Landslide came into my life without notice, 

I myself am lost, not in moor, 
not in cloudland, not in fog, not in haze,

not in markets, but within my 
own polluted sketches. 

Excerpts from my poet friend, Nabin Chitrakar’s poetry “Formless Canvas”

In the circle of time 

changing continuously in every seconds 

is the poetry –

The poet’s no conscious of

When? How? Where?

crop up as if shaken

all at once by the earthquake

the mind stroke to his poetry in a second.

The spirit of the poetry encountered 

the blood corpuscle of half of his body

ceased to streaming, bending into fragility.

The remaining other half 

gushed in its veins naturally.

Then the posture of his body

half immovable and

other half movable

being altered instantly in its body

confronted the torture of no limit.

Neither my mind sensed

Nor your mind aware of it.

But it looked baffled

in the tears of

illimitable and immeasurable

hazy in its eyes.

In the mind of the poetry,

the inert part of its body

obstructed the motion,

the sensed part of it

forced to resume its motion,

the result of which yielded  

the awful agony and anguish 

that savoured syrupy in its tongue

chewed up the immovable

to restore its ability of moving  again 

in very efforts of the poet.

I’m too confident

Like you do.

The poet will indeed hurl

the sense of immovability

caught in his living.

*

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Riders On The Storm

at the saloon he blew his top that day a brave soul caught beneath the undertow

we filed into the road on horse back with our gun in the back

heads were swearing up in down as he frowned didn't want to be around

got spurs on my shoes with sweat on my hat the brow permeates an odor

whiskey woman have take me by the hand it was the time we took our stand

so we made our way out on a barrenn path together as riders on the storm

it was coming quick but we kept treading along singing our song

we were back in the saddle again with very close knit friends

a snake suddenly crossed our path was headed side ways

on our way to inter pass number nine with our steel wheel reserve

the storm kept on brewing but we knew what we were doing

folks in these sticks live as hide away hicks getting lost in its fix

a slip of the hand let me help you understand we were a wolf pack head together

was it a mirage we looked ever closer as our horses investigated the odor

we were headed south and the interpass was near a friend took a piss in some clearing

there in the distance stood the sign of inter pass nine we were finally there

one toke over the line sweet Jesus we made it home fine

we were the riders on the storm like a dog without its bone

now was a time of celebration for we made it to our destination

we needed to take a break on a long awaited vacation

just then an evil man pulled out his gun shot some of our men dead

what was going on inside his head had a face full of lead

yet we got revenge and shot him down

never again will I be so king to a stranger in exchange shot us blind

there's a highway bound for glory

just the beginning or the start of its story

we search for truth out of a garbage can

one blade of grass swaying in the wind

where do I even begin again

there are lines being drawn in the sand

when will we ever understand

the Willow tree sways in the wind

golden nuggets of thoughts to gather

prepare for the great here after

as the sound of glass shatters

Sad eyes look the other way

stay inside never to come out to play

we built are city of rock & roll

through the roll of the dice

with the beat of the tempo

telling me where it is to go

yet deep inside we want to run and hide

to afraid to expose our true selves

perhaps you want to put that book back on its shelf

when will we ever learn

one soul soars while the other will burn

its a choice we make whether we win or lose

now which pathway in life will you choose ?

We May Never Pass This Way

the close of the day

out on the patio

we stare at the wall

covered from the mere notion of regret

there is a deeper meaning in this place

to equate logic for fear

for I shed a single tear to help numb its inner pain

harken onto the moment in my thoughts

crumb cakes with granola bars left for snacks

the garden you had pulled the weeds back

the fertile soil permeates the fragment of its land fertlization

we humbly tred upon solace the thoughts will last

shelter lies dormant amidst its beckoning plow

still I need a shoulder to cry on

the Martini that you drank last night at the bar

sdt pitter patter of glasses clasping together

snap shot moments in my head

golden nuggets of wisdom that come from a higher source

the scope of the sun has tainted my inner vision

a soul vexed in its derision

we may never pass this way

time goes by so very fast

all those good moments you hope that they would last

no other better way then to bow the knee to pray

others might insist it ought not be that way

yet for today send a chill down the spine

heads today are in the walking blind

make sure you don't ever be left behind

many moons ago

let the real truth be told

the undertaker would attach a bell on the toe of the dead

right before they were actually embalmed

if the bell would ring

the dead were actually alive

many times before those alive were buried dead

until that glorious bell on the toe

There was a tale of a tramp that visited my grandma

it was thought that he was dead

until the bell rung on his toe to let them know

although those many years have passed

still having a great reason to grasp

my grandma would share he story

although today there is no longer a bell

I have such a great story to tell

many years ago let the truth unfold
one man who lived as a hermit
wearing nothing but leather all around him
had walked many miles in New England
he had thoughts of wild excursion in the sun
but what kept him alive was his deep quest for knowledge...

he survived many years ago
had a stone cave in Watertown, Ct
when rarely seen out in public he would often grunt something with French dialact
looking for every sort of food he could find

his only means of transportation was to walk to his destination...
he was sometimes miles in the woods far from public roads,
Way out in the middle of no where

he created a human obstacle course that was his very own...
many miles he would then roam
on his various stops people would often leave food,

Always seemed to be in a very good mood
walked his trail until the very day he died
the tale of the leatherman has arrived.