‘The Problem to be explored: The Problem of Abundance:’


Nothing lasts anymore, nothing seems meaningful anymore, nothing feels wanted anymore,

Except for the already lost and gone, and can’t be retrieved.

It seems everything is given without being asked for.

You’ll only notice something when it's not there:


Perhaps:


“My cup must be empty once again in order to receive.”


I have suddenly forgotten where I have just heard

This being said in a prayer but I think it is the key, the answer

To the needless and senseless suffering of our herd

But, its truth stuck with me, and I too wonder


I too think I must be silent again to allow the singing once more

I too think I must become the void to welcome the replenishing wave

Of excitement

Of the need to climb while weighed down by life’s

Various impossibilities, and mystery

And not float thus, away

Fallen to the what Milan Kundera

Described perfectly in his title:

“The Unbearable Lightness of Being”


Our cup runneth over, and we are left to wander

With the grains of time, and consciousness

Escaping through our desperate fingers

As we rush towards a mirage of permanence

While scorching our feet on the sand and deserts  

Burnt by an ever more present sun

And the tedium of golden overabundance


Ancient wisdom dictates that:


“What is useful is not the cup,

But the void that’s ready to receive

The already full need no more

And its further worth deceives”


“Reunion of too long must not last

Separation is inevitable

Separation will always be short-lived

Reunion is unavoidable”


Now, that’s some wisdom to heed

The Union of Lovers will need




‘The Problem of Too Much Goodness’




We are always questioning the Problem of Evil

While too few words lend to the Terror of Good


Everything is living longer and longer

Yet

Everything is dying quicker and quicker


It really is “the best of times”

It really is “the worst of times”

While

Our flesh savours a never before longevity

Our soul is aging rapidly at an alarming rate


This is A Tale of Two Realities:


Where Time is both a child

With an almost non-existent attention span

And the world its vast endless sandbox

A toy is too quickly loved and so immediately

Discarded

Where Time is also senile

With an almost non-existent memory reserve

With the ancient past constantly retold in nostalgia

And the immediate events of rapid currents

Dissipated


There are still so much hunger and terror in

The modern world

Of course, the well-fed, warless, and unmarked

are being overlooked


But there is a hidden, yet imminent gloom

A spectre hanging above the peaceful and full:




‘The Problem of the Need to be Desired’




We are beings made with one innate desire

To climb, to reach a height ever higher

And one day

Above all


Throughout history,

There has always been way too much

Obstacles

For the mass to reach the summit

And now,

It seems that the summit itself is built

By a stack of the masses

So many of us are great

That none of us is great

Therefore, so quickly forgotten

And replaced by others in

Time


Speaking of time,

Or rather, our conscious

Awareness of change

It seems to be overused,

Weary and

DYING

As a dying old man in mind

Resembles a stubborn child

Our Collective Temporal Consciousness

Is thus

So forgetful like a senile being

And

Losing interest so quickly like an infant


Our cup, our mind is so full

That not only our flesh has become

That of gluttons complaining the

Blandness of an abundance of food

Our soul is also yearning for the

Quiet performance and desirability

Only a lack of supply could supply


So, in effect, GOODNESS

Or WELLNESS

Have somehow oversupplied

Itself till

It is almost worthless to

Some



What is there to reach

If so many have already found

The Summit of Everything?

That we are among the masses

Again?

And, what about those that have

Risen above THE MASS

So early in their life

That to them, there is only space

To fall?


In the past,

We were all so close to the pit

The Pit of Darkness

The Pit of Death

In our climb

That we hold on to every branch

For dear life

No matter how many stones

Fall on us

We look down upon the void

And the black

Abyss

And will always

Sink our nails deeper

Into the earth

Just to stay alive

And still,

To no avail

So quickly,

We all fall

To pitied, and

Dearly treasured and mourned

Demise


And,

Now,

For the hurt

And the healed

And the unmarked

Life marches on mercilessly

Indifferent to us

The bodies crawling and crouching

Upon the desert of abundance

Row upon row

Chased by the sandstorm

That will soon catch up to us

And sweep over all


Where will it take us,

And what before then?


What would cure and stop

This perpetual climb that will

Always place those on top

At the bottom of this crushing hill




The Possible Solutions:




‘How will we quench the thirst of Height?’


We did not witness THE BIRTH OF TIME

We cannot halt THE AGING OF TIME

We cannot know what comes after

THE DEATH OF TIME

But we desperately need a constant climb


Here, we see the Gates to Two Routes


One leading towards the Tangible

Garden of Men

One leading towards the Unseeable

Temple of Worship


There is no right or wrong way to either

However, how you spend your time

Within each

Will determine your plight during  

The time before the True Flight


Pace yourself in your walk through

The Garden of Men

Though there is an abundance of fruits

You must calculate and ration

Your own sustainable share of

Good and Evil

Enjoyment and Suffering

So you don’t exhaust the reserve

Or become weary till nausea

Of the sweetness of being


If you must seek to rise up above all

Your climb must be timed till the very end

Where you will never be crushed by the fall

On the Rota Fortunae, before you inevitably land


The Supply and Demand of Good and Evil

Must be balanced even if by the hands of men

Lest the world turn to well-rested upheaval

When even gold is as abundant as sand


Then, there is the Pave to the Promised Land

Where lost souls of ****** hunger find

Their means to an end, their helping hand

Where fulfilled bodies of lost souls and minds

Pleads to have their invisible suffering end


I used to think that Grace lives in humility

But I see even the Truth appeals to the nature,

Foolish frailty and vanity of all women and men

How do you tell the beings of imminent demises

That this earthly supply and demand of status

Is worthless in the end in a paradise without ends

Where there is no fall for a fear to plummet and land

But to say the weakest of earth

Must be the strongest of heavens

The least of the timely and impermanent possessions

Will be the most in the place after the ultimate ascension


Not to imprison our desire for greatness

But to set it free and follow the lofty dove and olive branch

Knowing that the great height is achieved by humility

To take the fall and suffering and rise in the Eternal Land




Conclusion:




The painful truth is,

And truth must hurt through the bones,

And ache seasonally to not be forgotten

There must be a Supply and Demand of Good and Evil

By our humble minds or divine hands

For honesty to be wanted, and prized

And not worthless like the ocean sand

Lest we become weary of virtue and crave for its end


There are solutions for all,

For those who put faith in life

And

For those who put faith in an afterlife


Simply, though,

It is ever difficult

Just to pace your climb

Either to reach the summit at the end of your life

Or just to leave the height to the ever lofty place without time.

Where you’ll never fall to a late demise

And be crushed by the Rota Fortunae

Where even the stars would envy

The brilliance of your

Light

The world is withering like the fallen leaves
I can never tell where upon the terrace field
Of life, exploration. existence and will-
Are we nearing the end of our summit
Or merely crossing the drop of a hill
Ever far from the clouds, fringe of the pit
Are we at the very first rung of the fate wheel
Or are we edging rapidly towards the dip
Are we about to crush are we about to kneel
Are we losing our desperate clawing grips
Am I hearing welcoming drums or is this our knell
Is the thief of time silently vouching to steal
Our last supper our very last earthly meal
Or are we just crouching to brace The Greater Leap

A Montage of Homages:


I’m ever the devoted fool
Trusting dreams as love
I’m ever the stubborn child
Never repenting enough

I’m the lone wanderer of Nevsky Prospect
Trivial like the gadfly against the lofty sky
Overlooked as a dusty tattered Overcoat
Crushed like an ant beneath the Bronze Horseman

When the bright lingers beyond dusk
When the dark, at dawn, hesitant to depart
Am I ever awake through all of time
Or am I to sleep all white days and nights

All I am certain is, that
Only in dreams can we reunite
All I know is, that this
Is the Dreamer’s sole purpose of life




The Saint Petersburg Dreamer
Long for a love beyond common strive
Yet, only exists to slumber through life
To finally awake when the night is nigh

Upon the earth, he’s a mere dust
When the tide arrives, all will be lost

The Saint Petersburg Dreamer
You mustn't have noticed he’s still there
Upon each and every torn overcoat
Every patch resewn: his dreams and love

Though the sift of time may sort
Beyond our comprehension, unseen
We may infer its shape from
Whatever marbles remain
Unbroken, and defying decay

Grains of truth and wit with just enough
Substance and optional glamour
To survive the great mesh of necessity
And bright enough to be cherished
By well nourished seekers of more
Never too dull, lest overlooked
But also
Never too bright to incite fright

Never one of innumerable sand
Washed away with the prints of men
And
Never a fabled relic, stranger to hands
A maze promising truth, yet with no end

The sun brings you warmth
The moon guides your flight
The Needed begs no envy
But relieves your plight

So don't distance yourself from
The thoughts of Old
Still so simple and intimate
As if in voices new

Raise a drink
And warmly cling
Love the great tomes of high above
Not as never reachable untouchable
Shrines of forgotten kings and gods
But as your dearest friend or perhaps
Even as a reunited lover, long separate
By the scarcity of soul pouring words
Reluctantly replaced with fleeting
Musings of often rapidly dissipating
Bland taste
Of fulfillment and disappointment
Never lasting enjoyment

Leaving us with hunger and thirst
For the seasoned fruits of old
That only visits ever so often
But each moment with, spent so
Cherished and with fear of time
Passing, as
A childhood tale, swiftly unfold,
Too briefly told
Left dreaming for once more
Often only to be granted in pages
Wrinkled and stained, shaped
By fate’s mold

Those pals that you’ll ever remember
Those gems that you’ll constantly
Caress over and over again
Those greats of highest degree
Are they so overdressed till envy
Till too heavy, and invites mockery
Are they so kissed by sugar till ****
Unconsumed, banished to rot

They are all soft and familiar
Always with the present
Of the ease to comprehend
As if you know them
All your life

Your Blakes, Shelley's and Shakespeare
Your timeless contemporaries
They never command as gods above
Or hide behind too much whimsy
Always a wise elder, a ***** friend
In sorrow, in passion, in dreams, in fright
Baring the truth like a mother’s wisdom
Or the sure brightness of lone stars at night

Prepare yourself for tomorrow sifts
By sharing the shape of collected past
In essence, not in likeness
For if you dress your soul
To not fall through
In great stones’ cast off dust
When the brush of time greets you
Your disguise will fall off
Lest you waste your growth
On shimmering cloaks
And when judged truly
To be found not as a pearl
But a grain in others’ clothes

Imagine
If you fill the entire night sky with sparks
How will they find the one guiding star
No shadow to hide, to soften the light
Everyman be lost

If you pride yourself bearing golden straws
They will shower you with praising remarks
But when time leaves you behind after dusk
It’ll be dark as you crush

So tread plainly with only what and
All you are
With timid steps, and light feet
And only must in your keep
You’ll go far You’ll go far
Till steady heights beyond the lofty larks

Where children ceaselessly dream
Where children ceaselessly sing
Where Children Forever, we are.

Never Forget the Past

I. On Rejection of History, Fallible Geniuses:

Do not seek present fault in past greatness
Condemning yesterday men with morrow crimes
The sift of time works in unfathomable wonder
Leaving only truth grains of real substance
Do not discard these foods for thoughts
For being misshapen and the occasional spots
For they were gold among ashes and dust
And the learnt, and healed is never without scars

II. On the Embellishing of Poetry

Don't dread or torment yourself if you fear
Your words aren't decorated enough
For one day only truth will remain
And truth never hides, but bares itself plain
If you dress your poetry overabundant, shimmer and gleam
It might just be overlooked, the soul underneath
And be discarded as earthly things
Obscured by the camouflage of timely beings

III. On the Timelessness of Simple Words

Gaze from below, the tomes of giant
How plainly they walk in the clouds
At most a dress or cling shimmering humbly
And never so full of jewels and gold lest they
Fall from the heavens
Bearing the weight of earthly greed.

Learn from your scars, lest you envy flesh unmarked.

The deep ache of societal idleness
Of Invisible pain and the unscarred
Thirsty for a hunger, but never to starve
Have-alls more lost than have-nots
Overlooked by seekers of poverty
Unvalued by those just like us

Never close enough to death
To grip existence for dear life

What is the cure to such tedium
Why have we come thus far
Is this the usual tail of prosperity
Or is it a sign of an unprecedented leap

I feel and already see
Great changes coming
A looming gloom or the unimaginable haven
Keep faith in the excitement
Of the never before felt
State of being and
Living

With the wonder
Of a child dreaming of the unknown
With fear and fearless hope
And
Love for it all