Addicted to questions

I am drunk and overflowing with thoughts. The sheer quantity is blinding, and therefore i can no longer perceive any individual qualities of any single one of them. they are a throbbing buzz pulsing to the rhythms of sight and sounds, people and their lives. They a a cavity of dull soft space that blinds me gently without suffocating me completely, yet their weight leads me to cast away all sense of what i am about.Why are they not letting me believe truth when i hear it?

I can longer connect a point to its origin. I can longer discover the root of a feeling.I can longer sustain those engines that creates with passion such wonders and feats of intuition that amazed me as a child. the world has grown so dull and so murky. Are we all seeking to return to a primordial state of prolonged childhoods? Is this a random thought floating in me that just happened to be near the surface?

What is the value of life? is it meant to be anything more than we can make it? ( now I'm slipping into the part where i don't make any sense at all.) What is the world and all its glory if it cannot sustain one individual to gradually open his folded wings into the sun and blast upon the winds its own tiny effect?

Are we walk upon the earth as controlled chaos withheld by your minds chains? Are we to seek a miraculous alignment of stars that synchronizes our beings with a universal existence?
Why has my mind preceded my existence? Why has it and its folly's dominated my God Given eyes? Why has perversion invaded my pure touch? Why does this super complicated multi cellular being,so perfect in its design ultimately create its own dark equilibrium that effectively stops him from "growing"?

Is it our curse to seek answers? Is this a purpose built design flaw that leaves us scurrying to higher powers? Why i can i not simply be. Like right now. Like for a moment. Like a moment ago. Think about the moment. Its gone. But it was whole, and like it i want to be .

throw an arrow at the moon
and see it shatter in your mind
lift your arms as if to fly
and glide in grace, a swan on water
Yet what about the luminous sand
stuck between your toes?

Calling

Water crystals spreading the spectrum of moonlight
This moon- The eye of a wolf, a rabbit and a celestial tiger
bright and high, the wide ocean lays at its feet.
Saturn tilts the tail of Scorpio, heavy with
Antares on its back burning in flashes of crimson.
Some Lovers, we assume, stroll for comfortable rocks
for what ever lovers do with only crabs in company.
The night is calm, the sea is a magnet for worries
which are rolled up and splashed into white foam.
Engrossed in conversation, i heard a song from afar
Over vast oceans and valleys, driving away all my thoughts.
Those blue mountains, they are calling me again.

What the hell am i doing here? What the hell...

On being a Genuis

While this is not the fist time i have thought about the issue of born genius vs made genius, today i found two delightful articles on this same issue. Although you may basically know the entire crux of the articles with a bit of logic, its worth reading as its neatly explained with science and facts.

Many have fallen in love with the idea of innate talents, hundreds of years of literature glorify these themes to set few common men apart from the rest. When I showed my nephew an article of how a teenager built a spectograph from $300 worth of off the shelf equipment, he promptly replied " God must have spent extra time with these kids". So needless to say, it is also a common excuse. Somehow, I think i will remember these articles for a long time as there are important lessons here that one may apply in life (like when bringing up your kids).

New Scientist article

Scientific American Article

examining contents of a Mind vomit

Come a day, when we may shed our sins like clothes. Not ripped, not torn, just sliding away and dissolve into the ground around your feet. Come a day when gravity may repel you, and lift your feet inches from the ground for you to wonder what what it feels to be truly removed from the world. Come a day which is not a day but a mix between seven sunrises and a moon, and we may loiter among the shore with crabs senselessly zig zagging sideways. We may look at the waves and bring out that sexy wide angle lens to capture the moment when the image of all seven suns are stamped on three single intersecting ripples of your morning tea with your officemates cleavage in the off center. Should anyone suddenly forget-no lets all really forget where this notion arrived from, just that it exists stark naked in the glaring sun blocking rush hour traffic, gracefully dodging all and any available justifications. Nobody cares if some crazy advertisers committed suicide having painted the town lavender green to promote their dying seaweed based nasal hair remover product that day. We were all thoroughly engrossed in hating ourselves the day before, and were looking, scavenging rather for anything that sparks that little engine in our brains so that we can justify that hate by appropriate responses. like writing truthful nonsense. Or trying to see if a single oxymoron can insult three world religions at the same time. Someone, somwhere must find this remotely amusing. I particular love listening to people talking from their hearts, amazing the lies that they force themselves to believe just so that they can wallow in their self imposed corner crying foul on thier existence to have been created so bleak. Yeah, right on! Who cares about truth when everything crumbles in the face of your very unique and particular "situation". Yeah yeah, who am i to talk? Thats exactly the spirit, don't ever let anyone destroy your mental stability, the miracle that is your backup plan needs extraordinary faith to be kept believable and its best you divert your creative abilities to serve this cause.Have you seen that beautiful ball of fire, where well rehearsed soldiers danced in the backdrop of the giant spume of algae? Its amazing how beautiful it is (x 10), to see the meeting of glimmering circles upon a ball of pure energy, pushing out the fabric of space around it and dispersing clouds like a celestial hiccup. How come i love watching nuclear explosions? What is crazy, isn't it all relative? Relativity is about quality, like the basic principle behind Google search. Dare we bother with the world when scientists are blending elementary particles like orange juice, in immense blenders called cyclotrons which, if not built could have provided the entire world with an years supply of blockbuster movies? Where are you Basho when i am 5-7-5 ing? Had you infected me with your spirit like i had asked, i would gladly sacrifice my buttocks in endless contemplation while capturing the essence of a butterfly's wings, a glowing ember, and a time worn cliff draped in vegetation like the fallen hair frozen at the moment of revealing a smile underneath.

Reaper, know this

When you come for me
Let it not be when i have forgotten you
reclining in splendor on laps of rosy maidens
come for me in winter, lost among lonely wolves

As you fix your stare upon my heart
Let not your wings beat upon an aged man
lost in a maze of reality, when my dreams no longer hint
of the promise i made before i was born

Do not vanquish my spirit with your scythe
until i have tamed it to an earthbound Pegasus
Come for me when it is only I, no other
who create the bars to my own cage.

Let not my arm slide to my side
creating wealth for its lovers
sprite me away, scaling the Kilimanjaro
let my last look be towards the blinding sun

Let not men of knowledge dissect my worn body
and clean it of disease to let me live half dead
take me when i am not expecting it
filled with bullets,arrows and love.

let not my war be won by your finality
until i crush my enemies to dust
cut not the chains to this earth
until i have loosened them, myself, alone.

Dare not bring me peace, i beg
until i pry that fruit from this barren earth
do not martyr me, do not shame me
with death fit for those great kings

take me away when there is no more land
that has not borne my calloused feet
take me when there is no more love
that i can hope to give to my Lord.

Reaper, let your work be my gift.

Numb, as i do not exist

how sad this is, to ask yourself
"why am i not sad at all, as i should be"
you know you are broken, constantly imploding
emotion cased in ice, burning every layer

how sad this is to force yourself to cry, and then...

- nothing -

drawn, hooked and fished to the surface again,
knowing of the full perversion of this impulse
when tears roll as cold marbles, without a sorrow to justify

how sad this is, to find this man,
filled to his full with latent potential
conform and curb to dreams of others
and know it at the same time.

cold cold wind overcoming intense heat
As i lay watching the herding of cloud bursts
the only moment where my mind dissolves
where i need not plot the dimensions of my smile.

First Haiku

Midnight Moon
Oh, my jealous heart
wishes to become

Story of my Secret

I need my dove to fly, leaving footprints of blank color.

-----------------fin---------------------------
"when I die, bury my body on that spot,
where i, anxious and in fear of my own self,
killed the hopes and dreams of my garden of azaleas.
Perhaps as lie dead and dreaming, fueled by those dreams
i may give birth to that unknown plant once more."


-----------Begin here-----------------
In your garden of white azaleas,
there is a strange plant, blossoming.
It needed no seed, seeks no water or sun
it existed because it must,
the beauty of the azaleas called for it
to rise out of nothing.

Now your garden is transformed in your mind,
because of one strange plant, that needed nothing.
Your azaleas, seem buoyant and young
Yet you ask yourself, what will it grow into?
Will it lead my prized garden to ruin?

The unknown plant gave off a mysterious scent
creating excitement, doubts, fear in your mind.
Growing ever uncomfortable, day by day,
until you gently kneel by the plant
and pluck it out, unable to whit stand not knowing.

Your garden of Azaleas remained beautiful, sweeter
and your mind has quietened in this safety.
Yet the unknown plant, stubborn in will, rose again.
Day after day, you pull them out, never once curious
of the nature of this plant, that just refused to go.

It has now become one more of your duties,
watering azaleas, weeding, pulling out the unknown plant.
You are amazed, yet refuse it a place in your garden.
One day, that single plant , that grew out of nothing,
whitdrew into the soil, defeated by you.


--------------the myths---------------------
Time sweeps upon your beautiful garden
Azaleas blossomed and lived, and grew tired
their scent waned of its intoxicating perfume
their sight seemed feeble, not delicate, just incomplete
their relentless aura has stopped feeding your soul.

In anger, you plant new roses, hibiscus and carnations.
You learn at once, that they would never belong here.
Growing old and weak and alone, everyday
you eyes and mind wanders, fixing on that spot
where one unknown plant grew, out of nothing

Without wanting to, you wonder, and dream .
You hear echoes in the distance, birds?
A fleeting feeling of sudden warmth, and cold
a fragrant breeze soaring thorough your hair
an intense longing that stops just short or revealing itself.

-----------veritas-----------

25 26 36 19
18 24 39
24 23 12 37 18

Alexander Graham Bell

A secret is like a dove: when it leaves my hand it takes wing.Who can catch my white dove?

Quote

"Madam, you have between your legs an instrument capable
of giving pleasure to thousands and all you can do is scratch it.

Sir Thomas Beecham (1879-1961) to a lady cellist.

Your Lips

the concave curves begin,
end together in symmetry,
the surface, raised and full
twin cliffs folded together
joined by a river, dividing
the pallet is of maroon, pink
hints of red and sparkling luster
the veins and folds supportive
the proud deposition, assertive
the moon existed here, at a certain moment
so did oceans, lions and cypress
at a certain moment, everything was this
there was no emptying of its spirit
yet none receives a full measure.
This sweetness, exotic amazon flower
Never tasted, yet full of taste, felt.

Your lips, they are made for kissing.
To be kissed, and kissed often
By someone who knows how to.

Something to regret

In all my earlier travels, ive been so exited that i was "there" that the entire experience was ultimately about myself. Now when i think about my last conquest, i realize the difference between a journey and a pilgrimage. Journey is what any tourist undertakes, to benefit from a difference of culture, sights, sounds, smells, tastes. A pilgrimage however, has an objective that far surpasses the act of traveling. It in fact is all about you, but in a difference sense.

Upon seeing the mountains for the first time, (which is etched deeply in me) I felt something inside that just clicked almost audibly. I felt a vast gulf forming inside me, and longed to fill it with the snow capped peaks.Thus, the wanderlust in me that has lain dormant for so long was poked with a firebrand.It remains in perpetual insomnia -awake and raging to push me out of any comfort zone, making me dream of making my feet dirty.

Ultimately, a total experience of any place you go to will never happen, unless you live there. Many places may not even be worth it.. So there is no point in running around trying to grasp everything, see everything. Its like going to a cheap sale, and you are never satisfied, always thinking there might be a better deal in the next stall. (like in Bangkok's flea market).

I regret that i did not slow down, and absorb the scenes that i came across.In fact, its ironic that I was actually too intent on "absorbing" scenes that i ran from one to the other. Its then that you realize that there are many details that are missing. When i visited the Taj Mahal, i was speechless with everything about it. All i remember now of the Taj Mahal is that i was speechless. That maybe enough for many, but i cant stand that. I mean, other than all the obvious details, all i can say is it was beautiful. Like any common tourist would say.I mean i can remember mostly what i saw. But its not enough to move me to paint something beautiful about tragedies of love maybe. Simply put, what i regret is that i failed to record the thoughts and feelings that flowed through me. All that remains now are just pictures.

A pilgrimage is about discovering things about yourself. Its no use to comeback with album fulls of pictures and try to reconnect to a moment long past. To preserve its purity, it must be recorded, with pen, paper and art.

Those thoughts are very precious.

Animal

There is a coldness in my being
There is a being inside my Self
Itself longs to be build rockets
Buildings, towers, love, energy
Towering above my head, always
Heading towards waves. nameless
Counting clouds, naming stars, planets
Smiling softly to old men and children
A man, with wise intelligent eyes
Wisdom and calm permeate his aura
Calmness the sheathe to a storm withheld
Held perpetually, a walking explosion
Restless, i walk to find this being
This being called my vision
The vision of myself.

To touch purity, is to impair its perfection.
Revert.Revert. To pure animal self.

Is there no one, who will share my king?

Thoughts from Afar

Neither the grass grows hither or the flowers bloom,
but even the sky bows down to kiss the highland plume.

Hafeez Jalandhri.

Thoughts on life

The only reason a warrior is alive is to fight, and the only reason a warrior fights is to win. Otherwise why be a warrior? It is easier to count beads.

-Musashi

Did he even exist?

Joseph Patrick O'Brien Jr.
Designed a very particular electrical circuit in 1971.

I want to know who he was.His picture.His life. But i cant find it anywhere. Is he even alive?

It bothers me that great achievements are being forgotten, even when we are awash and drowning in information. That man probably contributed to more than he ever dreamed.

But now, did he even exist? Is he real?

Q and A

I ask you, what is dried leaves and twigs to you?
"chores,a burden- the clutter of gardens!"
But what of its texture and scent, the veins of its surface,
born through rain and wind, alone, for itself?
What of the glory of the shade of which it was part?
the living, breathing, ingenious eating of the celestial drops?
light captured and absorbed, held within and drunk within
a child may wonder why a tree does not glow
(Regret this! that we discard the gifts of innocence).
the gentle falling leaf, gliding upon complex formulas
teaching us invaluable lessons of life and science?

I ask you, what is your eye lashes to you?
"It helps me sleep, and protects my eyes!"
But what of its construct and impeccable design,
the perfectness in its simplicity of multi functionality
blended into every occasion and environment
as if the world was designed with it in mind
man may build bridges to space,
yet can never out do the arc of an eyelash.

I ask you what is your heart to you?
"It is the organ that keeps me alive,
it maybe where my consciousness dwells!"
On this i falter to offer grand explanations!
Who ever in this world understood a heart?
Is it not the woe of our incapability to do so
that has led us to war, toil, towers and dungeons
If it were just a blood soaked organ, perhaps
we humans shall find a costly measure of peace.
are not all laws set to tame the hearts of men?

synthesis of desire

at the moment of creation of arts and actions
I wonder, as you should too
of why i desired to do so.

I wonder if nature injects, woven
fears and allure to our being,
or is this itself a desire speaking,
to create grandeurs upon a flat existence.

I want, therefore i became
the instrument of unknown callings.
desire is rudimentary, 123
its workings pure and faithful

The direction is what matters, x and y
good and evil cannot be attributed
to what a heart needs, few it does
It is only what you give your heart,
That you must ponder upon, dissect
actions created sin, actions created love.

No man seeks to destroy himself, truth,
no heart needed such desire to beat
So ask your self, why must your heart beat for you?
physics applies to everything, body and soul

faith has logic, as does what you need.
desire what you need, not what you want.

Wish

30 feet up, zero to the edge,
Upon my face, challenging, connecting
Winds of Southern velvet, transparent,
flowing, touching, dominating
kissed with a hint of salt ice
i wish not for wings, i do not run.

Oh, cold winds, as blue as the sea,
tear open the doors to my heart.
blast away my fear, teach me your fury.
take my soul and rub it on the hindu-kush
soak it with the purity of Baikal lake
set it upon the lazy glaciers of Patagonia
roll it through the Mongolian seas of grass
and bind it to the hooves of Andalusian horses.

drop this rebel cloud, beyond the last horizon
To rise from that seed yet again, gain, again.


and when the day came, there was a man
who died with truly dirty feet.

Regna.

cravings delight, fires alight
echoes and aromas of night
Calling me out, creature of thought
demons and virtues breed aloud

never excel, seldom begun
some truthful work, yet undone.
heart of stone, sight weighed down
drifting away, hot blood,warm youth

when egos collapse, fortresses fall
what will i have but few lost dreams?
sunburnt grass, hooves of wild horses
chasing wind, striding in anger

always angry, ever angry,
I live, on.

Hunt, tonight

Tonight i shall hunt you down,
though I'm but a novice with such weapons
No armor shall dare whit stand the will
that i shall throw from my bow.

Tonight i shall hunt you down,
and strip your pride away
like many prime autumn trees
you shall become mine, bared to the root.

Tonight, i shall hunt fiercely,
without fear, without doubt
my spirit torments me
to brand your soul with my fire.

Tonight i hunt swiftly, like breath
angry upon lonely stretches of palm,
where silver glimmers dance upon leaves
under the heavy twilight moon.

Tonight, only tonight i shall hunt
For the faint scent that intoxicates me,
for the one moment when i may throw away myself
to fall through your fingers like sand.

Would you close your fist...

What do you really know about anything?
I know that i do not know - Socrates


What are you really made of?
Sins and Dreams.
Be humble for you are made of dung. Be noble for you are made of stars.-Serbian Proverb


What really shapes you?
And the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom. -Anais Nin


What do you really want?
Freedom.
Live Free Or Die -John Stark

Tonight, Tonight

Tonight, in a moment of weakness,
I did look into my heart, to gaze upon that place
Hidden in its deep floral camouflage
Embroidered into these pulsing walls
Where my blood sleep next to your memory

Tonight, I shall recollect those memories
Of when I was released from interpreting
The meanings of hidden knowledge
To touch primal unpainted skin, silken
The stars and dark fabrics, moon and eyes

Tonight, I open the space between earth and stone
To uncover the living creatures, banished,
Burdened to carry a moment that moved time itself.
Stars, how you jealously watched through walls
What unfolded into a monument draped in musk and hibiscus.

That night, I was freed by a diffusion of colors
To my skin as it turned, a chameleon disco
That burned passion into ashes, skin into flame
Crystal towers fading into clouds of hue,
Rains joyously silent, blurred by distant tears.

That night, the pyramids stood tall again
As they watched history unveil its devious dagger
That plowed through hearts, joining them forever
into the centimeter of seconds that lasted
Forging a kingdom of silent green valleys

That night, diamonds and rubies tarnished shyly
With the silver glimmers of one lost kiss
That flew through the world until it was broken
To look into your shaded eyes, that shot arrows of perfume
Wounded in pleasure, they still pulse within me.

That night, I traveled through your tresses
Falling down cliffs of endless warm skin
The golden landscapes of your cheeks
The expertly folded origami of your ear
The enclosed labyrinth of your fingers

That night, desire suffocated the air
Like the sea, silent and menacing with potential
Flowing superfluously, through suspended souls
Lost as birds in space, aiming for a distant constellation
That ever glittered all through an effortless journey.

Tonight, Tonight, Tonight
till light,

Sunrise

Mountains, mountains floating above water
pink and blushing from the newborn sun
the sea is calm, with the weight of heavy clouds
ripples in the richest colors of dark and light

Sea, wind, cloud , essential for life
Sight, scent, sound, defining life.

For a moment i disappear, lifted
and roll myself into the heavenly cushions,
and gently reach down to draw
my name on the still waters
and watch waves carry it to distant shores.

See it reach the floating circles of Sand,
where a lone coconut in a bed of vegetation
waits its time to germinate, silently
into a tower to test the playful wind.

Look deeply and far away to the horizon,
keep looking, for if for a moment you close your eyes,
you may miss forever the greatest wonder
that destiny has chosen only you to see.

The Tolkien in Bob Dylan

I'm a person prone to looking for meaning in everything, and most lyrics i hear are simply nonsense. I believe a good song, like a good piece of art should leave something with the observer, a thought, an image, an inspiration even after you listen to it. ( instrumentals always do that better for me)

Bob Dylan lyrics set him apart from all the rest simply because of his originality. His songs convey many different messages at the same time, and often end up a bit jumbled with meanings blurred or opaque. Take changing of the guards lyrics for example. Its a haunting yet catchy song, feels bittersweet. The lyrics is enigmatic-it begins like a love song but ends talking about revolution or corruption maybe?

Nevertheless, i feel Dylan's got a way with words. His imagery is often like fantasy writing,some of it reminds me of Tolkien's Lays of Beleriand. Such a connection though, may itself be deemed "fantastic" by many.I believe they both have a talent for projecting powerful images, mystic and often tragic/romantic. And both happen to be excellent storytellers.

-chimes of freedom-
Through the mad mystic hammering of the wild ripping hail
The sky cracked its poems in naked wonder
That the clinging of the church bells blew far into the breeze
Leaving only bells of lightning and its thunder
Striking for the gentle, striking for the kind
Striking for the guardians and protectors of the mind
An' the unpawned painter behind beyond his rightful time
An' we gazed upon the chimes of freedom flashing.

-Changing of the Guards-
Desperate men, desperate women divided,
Spreading their wings 'neath the falling leaves.
She's smelling sweet like the meadows where she was born,
On midsummer's eve, near the tower.

-Mr.Tamborine Man-
Then take me disappearin' through the smoke rings of my mind,
Down the foggy ruins of time, far past the frozen leaves,
The haunted, frightened trees, out to the windy beach,
Far from the twisted reach of crazy sorrow.
Yes, to dance beneath the diamond sky with one hand waving free,
Silhouetted by the sea, circled by the circus sands,
With all memory and fate driven deep beneath the waves,
Let me forget about today until tomorrow.

I like the simple absorbing quality of his writing style and its ability to convey images directly.He doesn't keep describing or glorifying little details, which is probably what i do in my poems.Fast paced and engaging, edgy.

Sorry i cant dig out Lays of Beleriand for excerpts, as it must be in the bottom of the bottom of my book boxes. I may have to tunnel under the book pile to reach it. Its always been a hard book to find as even i stumbled upon it accidentally in a used book store in Pindi (guess where in the world that is!).

Infected with Writers Block

Much time have i spent, observing the world
recalling memories to give birth to lyrical word
many times have i signed in, only to stare
an empty box, pure, naked and bare
inside, a veil of glass bricks raised, weeds
thoughts piled up behind, cluttered newborn furniture
the critical pathway cutoff by this block
is the circulation of inspiration to my blog.
may lightning pierce this frozen mind
and bring forth the bounty held behind.
inspiration has lost its shine, words seem in fear
effortless before, now images fail to appear
My mind is clear, Friday's' washed white cotton
yet not peaceful, just happiness forgotten.



Note:
been opening and closing blogger for days now. Didn't know what to write. So i wrote about not knowing.

Eva Cassidy, your lullabys have stopped working.

So, with a slow moving finger
Silence warps into the volume
thunder, lightning, violins
i feel every pluck of the bass
the drums beat to my heart
shivers run on the piano
eyes shut. gritting teeth.
crescendo.legato.fortissimo.

the memories of lost kisses
are vampires of my sleep.

damn you, unfading alba.

damn you.

baby

a moment passes, and impact follows
the expressions breaks free to the surface
at that moment, there is no moon or suns
no politics or sombre musical disturbances
just a baby who knows only sight and scent
who gifts you with the purest of smiles
in recognition for the love in your eyes


suteki da ne.

Unedited as requested

Lost in my own depths, I wandered
I had wrote, clouds spread upon the blue
waiting for a radiant sun, illuminate!
fertile soil in my mind for wonder

Always dwelling upon myself, rejecting
simplicity for it being its undeniable self
closed my self within pages of tall books
and endless walks by the sea side in solitude

Then you came along, no splash was heard
I do not remember what i thought then
I was just grateful for intelligent conversation
yet I remember not speaking much

So long ago wasn't it my friend?
I remember when you left, I was at a loss
to understand what you meant to me
I took my time then by avoiding the answer

I do not think of you in a manner of thinking
Its just a spot in me longing for a feeling
listening to you I feel a certain calm
like the warmth of my home on a rainy day

I felt like cruising through peaceful images
blades of golden grass bowing to the sunset
spirals of rain dancing on the pavement
clear waves carrying coral sand to my feet

yet you were what you always are
you never asked me to change
yet Being around you changed me
like something in me never stopped healing

I was a confused person seeking a touch of reality,
tormented by a constant nameless anger
that was vanquished or forgotten
like it was afraid of your very presence.

Being with you I forgot many worries
Many murky clouds of thought left my mind
enjoying companionship of a wonderful friend
without any expectations what so ever

So quietly I listened and learned from you,
the simple beauty of simple things
sometimes I felt stupid for not speaking my mind
yet I never really felt you needed that of me

you taught me more things that you can imagine
that I cannot stop living my life
while dreaming of achieving a worthy life
that caring need not be said or announced

I do not miss you like missing something
I miss you like a one winged bird
constantly living with the realization
that you can make me fly higher

Thank you.

Driven on Direction

There is no consequence of knowledge
no guilt of what should haves could be
no need to look into a truthful mirror
no need to see blood to feel alive, yes.

Welcome to the realm of Just Being,
there is no moments, no thoughts here
just being is the pinnacle of consciousness
an ever burning explosion without convulsion

no thoughts of when to brake
no thoughts of changing gears
your only input is where to go
elegance is an extension of your automation

the road converges at your fingers
inwards within and outwards from you
both stretching to known infinity
draw on your mirror,one word: destiny or luck

Mental note to you

I will not die for you,obviously,
I cannot live for you, surely
but there is something annoying
that makes me wonder of perhapses

perhaps i am to you as much as u are to me.
This is not cause enough for such confusion
i feel lost at the edge of a cliff, thoughtful
i feel that i will fly away if i let myself fall

I can talk endlessly of beautiful things,
Perhaps i can lure you by words such as:
my heart follows your smile to my mouth, or
your radiance is the vacuum of my thougths

or somethings stupid/plausible like
your scent is my drug, your touch is salvation
my heartbeat echoes your fluttering eyelids, ha!
But why or why would i want to do that?

What amazes me is that i stopped to think
this matter has been decided, period.
Much time i have spent to conquer desire,
Only your conquest of my rationality,
would make make me submit to a partial feeling.

FLUNK!

yes, I flunked too, not twice, but in 2.
price of redemption is time immeasurable,
the law of the universe does not apply to flunk,
is not it the law that what goes, comes?
why cant bad luck flunk in its application?
why cant cancer flunk in its purpose?
why cant gravity flunk to let us fly?


i flunked 2 subjects.another 6 months. (deep breath.deep breath)

Somewhere, a long moment ago...

Somewhere, a long moment ago
a silent dream uncaged itself
with the power of sheer patience
Its existence unknown until that moment.
It was a sad nameless thing, flying away
i cant call it back, i might disappoint it again,
So farewell. Farewell my dream.

Stop!

enough,
life
flowing hot,like tea
add milk to blur all meaning
cruel sugar to deceive
withheld by a cup, quintessential void
senseless as this poem.
Ah,
chaos, clouds floating by your window
scraping off the sunshine.

Death

to deny death we think to live to the fullest,
yet life cannot exist without death not its bride
beauty is severed of its sting, an unclosed circuit
if it were were attached to known infinity
to live to the fullest, we must live to die.

O blue ocean! So alive

Blue ocean, violent emerald in the glorious sun
surging crowns of the purest white
spread upon water by invisible knives
even your turmoil is articulate craft

silver fish gymnastics to the aquatic orchestra
each seeking a moment of freedom in the sky
what unearthly splendor, such magnificent color
What are you not but proof of God Himself!

Just as the sea is hungry, i am insatiable to see it
wonders beheld from mans eyes by routine
are we not both brothers in Gods creation?
what holds your eyes from your hearts desire?

My heart longs for its forgotten dreams
energy rides upon my pulse, exploding
drowning in the eloquent violence
I feel the sea salt in my blood, my lips.

If paradise can out do this simple beauty
the doorway of death is a grand adventure.


Inspired by one afternoon in Dolphin View Cafe , and uncountable walks along the seaside.

Changes

a need for light created a spark, and the spark gave birth to thoughts.Thoughts bred ceaselessly and eventually leads to lighting a fire.Now that abundant light shows me where i am, i realize, i could have started this fire so much earlier had i not stopped to think.


Expect major changes to this blog quite soon, as today i decided that this blog sucks as it is now. I'm still not freely expressing myself, which is what this exercise is all about.

Art of life

Who should i believe, when the truth bearers argue
the truth is lost between ideals and reality.
All knowledge is biased, as the word itself
a million flowers fighting to burst from the same bud.

All that i know is that i do not know
what i need to know is what senses cannot uncover.
What else am i but myself, existing, alive, angry
my sword is the sheath of my soul defining me.

The art of death embodies living fully
to attain the mystic spirit of perfection,
to become the instrument of your instincts,
to tame the world to equal your savagery.

Without a map, without a guiding teacher
chaos sheds its earthly garments, inviting
to be conquered without visible light,
without thoughts to win or lose.

Its written in your blood, your fated hands
reaching for the cloudy pillow of sea gulls
to attain the means to uncover truth,
to taste freedom, to cry freedom.

Dance on the edge of sharpened steel
until truth could not be denied to you.
Tears and blood upon the wet sand-
the legacy of he who chose to know himself.


Inspired by the teachings and life of Miyamoto Musashi.

THIS POSTCARD BROKE MY HEART

I really cried and i couldnt believe it. I had stopped believing i could cry for years, but i did when i saw this. I guess all the sad and beautiful cards i saw made me edgy.

This is a postcard from postsecret.blogspot.com

I wonder how i would handle it if that happened to me- to lose a child while it was still a baby. I wonder if i would neatly fold away everything that bears it scent, however small and keep it with me forever even when everyone else started to forget...

Dinner with friends

today, i was struck by my friends
who all seemed so alive and so lost
they find laughter in hints of humor
i wonder why they laugh like they need to.

heavily laced with evocations of indecency
it tests our natural boundaries
passing pricks converted to smiles
as if acknowledging the evil inside us.

I was there smiling but was i really?
i felt i was sensing laughter echoing through hills
spicy aromas of exotic foods, clattering forks
while i was tasting the dawn dew of the forest.

they wear glowing transparent masks
being just successful, existing and happy
living on, as it may be their path
until they find their raison d'etre.


note: Dinner at Thai Wok.

New Year

a transparent mark on a straight line of time, it means nothing yet it is a measure of everything.Its another like the one before, but nothing like it all the same.

Wish for happiness? Why ask for another's wish when u can achieve it yourself.

I wont wish, but i will pray for you.