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 A usual day… well… yeah a usual Friday, I just did not thought of anything special in this day to happen. Read the poem.


It is me trying to look at the camera after a long tiring and bleeeping day Friday.


This is another photo taken after about 3 hours. I turned off the A/C as I went for a walk and came back. You can see me sweating in this picture. I am getting good at typing with one hand. I typed in the poem for 07/27/06 holding the written version on the other hand.



The first draft of one of my favorite poems I wrote among the “Yesterdays” poems so far, “Eyes Of Lika”. If you try to read it you can see a lot of spelling mistakes, cuts and jumbled up lines. That’s how I write a first draft. I just pour it all into paper and don’t care much about any spelling or line order. Those are done while typing the poem into the computer.



A morning I did not see, but in a dream I saw,

Through the valley unknown flourished,

And upon the wings of the wind from east spread.


Thoughts, Oh’ like maniacs blurred visions,

None stayed but left mind and body sway,

Still some greatness upon myself I thrust,

And stormed through a day that stormed the other way.


Dusk I did not see but for a dream I left,

The dream did not materialize but in soul, stalled.

The green pastures ahead, mocking mirages,

Eyes, lips, and every smile left in mind only gloom,

Still I smiled seeing the old pattern of life spread.

That old pattern, a look from love, leaving without a smile.


Oh’ how many evenings and nights I spent,

To change those patterns from inside,

Futile remained my efforts as in a tube remained I,

Oh’ in a kaleidoscope only a handful of bits of color one see,

And the pattern they make, to a handful they limit.


There are no ways out of this magnificence,

As ever blossoming life filled the air,

Oh’ is there a hand and soul out there to break this tube?

And add more bits of color to this kaleidoscope.


I asked again and again but only thin air listened,

Thin air still might have listened when I snored,

And those patterns prepare for another familiar change,

With the same set of colors I watch,

Everyday, and walks through in boredom

And every night with it sleeps.


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