Filed under: Poems
…Eventually,
We all collapsed,
Atom against atom,
Idea against idea,
Child against child.
When Blood was exhausted,
The voice of God,
The conscious one,
Died.
Silence.
Void.
Oblivion to oblivion.
God emerged; then,
Submerged — again,
into the folds of mystery.
Sleeping for aeons,
In infinity’s womb,
Until the purposelessness,
Creates him again.
Arduous birth,
Painful flowering,
Improbable triumph,
Just for destruction.
We decide,
if this must go on.
Alas, most of us
are sleep-walking.
Stop deluding yourself,
And wake the hell up!
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.
Come here my love,
Let me submerge,
In our love,
Slowly.
Let me feel you,
Your heart, soul,
Straining for me,
Placidly.
Give me your beauty,
So I’m imbued,
In its radiance,
Sunburnt.
Let your hair flow,
And ensconce me,
So I exhale,
Released.
We are here now,
With our love.
So be here,
Forever.
The kisses and caresses,
Are fickle, illusive.
But our dreams,
Real.
So come lets dream,
Plant a seed,
Of love here,
Now.
Slake a scorched world,
Which seeks just
One thing now,
Love.
Come, let us dissolve,
Forget our “I”s,
Into one Life,
Together.
This poem wrote itself. I wanted to write more but it just brought itself to a conclusion and wouldn’t budge. When I read it again, it didn’t feel incomplete at all. Strange feeling, but in a good way =).
A stone falls in a pond,
Ripples,
Some large, some tiny,
So many.
A hammer hits a piano string,
So many tones,
Some high, some low,
Trapped in time’s flow.
The weave of a cloth,
So intricate,
Threads here, there,
Meandering to a plan sublime.
Insects buzz around a light,
So beautiful,
Ripples on a shimmering mess,
Trapped in a plan divine.
The pattern matters,
The substrate does not.
The mind is like this,
Complex, beautiful, ephemeral,
Rippling thoughts, shimmering dreams,
Does it matter, in gray matter or what?
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.
So many gaudy flowers here
empty, cloying sweetness,
I flutter and come to you, My wildflower,
For only you exude
The nectar that I crave.
– For my love
And man forgot he was one,
With every “thing” that exists,
Pulled out his knife of logic,
And dismembered the universe.
How terribly alone and sad,
This child has become.
Alive and Dead,
There is a fine line,
Me and other,
There is a fine line.
And one day he woke up,
Realized he is one with everything,
There is no “me” or “human” in Reality,
And all misery disappeared.
He is alone no more,
Doesn’t crave another life,
Doesn’t crave for other life,
He is happy here, now, forever.
Everything is really one,
Something a knife will never know,
Trying to fit infinity itself,
On the edge of a knife?
Reality will laugh.
End this delusion,
End misery forever.
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)
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.
