The last signs of man’s existence,
Are a full forty miles away.
The flowers blooming in nascence,
Are scattered all along my way.
The last thing from out yonder,
Is this serpentine stream beside,
Leaving me and I to ponder,
and ramble aimless far and wide.
Images of human sorrow,
Lines that destiny has torn,
Eyes that dream of a tomorrow,
The turmoil of sin and atone.
The vast world pool of histories,
Sucking and roaring in vain,
Sagas of battles and stories,
Of nothing and nothing but pain.
The enigma is within you,
this search to ultimately solve.
Transcending every mortal view,
How weak is mans wit and resolve.
Oh dear philosopher
Or so it does seem,
You have unraveled the answer,
Is to simply forget and dream…
Generous verses on Hope Special feelings on Life*
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Always wide eyed with wonder, prone to reveries and restless with an inexplicable yearning to create ever since he was a little boy, Jay wrote his first poem when he was six. He discovered the ore of his creative endeavors in the writings of his sister from which everything else originated, in attics filled with vanilla smelling old books, in savoring the classics and in intricate poems of Wordsworth and William Blake inlaid with rhyme…. His poems have snuck under editorial radars and appeared in global anthologies, magazines, newspapers and online journals. He also runs an idea shop called the Centre of Gravity, draws cartoons, directs animated short films and conceptualizes communication campaigns. All of which originate from the same artery of poetic longing that destiny charmed into his soul.