The wild and free

-A Tribute to Christopher Johnson McCandeless 

Oh fair and faithful wind,

Aid thy wind for thy freedom of flight,

As the sound of night that does pierce my heart,

And My falling heart that does tremble at the start,

For the walls that ground my freedom,

These walls that hide me from my home.

Oh fair Society and your faithful loyalties,

My mind evades them yet I love them still,

The stray dogs bristle by the scorn of another,

At the stalking wolf of moonlight days,

Here at the crosswords of my father's strength,

I leap from the mantle made by man, 

like the falling feather that does dance with gaiety in the fall,

Running wild and free as the wind is awake in me,

These lonely grounds are mine alone,

Mine alone to bathe naked in spirit,

and mine to wander wherever I please,

And now I am free... 

when the day becomes the night

the desert crawled empty of life and time,
the endless sands that threw the wind in its wake,
and the world still remained empty of truth;
for the heavens were emptied of their gods and their lies of freedom,
lost in the giant ocean that deepened the world and the skies.
far above behind the sun,
the lord of time and the master of domains,
cloaked in the bright eye of the world,
must he cast his shadow of pity,
upon the crumbling sands that shamed misery,
and in his eyes did the maddened ocean rise,
for the lands did scorch in hunger,
and with sweet passion does nature reply with her soft embrace,
the vivid colors of her charms and spells,
of hues and shades that pleased the roving eye,
and he watches her graceful dance,
her dainty feet,they stroke the melody of her song,
the mother of life and all that prevailed,
but her smile,Oh the terror that streaked her lips,
but yet innocence beheld her warmth and care,
and in her eyes for compassion showed her,
she made the love of he who watches constantly,
in the darkening night of this broken twilight,
the comforts of lovers beneath all romance,
the fearful ecstasy moaned its lush pleasure,spinning the world in that passionate fury,
and the children of life were indeed born in love.

the silver crescent stood upon the edge of her lips,
the stars burnt in the mist of her alluring fragrance,
for the whole world was joyful for her love,
and her mighty voice did carry her love and hopes,
and she danced and danced,captivated by the sound of her heart,
ever beating,timelessly and open,
she calls to the world for blissful harmony,
for there is still mercy within the serpents noose,
as the prey does battle for the strength of its last breath.
for this wonderful mistress of time,
should her gentle hands caress and carve the lines that draw beauty,
the affection of a mother unto them,borne of simple love,
for every mark upon their skin,and the beauty still remains in every beast:
but for the love of romance,this elusive romance,
for the nature of a mother to nurture the life that is hers to cherish,
for the world was turning and time had yet blissfully been forgotten,
the past of youthful nature should dare look back,
the face of the fading sun,standing alone and upon the sea,
lifting its sadness of flight for the skies and world to see,
and there did she remember the warm heart of her receding lover,
and she praised his name in the dark that bound her to his power,
that sadness is buried deep in her womb,
she cried forever and for none in the pains of that birth,
swallowing her woes for mercy had passed,
and she held her bleeding child to her breast and woe betide the painful agony of painful memories,
but this child and son in silence did endure the misery of his mothers tears...

Gauntlet

a strange journal into the unemployment of S.Kandaswamy 
chapter 20: Gauntlet
                                                                                                     

Here, there and everywhere,

Ghosts and mirrors of plenty that stare,

A castle and kingdom for the bards riddle,

And a mark upon the glistening midnights middle.

The stars have fallen as the darkness runs,

Bloody stairways have the old kings become,

And the tale of death has yet begun,

And the silence and black has swallowed the sun.

Follow the rose stripped off her thorns,

Flowering red and the cold eyes of storms,

As she drinks of those loved hands,

And locked in the tower is the shadow of man.

She is but the actress of his mind,

As she twirls about before the looming twilight,

Dancing the seduction he knows so well,

And the story of hearts too soon to tell.

As hunger was held upon the glade,

As often can strike the silver blade,

For lips that burn with the rushing fever,

As often can see the lost water in the river.

There are wonders of magic and illusions,

As soft as the frail girl that turns,

Who looks beyond heavens gates,

Above the rising cloud for her to stay.

For so sudden a change in the sky,

For the flood of the world today to cry,

Soil and skin have grudged no fair deluge,

But she stands sadly parted from his towering refuge.

Now the rose that lay stripped off her thorns,

Her eyes lay hidden and damned by the gods,

Death that wagered her pain and curse,

The thorn that pierced her heart to burst.

The window

a strange journal into the unemployment of S.Kandaswamy 
chapter 16: The window                                                                                                                     

The eyes of the street have searched and lost,

The footprints of the paths that I have crossed;

And holding the severed neck of trust,

The curtains now fall before the exodus.

Unmarried lovers that sweep the roads,

Of unwanted filth and love that shows,

And marry the patriot ever so proud,

And the children of god to fall from his cloud.

The four winds have turned the stone,

That sat like the world all on its own.

And through this window blows the cold,

And the skies and oceans sing for the bold.

Hinder the moment I said untrue,
And question the rain the sky turned blue,
When I think of all things made of gold and silver,
To shine like gods among the homeless shiver.
A woman walks to the sound of freedom,
A man follows her steps to the temple found,
They pray together and laugh forever,
Watching the stars fall slowly into the swerving river.
We have flown the skies so many times,
But ever have we wondered how the falcon climbs,
As the storm approaches and we cry instead,
The majestic wings beaten fierce and the eyes of dread.

Shiva

a strange journal into the unemployment of S.Kandaswamy 
chapter 7: Shiva
                                                                                                                                                    

In the blue light of the waning moon,

Upon the black wood and the sorry fool,

Acting like the silent devil deep in thought,

Forgetting the last word that seems to be so lost.

Of silver hair that wept till his feet,

And a crown so poised as poisonous yet sweet,

And the flattering of the voices across the world,

Prey not upon the flesh bitten off the cold.

The rain that sleeps above the high mountain,

And the road to vanish at the turn,

And the fool thinks he has lost nothing,

Yet the rain falls and he bears no wings.

Mirrored of these sullen days of misfortune,

As hollow nights can be granted no moon,

And the footprints of a man has led to follow,

The world before the womb and before the swallow.

For the thievery of the late hour,

And the silence of him has been higher,

The flickering flame that burnt that night,

So suddenly could a soul shine so bright?

The great minds that did baffle themselves,

For concrete thoughts that should stand on shelves,

The weight cannot be carried by strength,

And the swiftness of the mind so broken and bent.

Purple skies and pointing eyes,

All these days the clouds have not cried,

And the day has come to finally gather,

Beneath the burning sun we lighted together.

Dreams of night and thunder

do my dreams rise in smoke,swirling ministers of an empty haze, 

turning my world from black to white as i sleep by the sleepless night,

do my dreams purge the world i saw yesterday,of all that was,is born today,

the cries of destiny and of death,the sympathies of life that is hard to ignore,

and do my dreams wake the world of men in their restless ambition,

who craves the night for his blissful slumber nor did he deserve,

the sun that beat his back in his wandering days in search of peace,

nor did he know where to look,for all men did hide their faces,

as the slothful eyes did pierce his heart and still he stands the unfinished portrait,

in a dream he does not realize,for the eye of my mind sees the vision of clarity yet undefined,

and i ask myself again,do my dreams awake the simplicity of sleep,

where i place the complexities of the many sleepless days,

turning the obliging day to night in a moment of the drifting thought,

and do my dreams inspire divine destiny in its wayward path,

melting the frozen horizon of humane perception,to gain passage into the open universe.

in the light of truth,the shadow of doubt will remain,

the scared witness too young to understand the complete and whole greatness of knowledge,

mark the intricate pattern of chaos till the dream should end in the tragic sigh,

and the world does forget along with me that all i dream to see,

and the world that watches with me as we sit by the clouds and gaze beyond,

for this is a dream i forget as i see...

Tidal Fury

Beneath the fathoms of the infinite deep,
Tumbling below in the nightmare held close,
And the ocean warm at the thoughtful touch,
The land and the skies have never opened their doors,
As the tide knocks and turns the moon to watch,
In amazement, in wonder,
How serene the crystal glitter
dancing upon the waves,
The stars spinning in the mesmerizing chaos on nature's effect,
Startling the gods above in lightning and rage.

Did the sweet, earning mother of all nature,
Seek refuge behind the still trembling water,
holding war above her nurtured crown,
she bellows the storm crashing from the sky,
And the heavens quake and shiver,
and the calm and waiting clouds drift by the horizon,
The sun waving sadly beside the god of mercy,
And the storm has struck and the rain sputters in the dreaded gale,
drowning the world in the bitter salt of the sea
Oh mother, oh mother, spare my mind's eye of the wavering kill.

The Mirror

The lord has gone,
But the lord is god,
The lord has fled,
And his own sins are shed.

Across the flying window in space,
Travelling across the universe and days,
Heaven and worlds ablaze by chaotic heat
Soaring to the sun with my cold, cold life.

I am the mirror on the silence,
I am the ghost in the poverty of your mind,
I am the son unborn and waiting to die.

The devil is mine and his blood soaked wine,
Splashed across the guard of night,
With the moon upon the lady's finger,
And the sun dancing behind the cold arms of winter.

The mirror of my mind,
Transverse and colour clouded,
And all my thoughts are born and raised,
tutored lovingly by the hand of life

The infinite scream to pierce the emptiness,
Hollowed tunnels between reason and the void,
Crawling across the galaxy in the eternal mirror.

The Aroma

A whisper of her lips
and her eyes are divine,
burning this compassionate heart of all desire,
turning our gaze to his ever cruel time;

An emblazoned quilt with our eyes in heaven,
she held my heart in softest embrace,
while I bathed in the endless dreams of my passion
waiting , waiting for this eternal grace.

My nose does quiver for I smell,
no honey sweeter than the rain,
like tears upon her brow that fell,
but she laughs and loves for no pain she can see.

Her perfume of the earth on her warm skin,
her beauty beside me in joy,
As together our hands shall swim,
To the ocean our faith will relieve.

I knelt at her feet in my humblest peace,
as she stood before my eyes,
with the spirit of her youth as lovely as the autumn breeze,
for making love behind the white horizon's skies,
and tell tale signs of mischief that wander,
along her naked lips should my fingers play,
for her bosom rests my head  so well,
and in the silence ahead  I will have nothing more to say.

The Cold Morning at the End of Summer

Like a burning candle behind the blue mist,
Dimly lit dew drops as sweet as the kiss,
As rivers upon rainbows as the dull magic begins,
Weaving behind the grey clouds till the grey drops drizzle.
Ever warming that great rush of the wind,
Swaying the branches of these melancholic trees,
In the divine harmony that rests alone in nature,
And the white of waterfall cascades softly form the sky,
A beautiful sight to gaze upon it's unjudging grace,
bending the leaves emptied of the night of fruitful lust,
And to falling with love upon my face.

The rose

welcome home the brother of tales,
the story that will soon turn to stone,as the bitter reality is stretched beyond the illusion,
the masked faces will cry no more.

like the fruit of his mind,
the artist carries his soul,
while dreaming of the sweet voice,
and the sadness of the melody he stole.

tonight the tired ghost shall drink,
and sit sleepless beside the tomb,
while the fading dreams of the sober king,
finally should fail him soon.

the beginning carries a burden,
that the ending must relieve,
and for these hollow words of destiny,
these pages of history must grieve.

sing for the high kingdom,
the towering gates of heaven be proud,
for the angels of mercy stand guard by no truth,
as their words of worship forever resound.

darkness swallows the silence,
as sightless stars forgive the night,
and our beloved vesper smiles upon heaven,
and may the hallowed ground bless her sight.

by the abyss should the darkness rise,
thunderous echoes of mock laughter ring,
the tongue of trouble should the serpent taste,
and the cold fear with the nightmares bring.

the silver moon denied her promised glory,
behind her face must these shadows play,
where the faint memory will never linger,
and the night will never break the day.

the fallen angels will make their battle,
a war of ages the greatest compared,
the victory or loss can neither touch,
as time is left to play the final dare.

the waking ocean hides the chaos,
for the new world saw witness,
and tears from heaven fall with the sky,
bring with the fall of gods and the eternal kiss.

An Open Window

The tragic artist without your sight,
Should you paint this window in sorrow and pain,
Breathing with life as you turn the world to your light,
Soon there will be nothing left in vain.


Be the face of prospect surely as your blindness tomorrow,
And let the world be kind in your divine favor,
The creations of madmen they watch you grow,
For you have become their unattained flavor.


Paint a window of childish remembrance,
Of lush innocence that may never return,
As it sits on the rock that tempted the ocean wild,
Hidden from the misty gauntlets that savage waters may churn.


Leave alone my walls of your tears dry,
Crumble not your face in its passing agony,
For his victory your beloved neighbor will buy,
Pass through this window quickly into silent secrecy.

The Birth

Remember when it was still yesterday,
So young and yet pale as the tender moon that night;
I still remember how began that day,
But how should it end so soon?

His children gather behind their father,
Listening with open ears to endless stories,
While his voice speaks as a night should stir,
His fear is all but what the world must believe.

I can hear footsteps walking lost without their heels,
Climbing softly to a sky though the ladder will not go down;
Awaiting the faint horizon on comforting knees,
Long have we waited for a king to crown.

As a child be born to its tear stained mother,
The blood of its birth spilt upon the eyes that gaze,
From the ocean will he wash his body,
And burn the darkness of man for all his days.

The Throne Upon The Hill

Forgotten winters lay still as the silence of nothing,
The emptiness no ocean would fill beyond greatness,
As the times of unsung beauty has come to sing,
Upon this hill shall the world be at rest.

Like a thrill that flutters its wings to an anxious heart,
The bellowing waves that slap the ground with no tender touch,
While neither stone nor sand will lead the steep road,
The path so crudely hewn is all that remains of my faith.

As a shattered rainbow crawls through the winding thicket,
Moving voices that speak softly in my soul,
If never a word were whispered to the deaf sky,
This high wind untamed should be so bold.

Forgive this illusion that should play upon my spine,
As mine eyes must deceive of the throne I longed to see still;
Awake awake cried heaven for dreams become the pleasure of time,
And I say this to the world,may a dream be lost but may we meet upon this hill.