Treasure Island

veeraiyah subbulakshmi

My brother is doing well...

The comforting soul that beats your hearts,
Caresses my weak thought to seek the truth,
The drying of the watery caves with right words,
The depressive mosses, fungi and algae are simply gone,
To rest, the garden in my spirit blooms scented roses,
Ready to be arranged to offer in the altar of those,
Whose minds are clear and communicate with me in my dreams,
Every heart remembers those who warm their cold hands,
We, billions of us, suck the breasts of earth’s mother,
Who has taught her great children to be kind,
And never showed the acts of rubbing,
our backs with one another to remove the thorns and lice,
as these brutes of five sense know to do,
when I see the milky lens in your pretty eyes,
when you observe the dessert snow arriving,
in our land, let us take the right tools,
to clear and chase them out,
let the care taker angels emerge from our hands,
to hold and reprimand these selfishly suffering devils,
to metamorphosis them to be the heavenly Gods
prodigal sons excel once in a while,
but they have reached a great height,
after sacrificing all their needed peace,
normal selfless human have progressed this vast space,
you are one of them for me to cherish and snuggle with.

Submitted: Wednesday, July 31, 2013
Edited: Thursday, August 01, 2013

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