The Singing Box

The Swinging Bucks

Kiss on mahogany,
Blunt, dampening, resonating,

Bodies in black, swaying,
Like wild swans,
Floating on diverging nipples,
Fingers meditating,
Eyes closed, wondering,
Under shut lids,

The swinging bucks,
Connecting with warm breath,
Some in the crowd drying,
Others being bored,
Or awakening.

beautiful...:)

Bodies in black, swaying,
Like wild swans,
Floating on diverging ripples,
Fingers meditating,
Eyes closed, wondering,
Under shut lids,

As if praying on a water-mat. My knees are weak.

The singing box,
Connecting with warm breath,
Someone in the crowd dying,
Others being born,
All awakening.

And when the heart sings in purity, the mind is free; death and life happen at once and one can see the only thing you learn from it is change. Beautiful, beautiful.

1# Thanks for reading.

2# Thanks for reading. You should write in your i-logs more often. Welcome to chowk.com.

3# We use words like ``religion,`` ``prayer,`` and ``destiny`` a lot of times to refer to routines as we perceive them; actions as we observe them by the concepts their physicalities impress upon us. In essence, to worship is to `feel` close to `reality`. A phenomenon as simple as a cordial dream can be an answer to one`s prayers, and destiny, destiny is where our hearts lead us seeking after truth. Thanks for reading.