I can not account for the cruelty
Of the human heart - the unbridled hatred
That runs rampant across the deserts
Of blood stained sands

But there are voices in the wind -
Voices that cry out in a wilderness
Of dreams that can be ours to manifest,
If we would but forsake our evil intentions

Tonight is autumnal, rainy, windy
And somehow even remorse,
Can not efface the sorrow of a race
Bent on self-destruction and selfish gain

Are we dwarfed by blind religious beliefs?
Are we doomed to repeat the mistakes
Of a thousand millenniums of bloodshed?
Are we dead souls seeking the life giving
Waters of eternity, but blindly, as children
Seeking to destroy those innocent ones,
Whom they have failed to understand?

I can not say, for I am but groping in darkness
For a light that has always proven elusive
To my quest for eternal verities - piece by piece
I die a little every day - dispatched into the dew
Which evaporates at the first kiss of sunlight
On mornings that for an instant blind me,
To the daily tragedies and accidents of life

Is it all predestined? This jest of Maya?

I know not the vast beauty that enraptures
The verdant beauty of dawn, yet I enter
It's mystery, If only for a fleeting moment
To touch the majesty of your trembling lips


Am I a fool or a wise man?
I know not.

(I wrote this before reading about the bloodshed in Africa between Muslims and Christians over the Miss World beauty pageant. I was stoned when I wrote it, but not for adultery)!