I believe there is a moment in time,
Where time stops being
Where the ego stops seeing,
What is time to us but a dose of mortality?
With a dash of mendacity.
It is when we cease to project,
When we cease to regret
That time stops being,
And the ego stops seeing.
Living in the now,
Is harder to do that it seems,
It takes an acceptance of past mistakes
And a relinquishing of future dreams
And when time is stopped for that second,
And you become the experience
Do you realise that for it you always beckoned.
The future may never come,
And the past is all but a thought away from done,
And the constant thoughts in torrents come,
Sit back, stay a while and experience.
It may take a while, have patience
Living in the now, with a thoughtless mind,
Is consciousness greatest gift,
Up and away does it hate lift,
As it renders the ego blind.
Aug 30, 2017
Aug 30, 2017 at 3:23 PM UTC
We water it daily when we discriminate,
The permeating foliage of hate.
And It continued to grow,
Always feeding off the dying lovers’ sorrow
We cultivated the land beneath its roots,
With a dichotomy of false hue,
We made way for the dark shoots
Ignorantly and blindly with not an ounce of a clue
The foliage destroyed the shrubbery of love
And It razed the home of the peaceful dove
It began to reach out of sight,
High up above, and the hatred took flight
And day insidiously became night
It blotted out the once blue sky
The light struggled to shine through,
And the hope of a new garden had already begun to die
With ill intentions, we tried to trim it
With a dogmatic shear,
We said, “Join us, not them, lest the foliage consume you and all you hold dear”
Still, higher it climbed -
Heavenward near.
Snatching away everything that we hold dear,
And still we fed it with a callous fear
Until it became too late
And upon the dying land, lay our fate.
In darkness we did grieve,
Blaming each other
For that hopeful day,
We blindly threw asunder,
And now all bereave
We belatedly now see our blunder,
The love we forgot, the united we did plunder,
And the compassion that we pushed deep under.
If once together we had came,
Armed with a singular burning loving flame,
And Burnt away the Hate.
We shalt have woven in time -
The foliage’s deserved fate.
And If United we had tended -
The garden of compassion,
We shalt have the foliage its fate rendered.
Love would then be a reality and not something to be remembered.
But we sharpened our shears with Hatred,
And not Compassion, Tolerance and Love
And nowhere in sight,
Could we still see the remnants of the peaceful Dove.
And in darkness our hearts grow colder
And compassion was no longer to be found
He hath aeons back retreated over the yonder
And forevermore we shall look back in darkness,
And see, that with shears laced in love – the foliage would be a carcass
A winter shrub in all its starkness,
A **** that was easily plucked,
But it is too late, the land is dry and from it all loving humanity was ******
The desolate, deep foliage encumbered forest
Bereft of care, not a shimmer of hope left amongst it
The last root of the rose is gone,
Hatred has taken over,
And it has finally won
And the last seed of solicitudes days are finally done.
Aug 26, 2017
Aug 26, 2017 at 9:32 AM UTC
Today I miss you,
In fact, I always do
Outside the sky is blue,
But so is my heart
It longs for our start
The Dove and the Swan
Together, United, finally as one
The void is there,
And soon apart my heart it shall tear
And render Swan an abstraction of a man
And Dove’s ocean will stay and empty dam
But in due time,
Dove can flutter into my arms,
And I can embrace her as mine
The void will be no more
And again, life will flourish on the ocean shore
Aug 26, 2017
Aug 26, 2017 at 3:54 AM UTC
The outside world can disappear,
With the closing of a door,
The muffling of an ear
It’s a small little space,
But it is my safe place
Many books cover my desk,
Papers with scribbles of thoughts,
Seemingly grotesque.
In one particular book I find,
A gathering of words to comfort my mind
It speaks of an outside world not known to me,
A world filled with a compassionate love that is carefree
I wonder if it could ever be so,
Should I take the risk and attempt to know?
I ask the other book and it tells me no,
A world awaits filled with intolerance and guns with hatred filled ammo
Which is fiction and which is not?
Perception makes the one the other,
And in my mind resides the words beneath the hardcover.
And if found in the world of intolerance,
I will try and love my brother.
And when this becomes too hard,
I will return to my small little space,
And find more words
This time however,
I may just read, and sleep
forever
Aug 25, 2017
Aug 25, 2017 at 2:46 PM UTC
The Swan, in solitude wonders
What he can offer Dove
Besides his wordly blunders,
Swan has his eternal love
Swan wants Dove to be secure,
But also wants dove to be free
The poverty is a tenure
The struggle an illusion
For no matter how sad Dove feels
Swan will be there, right on her heels
For Swan knows happiness comes not from wealth
But from a deep content, from a loving mouth
Swan will try his best and may fail,
There will be joyous days of sun
And monstrous days of hail
But Dove will always know
That deep down,
Underneath the worldly frown
The seed of love continues to grow
Aug 24, 2017
Aug 24, 2017 at 9:57 AM UTC
The thinker thinks,
And the lover loves
He reads and reads all day.
She holds his hand and guides his way
He struggles with doubts
She shows him the loving routes
He contemplates the meaning of things
Her voice stills his thoughts, as it beautifully sings
He thinks life a puzzle to be solved
She shows him that around love it has always revolved
He tries to find purpose in mendacity
She comforts him with a compassionate voracity
He now knows that he may know less
She tells him not to worry and help her zip her dress
Aug 23, 2017
Aug 23, 2017 at 2:56 PM UTC
The path we travel through life
Is each our own
The trail behind us is a collage of love and hate
Before us, the overgrown shrubbery of fate
The troubles we face and have overcome,
Accumulate and all make us our own one
We cannot know what path the other has tread
What things he has seen or what has filled his head
Let us as a gathering of one
Come together and intolerance shun
For we never know how worn the traveller's shoes
Or how deep or shallow are his heart’s blues
So, when we look upon another wanderer
Let us do so in kindness,
And knowledge
Of the hardships he undertook,
treading through the fateful foliage
As each individual drop in the sea
Comes together as a powerful wave
The land trembles and recedes at its wake
Aug 22, 2017
Aug 22, 2017 at 2:12 PM UTC
Every thought you have ever had
Whether good or bad
Sprung from the recesses of your mind
A deliberating consciousness that is blind.
Every feeling you have ever felt
Was wound tightly with a deterministic belt
Every word you have ever written
Was written with a hand wearing a causal mitten.
Free-will is an illusion and always has been,
However, this is perhaps one elephant in the room
best left unseen.
Dualism is a false philosophy.
We are a causal system,
In a Universe governed by a causal piston.
Libertarian free will is a delusion.
However comforting it may feel to be free,
I had no other option that to write these words,
And be me.
“Man can do what he wills but he cannot will what he wills.”
― Arthur Schopenhauer, Essays and Aphorisms
Aug 22, 2017
Aug 22, 2017 at 4:53 AM UTC
The illusion of strife.
Equality for all,
Dissected with a hatred serrated knife.
Us and Them,
Hatred's most beloved and cherished conceptual gem.
Us and Us,
Is all there is and ever was,
On our home, this cosmic spherical speck of dust.
When will this end?
When will the last scales of savagery be shed?
When will we unite,
Together as one?
Only when the scales of segregation are shed and done,
Can we take flight
As One
United as a species
Into the magnificent vastness
Of the dark cosmic night
“People must learn to hate, and if they can learn to hate, they can be taught to love, for love comes more naturally to the human heart than its opposite" - Nelson Mandela
Aug 22, 2017
Aug 22, 2017 at 3:20 AM UTC
The abstraction of Love,
The Silent Black Swan,
Interrupted by the White Dove.
In the Depths of the dark forest Swan searched
Far and wide, high and low.
For the reality of love
Only the White Dove could show.
Swan thought he knew all there was to know,
He wandered in solitude, as he watched the canopy grow
And one one particularly dark day,
He heard a soft whisper say,
"Still your thoughts my Love,
fret no more and do not be afraid of the dark,
It is me, Your White Dove"
And the Swan's thoughts stilled.
For a moment his mind no longer tilled.
The Dove drew gracefully near,
And the Swan's fear of solitude
Began to dissapear
Until it was no more
Aug 21, 2017
Aug 21, 2017 at 2:29 PM UTC