“Majhe, As a child living in New Orleans, always had dreams of someday changing the world thru artistry before thousands. Being on a stage… touring and spreading love to the most distant of regions where water’s scarce and there’s barely any food to eat. Majhe got introduced to poetry at the tender age of 6 due to a speech impediment… yet reading and writing everyday inspired his little heart to believe healing a nation… Isn’t impossible. His writings today are just an extension of who he is and the vividness within his pieces only paints a picture of where he’s aiming to be. He also strums the classical guitar and tickles the piano some. Having performed in a few spots around New Orleans, with so much encouragement given from friends and family to never give up; I can guarantee you that this is a dream he’s not planning on letting go of!”
Unfinished/ Discreet Love…
A marigold meadow, mellow breeze to comb Guayacan trees…canary citrus blouse sewn of rose yellow petals. And Obatala‘s echo seized, to sodden Autumns grace, loqaut leaves…some tulip fervor laced. Please may one, harbor your routes prize you a necklace of kisses beginning so from…the border of your mouth. Beneath Horus’s radiant gleam whilst cumulus clouds pierce thought…born, to get out. Wanting to plummet, before your abyss. Bellow chants melodic…grace chaotic hips. Lips puckered in heed to rupture fist. May your fingertips gossip. Yearn degrees hottest. Pant blues, moan greens and scream violets. Speak, celestial collages. Echoic tune bloom a forest and, scent flaunt mirages. If God miss, were a woman…the seas would flood of gold, moon be twice as bright, and a breeze would hold your soul. No disease to heed your hopes…she’d, be the sun’s painting, current between the stream’s toes…the one love can’t help thinking. Her dreams would echo furthest…a mere glance still motion an, grant a man purpose…from within the delicacy of her hands. Unveil our…ability to blossom, few silhouettes concealed in flesh, some columned. Eden’s conservatory soused of pearly zion. Early Myans tampering acrylic hues. Relics pued beyond cultive islands…and, for me and you. A song of silence. Because Gorgeous…your euphoric aura conforms bliss, ecliptic realms celestial. Ecru Belle breaths of you warp rifts…Oscillating limbs timid a tremble at soft tips.
“We are passionate about beings that have been blessed with the ability to move mountains with their minds!”