You found heaven for me. The gates concealed as they were, to my existence until the point of you in revelation. Now, sight itself wears me in its vernacular, and wonder wrapping the formless to every shape and size to my cognition. You put me together as if strewn prior to your perception. The sheen …
There is an inertia to love, there syllables slip and meaning flits. Where the heights of one exist in the depths of the other. Like some parts of one have to see the eyes of the other. Sheer want of affection cannot scratch that surface. Just as token existence outside of posterity cannot derive outside …
Words can best become hymns. But every so often they resist. Instead they fall into self glorification. Like a siren and its distance, as morning in a song serenading the dusk. The dawning of the sun rendering all travails and tempests of the moon rested. The tides of time encapsulated in a smile, yet and …
Excerpts and artwork for ‘Circumbulation’ from ‘Arthāt – Mystic Poetry’. For complete collections, buy the ebook or print.
Excerpt from ‘Sent’ in ‘Arthāt – Mystic Poetry’. For more like this and the complete collection, buy the book.
Ebook is for a dollar for most of August at several places.
Artwork and excerpts among the promotional material of ‘Arthāt – Mystic Poetry’. For complete works, please buy the book.
A bird of flight flew past a view of the waters across open space. A sound fluttered a rhythm until a twine became melodious. Undeterred by its own discerning, its right wing flapped a lingering primordial sound. Then almost as if reaching further, the left wing lifted a notion of its own to match. As …
To Twine,
The road upon, treading the familiar.
Footsteps traced along an ancient tune, but a newer path becoming yet to emerge.
A kind of clarity, and strength that makes the doable acts reverb through the fabric that usually just simpers to even our greater twines.
A kind of clarity, and strength that makes the doable acts reverb through the fabric that usually just simpers to even our greater twines.
The glorious mention,
mine humility your grace.
The meeting of the old gods.
The understanding of the new ones.
The richness of form in thy adorn.
The majesty of aesthetic, the depth of perception that diffuses cognition from its very mention. A multi-dimension splendour for the senses toured to the hearts’ render.
Yet this surface of inspiration passes through fissions of existence and mechanisms of mere eccentricities.
Say nothing and say it all, the privilege of emotion that animates yonder into a smile of inner rectitudes.
