Child inside my heart 

love steeps slowly in vessel

strengthening of bond.

I look around,

My room's a mess.

But then again,

So is my head,

No matter the mess that is my heart,

It's cold as ice,

Hard as stone.

Bulletproof.

A mess, nonetheless.

        The story I’m about to tell you is the lost history of Egypt. The history of Egypt that was contained in the scrolls at the Library of Alexandria. History that was burned and lost forever to time. This is the lost history of Ancient Africa's experience with corruption, torture, and abuse of power. How do I know this history you ask? Because I was born the Prince of Africa and my father was its king. I was the eldest son of Pharaoh Ramses II and was next in line for the throne, but due to many factors I never ruled. The crown, instead went to my brother Merenptah. But you don't know that do you? And the reason you don't is because history doesn't remember me. At least it didn't until now. I'm the Prince of Africa, eldest son of Pharaoh Ramses II 95 children and this my story. 

I am water,

tap dancing on souls

with ethereal feet,

flowing through veins,

moody and reckless.

Permeating layers

of skinned stone,

plunging membranes

of crystal water.

Moving like silk

through rumpled sheets.

Slow and sweltry tenacity

increasing to throbbing,

fingers of water

urgently touching

dry, fiery river bed.

My flooding waters

can create or destroy,

every drop of me

is your life,

shimmering spirit

of hope.

Turbulence,

racing blindly

in thirsty gulps,

splashes of fine mist

swimming onward,

puddling on skins.

Vagabond drops

of water meandering

boldly to the sea.

That's a piece of advice I've heard pretty often. Similar in frequency to the other dreaded one, "get married and settle down." 

Well, for one, I don't really believe that one needs to be in control of one's life. I mean, sure, control freaks do better in the worldly ways - money, marriage and the works. And yet...

Wondering what I'm blabbering?

See, I don't know about you but I'm a firm believer of Shiva, the most powerful Indian deity or God to be specific, and I believe he has things already placed out there for me. I  just need to rummage through the slush pile or in more sophisticated words, find my treasure through the hunt. Now, the hunt need not be very well thought out or planned. No plan means no control. You just go with the flow discovering clues along the way and hitting jackpot in the end!

(Please don't get hung up on Shiva. It's a belief system, and I believe in Him. You could simply believe in life itself, or not!)

I've done a great many things in life and I'm still some distance from "arriving" in life. But, I don't care so much. I care more about the "discovering clues" part of the game and discoveries can neither be planned nor can they be controlled.

So, if I were to say who or what controls my life; I'd say Shiva does. In other words, life controls itself.

And he knew

That between those lines

Between the linen

And restricted breaths

What was there

Was always his

To find

Pillow my orbs with eyelashes,

cradle serenity in the darkness,

sprawl on downy cushion of moss,

observe stars painting moonlight,

candles glowing in solitude.

Bar the doors to angst and pain,

substituting vistas of peace,

studded with luminaries of silence,

oscillating ocean winds soothing core,

laid-back songs of fragrant breezes,

naked feet beating soulful retreat.

Spreading joy on rich black earth

in an embrace of enveloping dark,

stillness in the caverns of shadows.

Death

Is but liquid desire.

I feel the need to burn inside eternal flame of hatred and fury

Within my absolution

And I will cry a thin veil

Of liquid water

As I starve without bread or butter

I feel the need for my ancestors to be forgiven.

Within my pulses of agony

I will squeal a tiny sound

Of liquid water

As I twist and turn amongst my sheets

I feel the need to wake myself from this nightmare

Between the rapid rotations of eyes

I sniffle a tiny song

Of liquid water:

‘If only I tasted you’