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Shivanan Harrypersad

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Felicity, Trinidad

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Office Blues

by

Shivanan Harrypersad


Sitting in here I dream to dare.
Oh.. What fun is there in despair?
Working with Peewee is like a fair.
This office is nothing but a lair.
It is full of spite and lacking of air.
Like the fair, there is a lot of noise in the air.
Bells ringing and radios growling;
Monsters lurking and Trolls plotting;
Oh.. What fun is there in this Peppery lair?
A mélange of thunderous screams fill the air.
Tongues of all size and character traverse the shadows of the lair.
Some dare to come near, while other feed on unfounded fair.
Commandments flow from the magic machines,
And yet the followers create belligerent-like scenes.
Peewee is a warrior in the battle of logic.
And I am innocent bystander in this melancholic epic.
Procures like Peewee seeks only respect.
For the helm of yield is rooted in thank you, smiles and reward
Which lair has an able lord?
In the ocean of condiments and herbs there is no win, but only lose.
So listen oh fellow Lairians, this is my song of the office blues.


Dream Catchers

by

Shivanan Harrypersad


When night falls on unfulfilled dreams, then we must go to sleep.
Sleeping takes the pains of reality away. It poisons our well-being
and blinds us to our shortcomings. When we dream, we cannot hurt
anyone. When we fall in love it has the fragrance of a utopian
partnership. This phantasmal amorousness is unfeigned only until we
sleep no more. Reality pushes us into dreaming. For her version
of reality is harsh, and makes no exceptions. Her acknowledgement
is born from knowledge rather than feelings only. Procurers like me
only dream of Jasmines. For the blood in my veins is not red enough
for me to survive in her reality. My upbringing is tainted with
affection, and the court of my clan has dominated my free will.
Jasmines cannot survive in my court. For she is free and wild. She
sways with the wind, and blossoms in the privacy of her shadow.
Young and unwise I am, but free I shall be. For change is natural to
an eager soul. Blossoming Jasmines do not wait for souls to change.
There are many Seekers, but only one Jasmine. Honour and glory to
the Seeker who shall find; Sweet dreams to us, who shall fall behind

Procuring a Jasmine

by

Shivanan Harrypersad


When you love something, and you can't have it,
then that is something worth going after.
For the thrill of seeking that which makes
your heart drown in separation, and
puts your life on hold, is a blaze of fiery passion.
When that passion rages through the spring, and summer
autumn, and winter, with the same temperature,
then you know it is anchored to your soul.
When the hopes of capturing it is lost,
then that which enchants your heart and soul is no more.
Life seems like the barren tundra.
Nothing can flourish in it, no matter how much nurturing is given.
This love is like a Jasmine,so fresh,
ever blossoming and ever-fragrant.
It shines with the luster of white Angelic silk.
When this Angelic Jasmine is procured,
it can produce the magic of fertility.
The warm nectar of this Jasmine transforms frozen survival.
It melts it into passion loaded spring-time.
For life is cold and bitter without the sweet spoils of true love.

Snowman

by

Shivanan Harrypersad


It hurts to think about you and it
pains not to think about you. Please
tell me what kind of magical spell
you have caste upon me. The blood in my
veins have turned into ice. And my heart
has become a frozen tundra. Love will
never flourish in it again. Winter
has descended on my dreams.
Storms of uncertainty have
destroyed my equilibrium. A Snowman
indeed I am. Lonely and cold, I stand
alone. Magical Jasmines creates winters
as white as her petals, and as cold
as her green leaves. Magical in every
way she is. For the scent of a Jasmine
is warm. Her fragrance is a potion
that induces spring. There is no
procuring of this potion. Only fate
can forecast the changing of the seasons.

The Taste of Providence

by

Shivanan Harrypersad


Destiny will surely be brightened
with those smiles. Paradise has
definitely bestowed upon you those
wiles. A face so bright and full,
beams your splendour. Nothing can
compare to your charismatic demeanour.
Are you real? Or are you an
apparition? For thirsty suitors see
mirages. Delusion is as real as
solitary cages. You are a spring of
life for this thirst-ridden peripatetic.
Is the flavour of this spring comrade,
or mesmeric? I wish to know what the
spring will capitulate. Time is in
abundance, but this we can
never manipulate. Will destiny allow
me to drink, or will I be deluded.

The Wave

by

Shivanan Harrypersad


You are the life of the ocean,
Sweet and beautiful like a magical potion,
Your majesty is indescribable,
And your deathly power is reliable,

You are large and you are small,
You are soft and sometimes like a wall,
You are free and wild,
Yet your temperament can be so mild,

Your sound is an explosion of the elements,
It is orchestrated with such elegance

Unlocking Maya

by

Shivanan Harrypersad


Caring is not actually caring.
Seeing is not really looking.
Listening is not really hearing.
Thinking is not really remembering.
Loving is actually discarding.
Savouring is actually spitting.
Surviving is actually avoiding.
Fighting is actually running.
Living is actually dying.
Reality is actually illusion.
Peace is actually born from turmoil.
Perception is actually gossip.
Desire is actually the denied.
The road is actually not the pathway.
Stipulations are actually freedoms.
Limitations are actually maps.
Secrets are actually loud acknowledgements.
These are actually the keys to Maya.

Your Voice

by

Shivanan Harrypersad


Listening to your voice is an experience.
It is fantastic and phantasmagoric.
Your voice is an orchestration of beauty and intelligence.
It is elegantly arranged.
Arranged in an explosion of magnetism and awe.
The listener of this rain of precious words is stripped of his sanity.
He is soaked with drops of fascination and obsession.
Communication with you is an addiction.
It is insatiable and incurable.
Your words are commands to die for.

When Providence Acknowledged

by

Shivanan Harrypersad

Talking to you is a delight that has no description.
Meeting you is like an event mapped by the celestial dream machine.
Seeing you gives indescribable pleasure.
Kissing you is like tasting heaven while intoxicated with passion.
Touching you is an experience beyond narration with mere earthly words.
Tasting you is actually being in paradise.
Smelling you is like living in a Rose garden accented with Jasmines.
Think about you is like breathing oxygen spiked with ecstasy.
You are my life and soul.
My heart has been stolen, and I do not wish for it to be found.
Please keep it, because this is the only way I can endure.
You have captured me and I am not going to escape.
Please let me into you heart were I will be safe.
Your warmth is what I yearn for.
Give me the rest of your life to put smiles on your face.
Please don't release me from your custody.
I am going to blow away with the wind without the protection of your embrace.
You have given me immense pleasure.
This pleasure will last until eternity.
I love you Maya, and I care the world about you.
All of he above feelings cannot be compared to a fraction of what I felt when
you said, you love me too.

KING STREET

by

Shivanan Harrypersad

An explosion of sound and sight fills the air. The hustle and bustle of King Street makes for a pleasant retreat. Buzzing like bees, people are swarming on the beautiful fragrant blossoms of bargains. Some sweet and some intoxicating, these bargains are worth the commute to this hive of honey. King Street, a street of many cloaked goodies is a field of springtime blossoms. To walk through is to have fallen. Rise is the climate and there are no rain clouds, only sliver-lined clouds shade the street of Kings. A royal market place for common patrons: What a disgrace for people on Spencer Avenue. This street is no place of sour grapes and foul apples. It is a field of red juicy strawberries dipped in chocolate goodness.
On the corner of King and Forth, two cars collide with such theatrical finesse. A broken leg and a cut forehead, what a small price to pay for fame and dismay. No one is hurt by the grace of god; he must be in King Street. There is his House right besides that parking garage. Traffic flows like the mighty Euphrates. Their bumpers connect and they leave no room for displeasure. There are so many cars trucks and busses, all in the mix; it’s like a delicious cocktail that intoxicates the feelings of solitude. In the Sovereignty of the kings, there are metal plants that blossoms Hondas, Toyotas, Chevy’s, and Fords. They decorate the landscape and are ever changing.
Angels sit on the wires, and look upon the hordes. Their chirps are lost to the sound of the metal blossoms, but their sight is pleasing to the autistic eyes. Sometimes they will shower us with their heavenly blessings. A stain here and a clump there, the blessings are there to test our ability to stay clear of impending mock and jeer. Black, white, brown, and red, these birds are worth more if on the head. Their feathers and plumes are the oracle for happiness that will resume. Swishing and swooping, the birds fill the sky with a sight to behold.
Businesses decorate the walk of Kings. Grocery stores, convenience stores, and donut shops, all placed to make desires go away. A pharmacy is not needed here but there is one. Hearts don’t break in the land of Royals. Behind Yardley’s is a tattoo parlor. Where marks of pleasure are awarded to the brave. Dr McLennan, the Gynecologist trickles a bit of Winston flavored smoke every hour from the curb. Crystal fashion attracts a constant stream unsuspecting enthusiasts. Everyone comes out a little lighter and allot happier. The dinner on 7th and Styles is the talk at lunch. Binns servers a delectable slice of chocolate cake and a decadent heaping of cheesecake. These are the jewels of King; these places are amidst the river of other bushes and shrubs that supplies the many desires of the travelers of King Street.
Entering King and Leaving is an episode that is sweet and smooth. A fighter I am not, but the beacon of contentment I Worship. Smooth paved roads and long never ending curbs fill the picture. A canvas of many colors and a mélange of sweet dissonance fill the air. Why does this street look so enticing? It draws me to its centre, a centre where the buzzing starts.

A Gambler's Fate

by

Shivanan Harrypersad



It's all a game of snaring, stealing, and procuring. We play with straight faces yet our hearts yearn to yell. Our lives are focused on a green board of life. This green is our field of battle. Our ammunition is words and roses. We negotiate and barter with emotions. We cheat and steal all in the name of trust. For, a good sport we are. Some of us are drafted by win, and some by lose; some by the drug of confidence, and some by the disappointment called booze. Some of us wager our lives, and some of us our hearts. We often lose more than one heart, and reset our lives many times. For the toll of devastation is guaranteed by destiny. Upping the ante is making our demise a little darker and deeper. In this game of hearts, there are no rules. What's at stake develops the edict for frontier-like sportsmanship. In this game she is the King, and she is Queen, and we are the fools. We are merely pawns in her web of phantasmagoria. Our fate is handed to us by her ambience, and mi!
nd at its weakest time; for she is the loaded dice in this game. Destiny is in her pocket, and life is her turf. Romance and passion is her nectar. Your truth and emotions is her spell over you. Lust is her bullets, and her smile is a gun. For the fate of us gamblers, is in her hands. So deal with the hand destiny has dealt you. This game goes on and does not wait, not even on the Gamblers fate.

A Procurer's Dilemma

by

Shivanan Harrypersad



If words could describe how I feel about you, then the mighty ocean would not seem so deep. If my eyes could reflect the dept of my love for you, then the sky would not seem so large. If my heart could contain the emotions you have ignited in me, then the mountains would not seem so huge. Your dynamic love is making everything around me seem so limited and conquerable. Oh! You, my beautiful Jasmine, how can I harness this Magical love? I have only imagined it so far, and I am lost in the taught of it. Hearing your voice that is pregnant with grace and virtue brings me to my knees. Your charm has devastated my pride, and your humility has invigorated my humanity. Tell me how can I understand you? Understanding you seems like an impossible task. I will surely dedicate my life to the pursuits of understanding you. So be patient with me; that is all I ask. My life will surely remain static without your love and affection. And yet I risk my heart being shattered in a million !
pieces. But my dear Jasmine, it will be worth every single piece of my shattered heart. The anticipation of true love is worth any risk, and the taste of true love is far greater than any broken heart. I may not be able to procure this Jasmine. This Jasmine could yield to another procurer. If that procurer is favored, then I accept there is no room for me. I shall merge into the horizon, and be forgotten with the night. For night has no effect on sunny beauty. Your sweet self would be safe and sound. And you my love will have an eternal well wisher, one who is very far away, and as close to you as your heart. Be you in my arms, or be you in my dreams, life will never be what is seems.

Apocalypse Of The Mayan Rule

by

Shivanan Harrypersad



To close the door and don’t say a word, is like being stampeded by a heard.
Wars are fought for love and the victories are herald by white doves.
In the battle of hearts there will be one looser and one wounded.
The Mayan experts in deceitful strategies have sounded.
Armed and ready in ambush, they have won the battle, but the war is yet to come.
A great war, a war that will end the rain of the Mayan empire.
The dust of an apocalyptic event is in the horizon.
The only weapon in the hand of this procurer is quill.
Mayan gold is their soul, for this they will not fold.
My fight will not be for gold, but rather to cleanse their soul.
The tears of many have covered their spirits.
I will liberate the Mayan queen of her pride.
Their empire will endure a great divide.
Quill in hand, alone I will stand.
Destiny is poised in wait observing this great battle from behind our fate.

At The Table

by

Shivanan Harrypersad



Seeing you eat sends me into a pleasure retreat.
You're so graceful with your knife, spoon, and fork.
If your plate were alive it would talk.
The plate would say you have made my day.
Your cup would be the envy of any gentleman alive.
Only your hands can move with such gentle drive.
You maneuver your cutlery so expertly.
Your posture is that of royalty.
And your luster is that of the moon.
Your chewing and smiles is that of a beautiful tune.
Seeing you eat can cause any heart's defeat.
You at the dinner table sounds almost like a fable.
Savoring your display, to do anything I am unable.
You at the table is a sight to behold. >This scene is worth more than gold.
Your smiling face can distract one from saying grace.
If you're at the table what need is there for taste.
Your beauty can be eaten, and your warmth can be drank.
The nectar from your personality can fill a tank.
It is always a pleasure to see you eat.
For the poet at the table, it is a delightful treat.

Cosmic Convicts

by

Shivanan Harrypersad


Looking up I can see the floorless sky so expertly done.
The stars hang with such grace and majesty.
Wonderfully orchestrated are the cycles of the planets, the moon, and the sun.
The heavens are his symphony of lights, shapes, and will.
He could only have imagined the rivers and the oceans.
For the mountains and valleys are the expressions of his magnificence.
Greenery and fragrances are but a manifestation of his pleasantness.
And we are but a reflection of his own self, buried deep within the elements.
Everything I can see I am told is phantasmagoric.
It is only a distorted reflection of his realm.
We are prisoners of this realm.
Alien is our status, and convicted is our position.
Who is this magician that stares everything towards its own destiny?
We have been sentenced to infamy and destitution.
To pay restitution is to let his name dance on the tongue.
He is the life of everything.
He creates and he annihilates.
He maintains and controls the reins.
He says that I am indestructible and immortal.
Everything is in his total control, and yet we are so bold.
Nothing is ours to hold, but we think we own the gold.
Pride is our death, and detachment is our advancement.
We are far away from home and with no prospects of return.
This poisonous picnic in prison must be adjourned.
For birth, disease, death, and aging are the four square meals we receive without fail.
Attachment and desires is the countless shackle that keeps us locked to our cell. Detachment is the key and surrender is the fee.
Freeing the mind is avoiding the fine.
Chanting his names bodes a divine pardon into his garden.
Some know him as Govinda, and some know him as Mukunda.
Someone once called him Rupal, and lots call him Gopal.
He himself likes the name Krishna, but he won't mind, because all his names are divine.

DREAM CATCHERS

by

Shivanan Harrypersad



When night falls on unfulfilled dreams, then we must go to sleep. Sleeping takes the pains of reality away. It poisons our wellbeing and blinds us to our shortcomings. When we dream, we cannot hurt anyone. When we fall in love it has the fragrance of a utopian partnership. This phantasmal amorousness is unfeigned only until we sleep no more. Reality pushes us into dreaming. For her version of reality is harsh, and makes no exceptions. Her acknowledgement is born from knowledge rather than feelings only. Procurers like me only dream of Jasmines. For the blood in my veins is not red enough for me to survive in her reality. My upbringing is tainted with affection, and the court of my clan has dominated my free will. Jasmines cannot survive in my court. For she is free and wild. She sways with the wind, and blossoms in the privacy of her shadow. Young and unwise I am, but free I shall be. For change is natural to an eager soul. Blossoming Jasmines do not wait for souls to c!
hange. There are many Seekers, but only one Jasmine. Honor and glory to the Seeker who shall find; Sweet dreams to us, who shall fall behind.

A Chinese Tale

by

Shivanan Harrypersad



Making tears come to your eyes is a sin. Seeing you sad is not something I am in. You are smart and beautiful just like you say. You can make any man's day, or life I might say. When you smile you can brighten the room. And when you move everything goes into full bloom. You are blessed with gracefulness and splendor. It seems that you're on every Procurer's agenda. Your eyes are as deep as the mystical abyss. For there is no limit to you amorous bliss. Do not be in despair, oh precious maiden. Life didn't present you with someone even. Patients are an austerity, and choice is a liberty. Hold on to your sanity or Princess of humanity. For the Seeker who will find you will be yours for eternity. This is the tale of a Chinese Princess. She is worthy of many a success. Her life is like a Jade sculpture, precious and rare. Many Seekers wish to procure her, but they haven't done their share. This seeker cannot compare, and will not compete. But if you decide to !
accept defeat he will be at your feet. Oh Chinese Princess, please don't shed a single tear, because that will be impossible for me to bear.

Life

by

Shivanan Harrypersad



Oh! What a strange fruit.
Filled with juicy pulp.
Decked with a silken skin,
And cored with seeds of new beginnings.
Dewdrops glisten from your rainbow colored skin
And the moonlight smiles on your sky-like status.
You are being alive, and you are death.
You are blessed, and you are forbidden.
Your nectar is delicious, and it is poisonous.
Your silken skin is smooth, and it is rough.
Your appearance is pleasant, and it is calamitous
You are what we receive.
You are what we have given.
You are our past, and our future.
You are our demise, and you are our liberation.
You are our victory, and you are our defeat.
Strange indeed you are.
We sow you, and we nurture you.
We protect you and we serve you.
Life- life- life, you are.

Rules of Endearment

by

Shivanan Harrypersad



The rules have been set and the game has just begun.
No matter what the outcome, it will be fun.
It will be fun because many games were played before.
There were no wins, many losses, and some "I am not sure."
To play the game of life is natural, and to win is not a sin.
Losing the life game throws us into turmoil and makes our heads spin.
Honesty and loyalty is our best strategy.
This battle requires no energy.
Life rewards us with many Chocolates and makes us like looters.
This particular game is cosseted by shooters.
Maya is on the battlefield and is also the prize.
Drawing the attention of the challenger was a surprise.
The game is tasteless without achieving an accolade.
Maya is the taste and I am sure it will not fade.
I n this game of Life, passions can run wild.
You can count on this side to go the extra mile.

The First Ring

by

Shivanan Harrypersad



By the power of the feelings and emotions in me; inspired by you, I offer you, this first ring. The worldly value of this ring is worthless, but what it represents is priceless. It is a magical magnet that will keep us together. It is a symbol of my endless love for you. Falling in love with you took moments. And this first ring is the oracle that predicts it will last till eternity. The round shape of this ring symbolizes there will be no breaks in my love for you. The diamond in it is minute, but it is very special. It is as insignificant as I am. But like the diamond, my heart was made under great pressure and my love will last forever. My love is like a rock and it is something any one will be proud about. This first ring is as small as a micron, but it will flourish into eternity.

The Mayan Episode

by

Shivanan Harrypersad



She is coated with honey but hurts like a sting.
What more can this procurer bring?
Taking my heart and taking my soul, you have left me for gold.
Oh! You are so bold: behold the wrath of time.
For time will make me old and wise, and it will rip away your disguise.
The plant from whence you came will cause you to wither.
Spring will feel like winter and winter will feel like forever.
My equilibrium will blossom in the tundra you have forced me into.
Romance is my soul, but my procuring is not worth its weight in gold.
A seeker I am not, but a gardener I am.
I am a hunter that fell victim to his prey
Maya, you have made me want not to stay.

WHERE AM I?

by

Shivanan Harrypersad



A fake void fills the air of despair.
Survivors only dream to dare.
The pieces decorate the scape.
Do I need to escape?
Breaths have matured into gasps.
And hope has grown into wasps.
My mind has retired from building.
Yet my soul wouldn’t stop searching.
I must concede, a procurer’s dilemma indeed.
Mislead by a treacherous Mayan seed.
Cold and lonely it seems, all my warmth reamed.
This is what my destiny has deemed.
The Egyptian, the Islander, and the Native, has created many a mumble.
Pushing me out of the downward slump into a destiny proof tumble.
As I stager along the path, I am in full anticipation of a miracle’s wrath.

Rum and coke blues

by

Shivanan Harrypersad

Roses Are REd, Violets are Blue
Pour me a rum and coke or I will beat you blue...