Poetry

Painting Survival

While you’re painting survival

with your blood and tears,

do not forget that this war you fight

began with your permission

and will end only when you decide

that you have seen enough

of your own blood being collected.

Advertisements
Standard
Random Thoughts

What Are You Telling Yourself?

“Our minds love sound. Our minds remember sound. Our minds recreate sound.”

Nothing you want will ever come easy. Why don’t you go back into time, think, was there anything you really wanted, truly wanted, badly wanted, that was just handed over to you – that was just uprooted from its pre-designed space in this world and planted in your hands like a gift, just like that? No.

You ought to know, by now, that things do not work this way. Things do not arrange themselves or shift themselves or package themselves in this manner. Something has to move them. Something has to touch them. Something has to brush against them that will cause an alteration, a change in position, belonging, and ownership.

Things don’t just happen, you have to make them happen, and if you think you cannot make them happen because you lack the expertise, or that you are undeserving of the re-positioning of things, then you have to create an atmosphere for you to deserve it. You have to create an existence of the want and tell your mind about it. You have to tell your mind that you deserve it. That you want it. That you’ve been waiting for it. You have to make your mind hear you speak.

There’s something about sound. Our minds love sound. Our minds remember sound. Our minds recreate sound. Take the sounding of a bell for instance. It rings and rings and rings so that even when it’s no longer ringing you can hear it. You think you can hear it. Or even the buzzing of a mosquito or a large green disgusting housefly. It whizzes past your ear; makes that irritating sound that makes you bend your head sideways. Still, seconds and minutes after it’s gone, you can hear the buzz, even feel it such that you want to fan your ear.

The mind is an interesting thing. Perhaps we should encourage people to speak more to themselves instead of leaving that aspect to be explored only by those roaming naked on our streets. But of course, it actually depends on what you’re telling yourself.

Standard
Poetry

Life: Conquering It, Living It

Every day we discover parts of ourselves we never thought existed

That beyond the chaos and the suffering

Beyond our fears and our many lacking things

There is a will, more resolute than just conquering life

A promise and hope within us that we desperately must cling to

We have so much strength is it not frightening what we can do with ourselves?

Standard
Poetry

Winter

Soon, dawn withers; even the dew
Minutes shorten, breath goes
Life breaks, and the ground receives

There comes the end to much; even silence
Then words begin to chase winds
Like life. Sober, dry and gone.

We will pay that which is due
when winter comes and cold creates
No peace, like a little gnome

But there will come an end to even more
a single light along the shore, soon embraces the dark
and fireflies, they too, will find it brighter

Truth becomes a cold stone
Memories wilt, when winter stirs the broth
and everyone sips.

ImageCourtesy: galleryhip.com

ImageCourtesy: galleryhip.com

Standard
Uncategorized

Happy People

We had all been happy, somewhat.

In our plentyness, our littleness;

in our knowledgeableness, or lack of it,

we had all been content.

 

I’d say it wasn’t our inadequacy;

our intent to ever feel derisory,

or deficient and lacking,

but at some point in our modest lives

 

we had been exposed to

something,

someone,

somehow,

that had shown us a life we were yet to live.

 

Then we had started to think things through,

and by that time,

we had begun our comparison.

 

The reallys

the wows

the it can be done this way?

the this feels way better!

 

and my all time favorite,

Damn, this is what I’ve been missing?

 

Standard
Uncategorized

I Was Here…

I was here
In black and white
Formed from an egg
Born from a man
And from a woman…

I was here
In flesh and in blood
With a spirit and a soul
A being made from
God’s own image

I was here
Yes! I came to earth
I saw her glory
And partook in her shame
The whole me

I was here
I saw the dark
And I held the light
I dined and drank
With crowned heads and peasants

I was here
Because I heard cries
Cries of pain from earth dwellers
Whose tears and sweat
Tilled the ground

I was here
Because I saw it all
The fire that burned
And scorched
Those of the great temple

I was here
A lone witness
To the grace
The abundant grace
That was sufficient for man

I was here
An attest to the idol
That was made as god
Which fell face down
In bow to the Almighty

I was here
And saw those
That fell prey to doctrines
Diluted, polished and
Presented on worldly plates

I was here
A servant from above
Gifted with many talents
To honour God
Through servitude of mankind

I was here
I saw it all
Life and its taunts
I had existed
In wait of the trumpet!

 

 

 

Standard