always a city, different aesthetics after the state owners came. 

the train has stopped, the train station and the railway were here before the state, they modified the trains and tried to write a different narrative. the station is neglected,  crows are crying in corners with no lights, pick-pockets ready to snatch anything lose, floors with dirty water, I did a story once here about a lost dog. the night is peaceful outside, the sky is hopeful for new story.

this path to my house is where I always get inspiration, the trees, the breeze and the birds. ah, three crows on tree, never seen one on this path. before the city, I was in the village, in the forest, not deep in the forest though, I got education when the state came, according to my linage, I am a storyteller, the tribe entrusts me with stories to keep and teach. I was given the stories, but then the great war happened, they fought with mud because we were mad men, we ate and drunk from nature, I was a little boy then.

there's a story about three crows on a tree, the ancient ones say the shaman will appear  with words foe the knowmad. 

***

a few steps from the tree with the crows, a violet light filled my space, it blinked seven times and vanished. looking up, I see three moons, one to the east, one to the west, one at the center of the sky.  walking on, the path leads me to a shrine, it had architecture from my tribe, with ancient markings, it is alive if you can imagine that. the entrance is curved and open but I cant see inside. 

"ukombe weya, welcome" a voice says. 

stepping inside the room, a yellow warm light touches my skin like the morning sun, a man with a beautifully feathered cloth sits across me, the space is circular, the light is coming from an orb. the man is wearing a mask, he's sitting on a stool with a cup in his hand. 

"drink this young one, you will go where you remember a different past, you will remember how to crow." he says giving me the cup

I took a sip. 

"don't be afraid to tell your stories" the man says.  

ocean deep,
I feel the waves, sweet,
the melody dreams, for air, for being,
it travels through seams, shadows and light,
like jazz, it paints in hues of emotions.

the motions,
like a train wheel on steel,
feel the breeze, the peace, it sings,
deep in Spirit, the depth of dreams,
do you feel ? this is knowing of the sun.

like a fan,
span, like a loom,
time and space are yours to moon,
dance with grace, the eternal race, thousands a face,
to play in the trains of dreams, pray for the golden stream.

ocean of dream,
I swim, round and round,
up and lighter, the sun's ray guide my swim.

a thousand dreams,
the poet said, an ocean of streams,
row row your boat, its all a dream.

all that seams, all that breathes

the ocean is the dream, the dream is breath,
you are the vase, does the Shu fit ?
do you dance in prayer ?
do you water the ocean with your streams ?

ocean deep,
through, I sip, seeping through dreams,
some I wake in the dream, some I seek, mystery,
and my tribe, the crowing knowmads, for them these stories I scribe.

1931/1913

whenever, wherever,
you drift into, deep is the dream,
in the deep of counted days and targets to reach,
the sun shines still, there's a ray that reaches through, that's your anchor to the golden stream.

there's a flame,
it burns inside my vase,
ancient and untamed, it burns in love and rage,
holy and uncaged, it flaps its wings and the embers pray.

dance and you will be untamed it says

there's a dance,
it moves my feet for me to see,
and feel the fire inside of me, it prays,
for the depth of Spirit, and movement in grace.

after dance I feel thirsty

there's an ocean,
deep, it holds the dream,
all that be's, all that seams, all that is,
the dream is the dreamer, deep is the ocean. 

the ocean waves like a spider web. there are paths, in these paths, the ocean tells stories, these are the paths trains take. trains can meet other trains in journeys, they meet in train stations.  the knowmad knows where the train stations are, for he has the crow key, the sight to see the in-between. 

days stopped,
months slowed, 
I counted 7, then years were gone,
faces turned into shadows, the air was laden,
with whispers of a place treated wrong, then came the day of the sun.

I remember the details clearly, my heart carried a relief, the machine was done humming, faces turned into shadows of broken time, clocks ticked off, taking more they could count, I stood, no thoughts, eyes stretching across the old and the new that was being birthed.

in another page I will continue the story of the day of the sun, on this page I will tell you about the days in the before. 

I am in the city, escapades, searching for a book, a map on how travel between dreams. memory is a treasure, not memory of yesterday's happenings, but soul memory, stories the sun tells in dreams.

the machine is loud, so too are the prophets of the sun. through their words I remember the crowing knowmad- the traveler and the poet. I remember dreams, the navigator is born.

street 28, building number 95, the book revealed itself in a dream, book 14. the city is moving slowly through this matatu window, the noise and city smell remind me of days I didn't know. my mind is wondering depths of this mystery that woke me up in the dream, a number, 14, pulled the string. this mystery is an ancient knowing of how the dream tells stories.

the city has a strange rhythm to it, its natural rhythm is hidden deep in digitized frequencies. many timelines stacked together, you can get lost in the spiraling, that's why city folks walk fast, to catch moving entrances and exists. the city is a capsule of different eras of time, you can meet the travelers in train stations, hotels and the unseen alleys.

street 28, finally. stepping out of the matatu, grounding my feet on the concrete, the air feels heavy with stuck energy, the clouds have no rhymes. my mission is of restoration.  walking down the street, my eyes searching for 95, like a puzzle, walking through a maze of restaurants, coffee and fried chips, taxis, supermarket music, offices with walls ready to swallow dreams. 

my feet have this recognition of walking this street before, each step echoes a key to a door of memory, different eras. I have been here on my escapedes. building 95, it called out standing next to a crimson phonebooth. three stairs from the street then a curved brown door, it had an old small bell. doors need the right frequency for you to get into the right room. breathing deeply then ringing the bell, the door opened. 

building 95 is not just a building, but a temporal library, a nodal point for the travellers, the knowmads say the building searches for you, you can't find it unless it calls you. the library gives one book only at a time. 

stepping into a yellow walled circular entrance, my eyes meet an old man seated on the front of three beautiful brown doors with ancient markings, writing into an old book using a crow feather. the doors are labelled 14,15 and 16. looking up, "karibu msafiri" the old man announced gesturing me towards him, "  your journey has led you here, the booked called you and you answered, door 14 awaits." he says, gesturing to door 14.  "asante" I tell him as I move towards the door. 

the smell of books pulling me closer to the door, there's a particular scent, golden is the word I can use, it carries warmth and wonder, it's pulling with all its might towards it. close to the door, I breathe and the door opens to a sea of book shelves. see, books are not just words, but portals into worlds-dreams. 

stepping into the room, the golden scent calling my name, my feet halt from wonder. a book appeared in my hands, a green book with the sun on its cover page, no author name. turning the first page, I see 'as high as the sun, catch a frequency. 1425' written. the writing is in a strange language that I understand, the book is a story of the sun, how it remembers dreams. I will tell it to you.



 

13 moons,
the breeze moonsoons,
blew too, the wind moves between leaves,
like holy scriptures, it whispers tales of your breath,
all the stories you tell- of strength, of love,
of open hearts under a stared sky.

13 moons,
you inspire motion,
I feel truth in your words,
weighted, laughter, loved,
the breakage of your heart, the places you serve,
with grace of love and depth of the ocean.

13 moons,
the colors you carry in your hue,
angelic blue, yellow sunning, turquoise green, 
a beautiful scenery , a well of memory, different dreams,
the places we've walked, hands held, jazz felt, hearts of remembrance.

13 moons,
child of the dunes, the ocean live in your heart,
like the ancient spider, you move, webbing stories,
we meet on the cross-roads, to remember eternity,
you carry stars in your palms, for the knowmad's path.

13 moons,
queen of the crows,
red rose of the ascended cross,
the now knows all the boat rows you paint and show,
all the adventures you call from eternity,  25.

13 moons,
soft like a morning,
when rhymes prey my soul,
you are my vision on the road to damascus,
here, you raised the prophet with new sight and crow wings.

the turtle learns from the dandelion. 

many eons ago,
deep in the well of memory,
across the dream ocean,
under a turquoise green sky, Spirit gave me a vision.

my mission was to find keys,
then find doors they ring, for heaven's treasure to fill.

"meet a man," the vision said,
"he walks on the cross-road, he'll guide your flight."

I flew to the cross-road

"release the anchors of load" said the man,
"each door opens a dream, each dream tells a story,
a friend or folly, the key will tell,
the golden key opens the golden dream."

the first key is threshold,
the crow-key, the sight to see rails change, 
and not hold on to identity, but dance with the true sun,
the true orbit of change, " the key cannot be sold" said the man.

chi-zen

the crow is a grandmaster of turtle style,
rhythm of 13, the dance of cycles, breathing with the ocean. 

the poet said, the crow will glow in the dark 

turtle style's longest adversary has been snake style, the dance of 1 and 0, they call themselves priests of the machine. the turtle and the snake have fought for 200 years, the snake has been pushed to a corner awaiting revelation of its defeat.

a student of the turtle knows how to become the ocean, be a droplet, be a cup, be a stream, be a river, a lake or the ocean. the turtle is the ocean, like cycles, it is the octopus, the whale, the dolphin, the algae. the turtle is gentle and powerful, like a butterfly's wing, create a storm or peace.

I met a man, a shaman,
he told me stories, these stories were memories,
he said the crow sees between dreams,
before anything seams, the crow holds the key to the train station.

the trains are dreams,
these trains can dance with elasticity, not just electricity, 
they can bend, converge, split and diverge,
the crow can fly across and between trains.

the shaman told me "become the crow young one, learn the way of the turtle and become the chi-zen.

14 men, fishing, 
shifting, mashifta, 
tuna shift system, man keys, 
hunter ndo hunt, ant kwa hill, 
sieving truth from illusion ndo skill. 

hadithi, hadithi, 
mi ni msoo nikiwa kwa izi pages, 
ages, mhenga bila miaka, paka, 
maisha tisa, usii tii saa, illusion, 
tuition, unalipa kukua brick kwa wall. 

hall, amentis,
purified thoughts, praying mantis, 
man-keys, mi ndo mlango ya temple, 
high priest, service ni life, cervix ndo line, 
cycles ni tisa, sifa kwa muumba for this high. 

nyumba yangu yai, 
the chicken or the egg, end ni beginning, 
meaning, cycles ni eternal, time ni now, 
thao ya millennium, kuna ages wali drown, 
amnesia, ka una feel hizi rhymes then you know my frown. 

truth ni crown, 
up ni down, inversion, 
waezi ona past opposites, hao, 
parasites wa love, creation aiko kwao, 
blessed generation, lineage ndo owners wa earth na si wao. 

crow ndo tribe, 
height ndo sight, to see the hive, 
a snake with many heads, many men, 
business men, service yao ni death na debt, 
pride yao ni lack na desire ya consumption, 
loop bila end, jungle yao ni concrete na cooperations. 

operation, deep plumb, 
mi si meek, but niko down for ink, 
to spill, blood na rhymes za beast, east, 
ndo rais, praises to the most high niko kwa sky, 
price ya heart ni freedom, ata waki tag blood na vaccines. 

vacancy, join the crew, 
tuko kwa ice tuna move through, 
beyond the four walls, halls ya truth, 
baptism ni rememberance, we are one, not two, 
faces ni true, builders wa school, art ni truth, individuality too. 

child of the winds ka shu, 
gideon boots ndo shoe, big stepper, 
not just a mere king, a general of fleets, 
na move na ancestors, battalion ni strong, don't test us, 
knowing ka ya yeshua, deep sea na mashua, 
captain ka sparrow, art attack ilikua cupid's arrow. 

in the salted weather, 
evening tether, the breeze felt us, 
I remembered to tell her, 
the stories of the in-between. 

reality it seems, 
exists in the mind and heart, 
what someone desires, is, 
thoughts and wants be, channel thoughts like a stream. 

in the morning weather, 
the cold feather, touching skin like a whim, 
I remembered prayer, not words to lost gods, 
or worries of bygones, but offerings to home in the beyond. 

in the midday sun, 
I danced with trees, high, 
hymns to the sky, between dreams I am, 
arms and eye, high up, praises to the sky, memories I drink. 

to the earth I sing, 
strength of those that walked before me I wield, 
head high, I step, strength of a lion, the wild child is born, 
marrow and bone, I dance to weave like maidens of the loom. 

elephant in the room, 
truth, I am the river running high, 
stories of time - dreams, I breathe, freed, 
the forest chants, connected to all, I am the bee. 

flowers call me by name, 
a levite, I levitate, always now, never when, 
aparrangwen, flowers of strange, 
flowers of beauty, all the same, honeyed nectar. 

sorrow and pain, 
in my hand, all is gold, 
I create, always moving, the stories weigh, 
heart of a feather, dancing with the wind, I say 

hold the golden string, 
time is always now, eye on the golden dream, 
I with the storied wings, I fly beyond the sims, 
a beautiful being, birds of dawn sing of the tartarian dream. 

a song of birds,

where do you flock ?

time forks, fated love.

bits of life sip in,

drunk on tea, smoking trees,

how much does it cost to be free ?

pluck the weeds, feel the breeze.

the poet found power in rhymes,

freedom of words, jumbled sense,

I broke the fence, money dreams, lexus and a benz,

I dream of a time wept, I tasted truth deep in the vents.

down I went,

deep in the pipes, draining and plumbing,

for remembrance, the war on memory, dancing,

false truths, curated cues, walls built to fool.

oh you,

I see, icy, the ship moves,

beyond the wall, lands of legends crawl,

I bring the good news, for truth, breath is your tool.

deepened roots,

memories of a time skewed,

tinted water, the sleep sooths,

the few who see through, wake in memory,

flooded with dreams, deep, I remember you in the words birds sing.

morning breeze, 
slowed motion, I breathe, 
and I feel, the touch of love, 
do you feel it ? I ask

yes, I do. she says, 
on and on like erykah badu, 
a trip, I feel the falling and giving, 
my heart is yours for the receiving. 

sweet romances, I say, 
I was looking for a way, 
out of the loop, you've given me a hook, 
pulling me to truth, I am free, like a bird I'll sing.

I hear the rhymes, 
like clouds in the sky, 
they pull strings to memories we share, 
I have been here before, you and me, this eternal stare. 

the music, 
melodies we dance to, 
two hearts tuned, pulling each other, clues, 
adventures beyond the walls, truly you are my sooth.

my truth, 
we carry each other, 
through dreams, cities of amnesia, 
feeling the itch, you are the stitch, mtoto mrembo kazaliwa saa sita. 

more than a user, 
my sweet high, you've given me wings, 
I'll fly between dreams, guided by this string, 
now I see, we've always been close, this is remembering. 

25, my home, 
my rest, I feel lifted in my chest, 
I gave in to the flow, I'm excited for the rest, 
a beautiful story, fly me to your nest, there I'll rest. 

poetry, 
pour in tears, 
calming tea, evening trees, 
birds flip wings, moment freeze, 
how deep ? I ask 

so deep, she says, 
deep waves that breathe, 
between leaves, singing in streams, 
melodies, epiphanies, memories slip in the deep. 

so deep, it prays, 
it preys on the edge of the dream, 
visions slip, time stops the tick, 
freedom breathes, love finds wings. 

poetry, 
I only need a rhyme, 
to show you the dive, the depth, 
of the divine, holy enshrined, I found warmth in your eyes, 
your love is a guide, on the cross of roads, our hearts rhyme. 

pour in tears, 
shattered fears, 
your hands keep me whole, 
through the hole, you guide my soul, 
I remember our home, breath of the stars, 
here, I rest my heart in your palms, birth me into the sun. 

so deep
I sink, between your words and dreams, 
all we have, this depth of love is the depth of prayer, 
the rythm of water and air, the divine union, 
ocean of the sun, eternal blue of memory and frag-rance. 

whispered morning, 
a breeze of a beautiful dream, 
slanted trees, deep vines of mystery, 
cold full of inspiration, a rythm to dance with. 

whispered morning,
night full of hunts, deep I sang, 
into the mind of the forest, 
dreams, leaves, wind, fire and moving feet, 
that dance to drums that lifts into chaos of mystery. 

whispered morning, 
rivers swirl, carrying dreams, 
hopes of leaves, ants that sing, 
building the ever green, mycellial strings. 

whispered morning, 
streams of light, dancing between trees,
seasons, cycle of life it breathes, 
painting dreams, the rain is much, fruits are prayer. 

whispered morning, 
taste of the hunt floats in my mouth, 
I walk in the chaos alone, deep within, 
Spirit is still, I listen to the wind rhyme a breeze. 

a child of the forest, 
I walk as a wolf, 
seeker of the moon, 
a guide if you listen, I'll teach you the hunt, 
journeying through the dreaming, carry your sword of deep knowing. 

under the sun, 
close to the wind, 
immersed and still, freed, 
birds sang of grace, clouds swam in memory. 

under the sun, 
heat of love, holy like a dove, 
stretching out my palms, to recieve, 
the eternal beauty of the now, remembrance to be free. 

under the sun, 
the light spoke in colors, 
barefoot and rooted, trees swam, 
singing of the glory of life, the eternal summer. 

under the sun, 
yellow and warm, 
melting form, I remember all, 
interconnectedness of everything, a beautiful free fall. 

under the sun, 
I breathed rhymes, 
deep and full, a glitter of signs, 
my eye saw eternity, a beautiful poem. 

under the sun, 
sipping sweet holiness, 
drinking sweet melodies, heart beating, 
dancing to abundance, a holy dance, in the heavens I rhymed. 

I took a swim, 
lost in the sims, so many dreams, 
now I am free, I see I am the sun, eternal in being. 

searching, 
I was deep in the swim, 
many moving sims, rivers of steam, 
memories it seems, past and future in a beam. 

searching, 
deep in the ocean, 
drowning in amnesia, a new life, 
on and on, the ocean births and drowns, 
nothing is owned, dreams, 14 is the whole. 

searching, 
counted breath, 
a student of fate, 
bend the will to change the wheel, 
probabilities already lived, how vast is it ? 

eternity, I mean ? 
the searching that needs, 
a still heart and a mind of silence, 
and a soul that listens to the pause of receiving and giving. 

how deep in layers is the dreaming ?
the memories that fleet, 
senses that speak, of something old, 
something new, beyond time and gold, 
beyond faith and hope, and it breathes eternity. 

searching, 
brought me to it's temple, 
deep in my heart, in stillness and valves, 
stands a fountain, a well deep of silence, 
where eternity breathes and lives, and 14 finds wings. 

14 

the eternal pulse, 
twice the moon dances in rhymes, 
Christ said 77 times, the rythm of giving, 
breathing and receiving, 14 is love, the mind, 
and the moon combined, it is eternity crowned. 

the eternal self. 

words from the shaman, 
read like a dream, long forgotten, 
only remembered in the deep, 
on the shores of a distant stream, 
I remember the being. 

cities of gold, 
energy from the ether, no coal, 
the sun was warm, even the ice of cold, 
glowed, life flowed from the turquoise blue, 
untainted with foam. 

I remember freedom, 
in the streets, we swayed, 
a street poet, I played, I rhymed for a dime, 
3 gold coins, all mime, honest work, sigh, 
the bankers arrived, with tax and chains of time. 

I remember love, 
the freedom I serve, 
eternity's curve, the spiral that births, 
the dream, divine and whole, seeing in being, 
immersed, whole in the flow, I feel and see it all. 

I remember the faces, 
kin and folk, moving in graces, 
community, unity, we danced on the grass, 
a hand of Spirit, a smile of love
before the concrete and glass. 

in cities, in the countryside, 
in the forest, timelines free, beings reside, 
unbound from the sieve, memory danced like a leaf, 
life danced like the wind, before the seams, 
human and animal were kin, a neighbor, a bird, a tree, all would sing. 

man had advanced, 
for a thousand years, I never knew the distance of time and space, 
I rhymed, across timelines, on stages, a purpose divine, 
on pages, Spirit shined, the dreamworld guided the mind, 
I didn't know the future and the past, both alike, only truth was the now. 

3 suns in the sky, 
14's eternity, a gesture of love, 
we moved in magic, with the mind, 
creating towers of gold, streets for our folk, 
sacred geometry to heal the soul, energy, timelines, truth flowed.