On the path
I used to walk
sapien's ebbing pilgrimage
was my cottage ;
an asylum of
ever-amplifying anthology
of bizarre nascency
with poets and poetesses
whom some iv'e learnt
to honour and cherish....
I have my Rosary with me.
Few spilled starless ink
coating hogwash
to a spindle canvass..
W R I T E R S ,
they were and still are;
the masochistic choreographers
petting the kickass tunes
of mind games
and reel heaven-borns....
my Rosary kept me safe.
Some poured psychedelic ink
an embodiment that cast
lily-white lights to link
the mortal minds to the orb
They were and some are still are;
the observing composers
of cultivated and cranial scores
molding constructive marks
on the molded minds...
blessed is the Rosary with me.
Rhapsodist and rhymesters
They were and some still are
a part of me and my Rosary...
When the furrows of my palms
lead me to John,
smiles overshadow sorrows.
I can see a beatific landscapes
reflecting on the prism of my phalanges
heavenly images only seen
on clement dreams....
behold the Rosary with me.
John taught and is still teaching me
to be the best that i can be
to aspire the divine happiness
to get closer to God
by his own humble ways....
the way my Rosary has nurtured me.
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