The truth becomes a mystery when penned by the pre-victor who peddles bullshit History thru’ his BBC predictor A flash before the impact
I, once tested to my mind’s extrem… confounded by this life’s contrary… when I could no longer take the st… between my tortured spirit, flesh… Lost, self-subject to demolition
Spider Spider in my head the days grow short before I’m dea… so while we live and breathe and s… Spider, won’t you set me free. Spider Spider in my mind,
Primordial soul of Helix’ eye Love complete, unheard, From cosmic bliss let out a cry Upanishad Om reverb. Tsunami vibes delete the void
As age draws on I see cause and e… in the realms of life that some mi… For years I sought my answers wit… with no solutions, I started to do… I turned first to god, the father…
I’m sorry if my attitude seems som… I love this life much more since… but by the same degree to hell I o… and now I know it’s not the 'get’… I’ve come to understand, life’s fu…
A bigot blind will never see, we are all as John Donne’s flea since Adam claimed mortality, who knows what hues in history flowed in darker veins than thee,
“The engine never made a sound!” —His terminal thought, as he looke… That crossing place he knew so wel… resounded to his final knell. On the scene, there was no sign;
Marks on my thoughts, accents of introspection; Acute I find my observation. Grave deep the world; circumflexion breeds my circumspec…
In that term, as I remember, I first built my delusion. From September to December, Was childhood’s conclusion. Back at home for Christmas,
I’m want to take the common straw lay strewn across the bar-room flo… ~ discarded, used to curse and sho… I’ll card it ~ scrape the thistles… Feed my loom run at a canter
Faruk Asan, a very good man took heed from the great Ataturk - He came from the land of old Otto… by way of his sheer hard work. In Malvern he set up a kahvehane
If I was an Afghan, whatever would I do? Bullets flying everywhere I wouldn’t have a clue! -
A flight of fancy to mystical land in Arjun’ chariot I crossed Ram’s… to that cinnamon isle of gold-grai… —tear of Mahabharata On a palm-trellised beach I held…
Death, if it is you I fear then Fear, you have no spell ~ What stood for my old man and his, is good in time for me as well.