The Empire Of No Light.

The mundane stillness, how  paralysing in her absence. Her voice, a strange old myth, devoid from truth as the years of silence rejoiced. A victory for the parliament of strangers, where faceless men and women rule. They sit inside their glacial palace where liquid blood no longer flows. Years ago, in their obscure chambers they voted to conquer the light. Legends, told by wise old men who were children in the days of the sun. Spoke of lovers kissing by the river beds. Painter’s, with endless colours on their brush. This is the empire of no light. Whose borders are vast and its people are conditioned to thwart love. I, a singular man, write from my shadows of dissent. Hoping one day these proses will galvanise the enslaved and from the night’s ice, abolished love will ascend.

Letters From The Underground


I cannot speak for the world, 

when the question is asked, 

whether love has meaning,

or any form of relevance,

in the current age. 

I speak for myself,

I am my own appointed correspondent. 

So what I will disclose, 

is far from a universal truth

I speak from the debris of experience.

There is no such thing as earthly love. . 

We, human beings, 

across civilisations, 

through inaugurations of presidents and kings,

 have been misguided. 

Misguided into falling victim to the notion,

 that love isn’t a myth

That somehow, 

and somewhere, 

there is an ideal match to our soul.

What is compatibility?

But a prolonged form of positive interaction.

And infatuation? 

Ah this ripe old word

 Infatuation is what this earth breeds in abundance

It's what this earth has masqueraded as love. 

You may ask why? 

Why have we been deceived? 

And I am obliged to present you with an answer. 

This earth is incapable of producing lasting love, 

and love in its purest form is eternal,

 ladies and gentleman. 

We feel it in this decadent world, 

in mere sprinkles

We have never been caressed,

 by its mature and enlightened touch

For we are unworthy of such divinity.

Our hearts are too mortal,

 to accommodate its infinite purity.

I do not blame mankind,

for allowing the theatre to continue its act

To our knowledge, the show is rehearsed

And the actors,
will inevitably change their voice.

 As soon as the music,

bows down,

The curtains,

 will reveal reality,

in its truest form.

And infatuation,

 will reappear once again, 

to a standing ovation

As its mask is held gallantly by its side. 

Starry Beings

stars are like people


they seem so beautiful from afar


we spend our nights


mesmerised by their existence


in awe of their magical aura


that fascinates us


yet what we cannot see


is their ultimate destruction


that eventually destroys








in their path


so beware of these starry beings


they are illusions


that mimic beauty




sprinkled with eternal






what ifs

Burning Candle.

His character was injurious,

yet she refused to loathe him

She enjoyed the feeling of pain,
accustomed to the self-pity it brings
Tamed by the puppet master,
who played her on a string

Her veins became contaminated,
with hate towards men
Every single one of them,
apart from him

The same man who played her on a string
The same man who proclaimed,
"no strings attached"

Strings became tied,
he became detached

All he hears now,
are the echoes of sirens,
and the droplets of rain
The echoes of sirens subside,
the abundance of droplets fade
Now the birds persuade one another,
to rise and awake
Chirping in the distance,
as the darkness escapes

The impossibility of sleep,
as your mind is constantly processing words
An internal voice remains conscious, 
whist your body adjourns

He was afraid of the light,
so he darkened the room 
Writing poetry to ease the mind,
the battle resumed

A constant war between two tribes,
the heart and the mind
Fighting for territory of the kingdom,
to decide who controls the man

He relieved his shame, 
by laying with different women
Yet the emptiness which plagued his heart,
 became ever more present

There's a difference between infatuation and love
Infatuation with lust is short-lived,
whilst one eternally loves

Writers often want to amend a woman
Either their partners or lovers,
or even themselves

Most romances never last,
because the candle loses its spark 
Eternal love,
 is when you see light in the dark

island of soul.

 I have roamed this earth's plain,
amongst every ancient rock,

 and minuscule grain of sand

Yet I have not found the courage,

 to leave you behind

In a box where the heart,

 no longer searches for you.


You remain this singular piece,

 of indescribable treasure

With your own forsaken history,

and hysteric shine.


Over time,

 I, acquired pristine gems, 

which no man has ever had,

 the fortune to find

Yet, you, 

in all of your jagged flaws

Are the piece that is enshrined in my thoughts.


It may be that I unearthed you,

when my heart was still warm

Flowing with the desire,

 which sends men to the stars.


 My celestial colonies now, 

are protected by these words

 That allow me to communicate with you, 

verse by verse.


Your skin caresses my lips at night,

my eyes firmly closed

 I envision your breasts, 

on that December eve 

The taste of bloodied wine on your breath.


 I must no longer be welcome,

 inside of your thoughts 

Exiled from the realms of your mind 

So I’ve dedicated an island inside of my soul, 

which I hope your’s will one day find.


This island is occupied,

 by my love for you

And each day it sends out a bottled note 

Out into the universe’s ocean,

where infinite bottles, they float.


If you,

 my one piece of indescribable treasure, 

are never to be seen ever again 

I will write about you,

 in endless words

As the treasure,

 that gave rise to the pen.


I captured her silhouette,

in the early hours of dawn

As the starkness portrayed her innocence


Intrigued by the thought,

of what was occurring in her dreams

I sat mutely,

in the corner of observance


Her timid breath could not be heard,

and every once in a while

I placed my head,

close to her bosom


There’s a notion that when mankind sleeps,

we’re at the most unconscious stage of our nature


But on this autumn morning

I witnessed her dry and pained groans,

as the torment encapsulated her


Reality was too dimensional,

for her to vent her anger and shame

So her dreams became her way of therapy,

to deal with her sources of strain


I made a brotherly pact with my soul,

to doctor her emotional wounds

Slicing a fraction of my sacred heart,

to stitch the part of hers which never regrew


As the light blue colours of earth,

appeared from the broken grey of dawn


I got a glimpse of her cream smile,

heard her shallow and angelic yawns

And I knew that she was reborn.

To The End

The poets, they write about the love they have tasted on their tongues

And the paintings of women they have fawned over, time and time again

They write about the intimate anatomy of these sculptures

As though they have been sent from distant moons

To endeavour in earth’s cravings for pleasure

The writings are either bitter or sweet, with no in betweens

As I think of past love’s

I’m reminded of their scents and the innermost intricate feelings

I become a passenger of my own memories

In the present

I think about love’s that are in their embryonic processes

Women whom I have no conceptualised futures with

I feel as though our destines are aligned

And that the power of this growing universe

Is propelling us towards something revolutionary to our souls

I feel this power growing in me

As though somewhere, sometime I once knew this tender face

And that I spent a lifetime in her arms

I feel as though I woke up each day to a thousand of her smiles

And made love to her in a thousand different ways

I feel as if she is the part of me whom my soul has spent a millennia trying to find

And that she compliments my heart like the shadows compliment the night

Now in truth, these conceptions could crumble

Like the empire’s of old

But I refuse to bow down

I wish to allow her to blossom like a flower in the early days of spring

I wish to allow her the freedom to breathe as she sees fit

For I will never constrict her, in any way

Love cannot be a bondage, with any given rules or ties

I will love her as as her heart complies

For we have forgotten how to serve our women in a gratuitous way

We have forgotten how to honour them and treat them

As though they have been sent from distant and divine moons

For only when we, as men, respect our women as though our own blood was at stake

Will this earth find its perished peace

For only then will our children inherit these traits

For only then will love conquer all

And to the very last days

The Wine Of Moons And Waves

I learned to love

As if I were a spy

Hiding in the background of city lights

She would taste the sweetness of the grape

In her flowery wine

But I, the body had escaped from her tongue

For I cannot be the juice which she drinks

I am the layer

Which was once protecting the grape

From which the juice was squeezed

For she is now my distant moon

And I am her endless wave

Close to the shore where my love, departs

I feel the velocity breaking down with each flow

As each wind

Carries me through the ocean of surrender

For I no longer remember

Where or how my journey began

Through this abundant ocean which holds my sins

I am forever flowing

Knowing that I will never find

The source of my existence

Each night I look up at that distant moon

From my icy waters

I close my eyes

And I envision myself

Flowing along its soft spine

I close my eyes

And I envision myself

As the layer of grape

That escaped from that distant vineyard

Making my way into the juice which nourishes her lips

Magnolia Light


oh world.


From the state of limbo,

in which you have found yourself in.

You stand on this delicate border,

between war and peace.


Where young men,

who stand on the bridge between young age and maturity,

fall to their knees.

Bleeding from wounds which are inflicted by their own brothers,

masquerading as sworn enemies.


For I cannot accept the notion,

that we are born noxious.


An infant child,

sees only magnolia light,

when they are surrounded by a darkened world.

They are blind to the fragmentation’s,

which have split earth’s people.


I hereby attest that the destructive force,

which guides this somber and erratic plain,

is perplexed by the nature of its own force.


This force,

which I cannot name,

nor describe in words.

Is combatting a struggle within itself.


It may not be able to see the light,

but from time to time,

it gets a small taste of the rays of paradise,

from which it once came.


When human beings are conflicted with bouts of jeopardy,

their hearts become tense,

and their blood ravages and overflows,

as the ships of chaos navigate their way,

 through an ocean of devout anarchy.


Yet these human beings know,

that within every noir eclipse,

is a sun that is waiting,

to caress magnolia flowers with its tender touch.


These suns do not shine into infinity,

and even when their golden arms,

touch the body of the magnolia plant,

they do so in divine intervals,

and not through the entirety of time.


So this force,

that I shall not name,

may be seeking its own golden arms.

Arms which it has lost.

Arms which yearn to once again unite,

with the force which graces us with magnolia light.