yoonoos peerbocus

yoonoos peerbocus Poems

Beautiful is the 'thank you'
Wrapped with gratitude,
Offered to peace prone people
Who offer what is real-themselves

I came as tomorrow
Swaddled in unawareness
To your warm womb

Made homeless from home
Bombed city where though many
Extend an armless arm, find it harder
To hold peace than explosives

Eye sockets mere bruises
Alike to closed fists
Save whole being tangled
In his last rags

Each night, earth life suspended,
Without asking where you are going
Or who you are, you experience
As if life dreams of itself,

Roving back through wild centuries
At rust and ripeness time
To land blood wet, martyrs fed,
A water melon still conceives

Of all raw passions, kiss alone
Seals lips but opens hearts
So short its distance
Be it of blood or two souls,


To fulfil immortality in life
Is woman's truth
Whose sole deed is
To disclose us to ourselves,

With knees so wounded
unable to bend
from so much kneeling
on the splinter strewn


Atomized ocean, sun powered, airlifted,
With thunder and lightning, breaks
Eternal silence of infinite space.
Unknown what is it holding when it falls, yet

Wonderful is not so much
The mausoleum's chisel cut beauty
As the beauty of the love
Arrested in its architecture-

With the freedom of an outlaw,
bees to whom earth
is but a benevolent garden
and what matters

Canonised when dead, cannonaded when in life,
Lofty your thoughts that savour of content
But loftier the craftmanship
More congruent in symmetry

What lures everyone's eyes
without vision
makes them dream to be me,
is but my image at sale, a star


The used rags of my ancestors,
do not make me, me.where's
the adolescent I saw
yesterday? has it drowned in you

When the wind that sifts dust
becomes erratic
the earth becomes
like someone's kite-

What grows on its own within my breast
that in truth's alone real-
the quintessence of sweetness,
of which man has its human counterpart


My passage from the dream to the waking dream
slows towards home
to winter in the wharf of flesh
which breathes with people


How hard is it to be
in an olive garlanded grove
hinging with dove cots, cooing
under a sensual night's cover

Sound is my slumber but rude my awakening;
low my chrysalid origin, but high my carnelian hope,
hard the time I endure in but harder the hurt
of cleansing of my negative selves, thoughsoothing

yoonoos peerbocus Biography

Profession: Education Officer Education: BA Hons 'English Lit' [London] BA Hons 'International Relations')

The Best Poem Of yoonoos peerbocus

A Hint At What Is Beautiful?

Beautiful is the 'thank you'
Wrapped with gratitude,
Offered to peace prone people
Who offer what is real-themselves
To nurse with love and humility
napalm asphyxiated victims
in our stained world

veiling ambition with face of
humanity.Beautiful is the moment
when sunlit world fades away
And with it mind made mirror
While look inward drawn, sight insight led,
and heart shuts out desire to let in

yoonoos peerbocus Comments

Frank Adie 23 October 2012

Your talent was really brought to bare in this poem. A great work of art I must say. However, I found line 2 stanza 1 a bit confusing (There's no outside) ........

10 6 Reply
Rajkamal P.j 23 October 2012

I am not finding the poem 'a dying soldiers confession'...I always read your poems..they are deeply philosophical. speaks truth..keep writing such thought provoking pieces to keep inspired we beginners..

11 4 Reply
Marek Urban 16 November 2012

I tried to add the following comment on your latest poem, however my verification code was questioned, so here it is: The premonition of platonic duality and sensing the idealistic world, however so fragile due to the natural boundaries of eternal law. Sensing of unusual dimension and tricky exchanging roles between man and eternity. Is that what you mean?

13 2 Reply
Duncan Stephen 28 November 2015

I have read a selection of your poems and I can assure you that I will read them all eventually. I do llike the flow of your poems.

8 2 Reply
Bello Sagir imam 21 October 2012

I looked for a dying soldiers... But I could't find it. I read some of your poems, they are very artistic. Thank you for sharing them with us.

7 3 Reply
Berlyn Estimada 08 June 2020

Your poems are amazing!

5 0 Reply
Akhtar Jawad 03 June 2020

Younus Peebocus, no doubt in it, isne of the greatest member poet at PH.

5 0 Reply
Roxanne Dubarry 19 March 2020

I LOVED your poem about Mother Earth. Thankyou for sharing it with us.

5 0 Reply
Roxanne Dubarry 10 March 2020

I really enjoy reading your heartwarming poems. You are a very talented and gifted poet.

5 0 Reply
Benjamin Uy 09 June 2019

Mature wisdom great poet yoonoos peerbocucus, great job well done, Many poems suggest deep knowledge

2 0 Reply

yoonoos peerbocus Quotes

As great as head may be, it is what it is; it can err in its choice as heart.both must sometimes even rule themselves.

Life being too short and love time still shorter, we ought to squander not a wink in tearing each other wolf-like for a handful of dust of which we are owner only on paper.

When a child's sprouting heart and head are sowed with the seeds of quality patience and absolute honesty, prison has no raison d'etre.

Honesty that makes itself thoroughly agreeable by itself, is the genuine mirror for all forms to look into, to promote their course of lives accordingly.

The task appears much more difficult to lure back my elusive mind to me and to the loveliness of the tasselled bowers than to subjugate the weakness and wickedness of my heart.

How the ever nascent desires keep hopping all around me in pack, each growling for personal attention, in terms of priority.

The initial conquest of next door territory, soon extended from cities to empires, has laid the first stepping stone to large scale robbery whose side effects seep into all transactions of daily life at global level.

The faith littered fundamentals called paradise, accredited with the copy right and monopoly for providing gratification to all raw senses, has led to the latest revelation of the sacred text-DRUG

Is it feasible to wipe clean to birth level, my inner looking glass, besmeared with layers of ignorance, with the stain remover of understanding, so that I could see my real me?

I was just like an empty cage when at the first sign of understanding, a bird called consciousness flew in, in search of me and reveals me to myself that I was no more the owner of my own emptiness.

I now spy at myself from within to understand how vices surprise me so that I can devise inside watchmen to have power over myself for every thing, with a view to enjoy my being rightfully, suitable to my lot.

Death is like distance-both APPARENTLY swallow up every thing

Mind is ever ready to do anything for me save the very thing I wish.

Is it modesty that the pearl despite its shining quality, generating lustre, exposes its glaring defects-back with flaws?

Pain is the mother tongue of every hurt prone people.

A tiny seed artializes a tree.

A hen sees herself through her own egg how she was before she was born.

The humble bee buzzing in the archive of blossoms and tassels, becomes the scholar of plants.

Revenge is the gate I get in with untold pleasure but leave it with utmost regret.

An egg is a dignified preface to a future chick.

We claim human rights without universally accepted formula of what is to be human

Unconscious thoughts are like wine-if they are sound they ripen with keeping and become quotes through which you become a larger kind of going abroad

Tread on the sand of life where strength is born

So champagne and oysters mad, man does not feel a heart's hole to fill.

drop arms to squeeze arms all around

Happiness as truth remains eternally young.

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