Epiphanies flowered in the garden. Poets grew up in the forest. Spring played a lyrical ballet on the cello. Rock—you music, you caress a celestial rhythm. Autumn plucked the guitar with a calypso of the heart. Winter howled in irony. Summer sweated on his T—shirt. Monsoon—you ode of the season, now you are penning lyrical verses. I blossomed in her garden. Blues is an evocation of catharsis. Jesus you are parable that touched the heart. A pretty rainbow walked on the ramp. I bit into a cherub so sweet. Seraphs wing a flute in the sky. Poem—you are a nirvana for the soul. Passion, you are a new born rose. I made a melody in her garden. Lava is erupting in the furnace of Palestine. My pen is sedated when I write poems. Mother Nature has bequeathed violent sons. Woman, your name has no violence in the garden. Sex is the heart of a poet. I am guitar of erect music. Crown—where the Sun never sets is finally dark. Woe—I have bound you in chains and flung you away from memory. Blog—you are a nation of words. Cinema is ice on the screen. The earth was a cloudy mystic in the morning. Jealousy is a storm that lurks in the human mind. Luck—I uplift you in a lyric. Beef is a hungry mouth begging for food. Rain you are pouring in melancholy. Oasis—I have found you in a desert of hope. Between her legs, I have chanted a rainbow. Lips—you are the timbre of ecstatic speech. Manna –you have become the food of hope and luck. The pen raged into a flood. Ink lay wet in her like an Epicurean hymn. Sade, you are a creature of abomination. Resurrection of Christ is joy, peace and eternity. Wooing is the heart calling. Dogs have climbed the altar of sacrilege. The fields echo the song of the harvest. Dream is a molten music of lava. Tears of the earth are heard as shouts of jubilation in heaven. The hammer and the sickle—you are the emblem of an empire gone to rot. The Sun is the husband—the moon the wife. Hay—you are the mind unsettled. Sew the cloth with a needle of hope. Grapes—you have become wine that’s drunk. The sky becomes a poem at dawn and dusk. Her orifice bore the flavor of a new born rose. Mantras arrive for the pilgrimage. Destiny is a monk of thought and food for celebration. A pen is a phallus of ecstasy. Time—you are a seed waiting to flower into fruits. Imagination –you are wings soaring to a fiesta. Sometimes I am a troubled bard eyeing the storm. Poems of hope bit into a frozen landscape. Irony, rest and be merry with wine. Waltz of time—you are a year growing up. Windfall—let me string you with the pearls of luck. Serendipity is canoe rowing gently on the lake. Poison, you are a vicious fang of pestilence. Time, evoke a destiny of sunrise. I shivered in ecstasy and quivered in death. Bible is the novel of abundant life. Grace—you are a vessel of joy. Don’t blow the trumpet when you are meditating. Book of peace, you walked on water and you healed many. Babel—you became the tower of confusing languages. The prophet is a child that is grown up. The plough is the pen for the writer. Bad luck is a demon that can be weeded out. The beast in 666 is a mystery. Luck is a sage walking on the earth and chanting. Rhyme and rhythm—you have a spell of luck. Loving your enemy has to be a happy sonnet. Pride—you are a demon that has planted a black wing. Solitude—you are nature’s whisper. Dust returns to the earth as dust. He had to be the cross for loving the world. Agonies—you are now puke ejecting from the body. The flower awakens at puberty. Every deathly night has a morning of life.