Street Preachers (a poem)

spiritual growth – i used to be preoccupied with it

maybe i still am, fixated on flaws

all the ways i fall short of a standard

even saint francis couldn’t meet

on the streets, i’m incited by insights

from preachers who peddle notions

of salvation & give me holy books

i peruse by glow of lava lamps

in the comfort of compounds

where i keep my secrets

& share my miseries

(Photo by Mark Fletcher-Brown on Unsplash)

Ode to Solitude (a poem)

in solitude I come to know myself –

chatter of others stripped away, me stripped

of creature comforts, a creature without

a haven, thoughts bang & jangle

in a brain that has gone insane –

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