This, right here,
Is unfathomable.
Happiness is possible,
But only that.
To fathom and be safe,
Thats impossible.
Fortunately.
Even God doesn’t know whats gonna happen next.
That’s the point, he’d claim –
“A creator with a plan,
Is no creator at all.
Think about it:
Would you make a movie
Who’s ending you knew,
And then buy popcorn to see it?”
And so, creation is his invitation:
Come, lets see what happens next.
There is one special ingredient, though,
that only he could add:
Infinite creativity.
So, if you think –
“This ended too bad”
“That ended too sad”
Forget all that,
This is a party,
Of infinite morphing into
Another infinite.
Nothing really goes anywhere,
And that’s the secret.
Knowing this deeply,
Is like jumping off the stage,
As shakespeare would put it.
You and I will turn to mud,
But hey, mud is not really that,
Useless. Give it some respect.
It creates life again, lots and lots
And lots of it and then some more.
That’s why creation is unfathomable.
If you think mud is pretty boring,
God will say, “Dude, you’re boring.
Have you ever asked an earthworm about mud?
No, right? because you think you’re my only son,
You arrogant monkey. Mud is awesome!”
What has this world
Come to be,
You can’t even trust mud,
To be uninteresting, see?
I feel the people who use the word “mundane”
for anything at all really, are really insane.
Forget about stocks, and the economee,
Come, hear creation’s philosophee,
Put some time in trying to see,
Creation from the million eyes of a bee.
(Or a dung-beetle for that matter,
For a poem on decomposing matter.
Don’t worry dear reader, I won’t disclose,
The gory details of that ode).
I don’t know what this poem is about. Really.
I love you, for your sweet smile,
Revealing those crooked teeth,
The infinite fuzz your hair are,
The way you fumble and screw up.
But most of all, I love the way,
I can talk to you endlessly.
You love me,
For that couple of hair on my head,
My skin like silt, The way I always,
Love to ride my hyperbole.
And my strength as a man,
Every time I cry on your shoulders.
But wait, don’t tell anyone:
You’re supposed to be my Prize – beautiful and elegant,
And I’m supposed to be your Man – handsome and strong.
In this world of mass-media superficiality
And capitalism-induced inadequacy,
True love will always be, our dirty little secret.
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.
I came across this beautiful poem recently, just had to post it here, if only for my own records =)
Max Ehrmann’s Desiderata (Latin for Desired Things)
Go placidly amid the noise and haste,
and remember what peace there may be in silence.
As far as possible without surrender
be on good terms with all persons.
Speak your truth quietly and clearly;
and listen to others,
even the dull and the ignorant;
they too have their story.
Avoid loud and aggressive persons,
they are vexations to the spirit.
If you compare yourself with others,
you may become vain and bitter;
for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself.
Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans.
Keep interested in your own career, however humble;
it is a real possession in the changing fortunes of time.
Exercise caution in your business affairs;
for the world is full of trickery.
But let this not blind you to what virtue there is;
many persons strive for high ideals;
and everywhere life is full of heroism.
Be yourself.
Especially, do not feign affection.
Neither be cynical about love;
for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment
it is as perennial as the grass.
Take kindly the counsel of the years,
gracefully surrendering the things of youth.
Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune.
But do not distress yourself with dark imaginings.
Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness.
Beyond a wholesome discipline,
be gentle with yourself.
You are a child of the universe,
no less than the trees and the stars;
you have a right to be here.
And whether or not it is clear to you,
no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.
Therefore be at peace with God,
whatever you conceive Him to be,
and whatever your labors and aspirations,
in the noisy confusion of life keep peace with your soul.
With all its sham, drudgery, and broken dreams,
it is still a beautiful world.
Be cheerful.
Strive to be happy.
Max Ehrmann, Desiderata, Copyright 1952.
