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Saturates my senses,
This thing,
A feeling or a thought,
It doesn’t matter,
But surely a vexation,
Takes away my peace,
And when it subsides,
I am tired.
The senses are tiresome.
Strong feelings are tiresome.
A sensation,
Hardly there,
Like an intangible fragrance,
Permeating my existence,
But just beyond grasp.
Like that floating speck in my eye,
Always teasing my gaze,
But when I am not looking,
I know it is there.
Never coming forth,
But always present.
Never shining,
But simply radiant.
Love exists,
This way.
In this piece I have tried a completely new style — no style. That is, no rhyme but some reason =P. I don’t even know if this is prose or poetry or whatever. I am illiterate as to these technicalities anyways, so how could it hurt, right? =)
I fear change, yes, I do,
But never changing? I fear that too.
The world keeps changing,
For me that is constant stress,
But what if it stopped changing tomorrow?
For some days, I’d be relieved,
But after that, life would be worthless.
If I didn’t change, I’d be a rock.
If the world didn’t, it’d be dead.
We are messengers of change,
And still we hate it so much,
In work, in love, in everything we do.
Why is this so?
Because we don’t understand life,
Because we don’t understand love,
Because we refuse to see they are the same.
Living is not the pursuit of happiness.
Where is happiness, haven’t you felt?
Happiness and Sadness walk hand in hand,
They are friends, they are in love,
But we want one and forget its essence.
Loving is not the pursuit of a person.
Where is a person, haven’t you felt?
What we were yesterday, what we are today,
They all dance, merge, fight, cry, kiss and laugh,
Can you call one of them your life and the other not?
We want to love, but we don’t want to embrace,
We want to live, but we don’t want to see, that –
Everything is changing, we are all not here,
We are songs of creation, rhythms in motion,
And we want the music to play, but the notes to stop,
Stop, so we can look at the notes and love them forever,
But alas, if a note would stop, it would lose our love.
The music is the song of love, not the notes,
The rhythm is life, not the ups and downs.
Listen, if we would just listen closely,
If we would let ourselves be for a while,
With each change for the better or for the worse,
In each giggle and in each tear,
We would hear life itself singing,
The song of change, the song of love.
A dear friend of mine recently told me a poem she once wrote about how our dreams and aspirations are much like the stars in the heavens. Her thoughts resonated deeply with me, so I decided to adapt it into words in my own way, while keeping the ideas and feelings exactly the way she intended. So yes, it is blatant plagiarism. Sue me =P.
I
For long have these been my guide,
The stars up in the heavens,
My beacons of light amidst the dark,
When my soul has cried craven.
Millions of them, there are,
Twinkling, Fickle specks of light,
They are my dreams, big and small,
They are all that gives me life.
What is a dream, after all,
A tempest of emotions,
A brilliant star of energy,
Atoms fusing in motion.
They’re always so close,
And yet so far,
They will tell you where to go,
But not who you are.
II
I once followed a star,
To where it would take me,
I kept chasing it’s tortuous light,
This dream would set me free.
I was getting closer,
It grew night by night,
Each night was worth going through,
For that speck of shimmering light.
One night I raised up my hands,
And plucked it from the sky,
But it started losing it’s brilliance,
It belonged not down here, but up high.
I robbed it off it’s beauty,
By plucking it off the sky,
It is just a worthless rock in my hand,
I had turned my dream into a lie.
III
I once followed a star,
And it grew day by day,
But alas it was not to be,
It was not to come my way.
It was too magnificent to survive,
All it left was a black hole,
Exploding in a supernova of feelings,
Leaving a dark place in my soul.
All that was left were fragments,
Of pain, suffering and destruction,
Millions of pieces of my dreams,
Worthless shards of emotion.
But nothing is in vain in this universe,
And neither is devastation,
From the pieces, a new star is formed,
Each time I die, hope is my salvation.
So I stood up.
IV
I once followed a star…
…And always will, for I am alive.
Thank you, dear friend.
“Ideas are like stars; you will not succeed in touching them with your hands. But like the seafaring man on the desert of waters, you choose them as your guides, and following them you will reach your destiny.”
- Carl Schurz (1829-1906)
