Poetry and Writings

What is a sword without a sheath, If not a burden to every land? What is a sheath without a sword, If not misery at hand? Like a mirror without a face, It is useless, it is without a grace. I beg you not to seek, I beg you not to lose, I beg you only to ease  Upon condition of those That you already use.

Many things are common To a mind on a path To great success That will impress the mass Now, the failure is bitter And many thoughts with actions Went astray, there is one miracle however, For you on your distant way, It is the resurrection of the fallen From graveyard of mistakes They all will take a part in a bridge building On your path to glory and hoorays

Once upon a time On a wooden porch of mine There was a chick pecking corn It was long before Z children were born I played harmonica blues And the chick danced  Like it had nothing to lose In the end of the song Baron came along and used the chick For his soup, now, that's sad chicken blues

One last remark  Of sleepless mind It says 'oh, stop please!  my thoughts unkind' Now I understand  The myth of Buddha man, It is to serve a bright example Of sleepless men land

Little doberman dog Trying to break the bones of a frog Like nothing else is so absurd I get intense with a prelude And then I blow it all on women And food like a bizarre fake Robinhood

Remember the last time  You put all your cards on the table? It wasn't the missing piece of the puzzle To complete the picture, was it? Somehow being cunning trumps being true, Screw it! - I say. Give me the chocolate chips Not the chili pepper. Lest the world suffer for your openness.

Passion is a lie. It takes you nowhere. Nowhere real. Reality is inside. Inside is the truth.  Truth is the key to all of the worlds. All worlds are everywhere. One must keep the truth as a light. 

She is a remarkable woman Beauty and grace Makes every man's heart skip a beat And race towards her blue lips Pale cheeks, bronze faith, I wonder if all that is just a mistake?

Part time a poet Part time an advisor Full time tough nut Noncompromiser  I wonder what futute holds I care not for the thunder bolts

There was an old Zen master  Living in a hut by the river He was living alone And sometimes he would get help From young nuns and monks Once a monk saw the master  With a very deformed face He instantly inquired 'What happened, master?' 'I'm old and my back hurts a lot' 'I wish you could give me your pain'  Continued the monk The master instantly retorted 'Don't wish for that, sky is blue and grass is green, I will die someday and the pain will go away' The monk understood. Now he was in great pain.  Master would leave this world and he would stay alone until one day he will have great problems with his own back.