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Thousands of eyes,
looking at my sleeping body.
After my false awakening,
I saw them,
still trapped in the dream.
They were recording
my every painful breath.

Eyes without eyelids,
dense, dark air.
I became an unexpected glitch
in the imposed system.
They just didn’t know
what to do with me.

The spiders around my bed
were watching over
the meaning of my existence.

I had only a deep need
to find a place
for all elements
of the broken vessel,
the black pupils,
the witnesses
to my faltering walk.

I am not yet a butterfly.
I am the caterpillar
in a long ego tunnel.

Thomas was right.

To heal,
I must keep going
and going
until all becomes
one seamless whole,
ready to transform
into a flying being,
free from the chain of wounds,
sacrificed
on the altar
of broken Ego.
Thomas Metzinger
Thomas Merton
A tough outer shell
Soft inner core, within
In crevices deep
Lies sweet water still

Calm and swift
The duck glides by
The pond
Where predators lurk

Like the powerhouse
Its energy source, profound
When it lights up
Brightens the whole town

An inspiration
Lies in the unlikeliest of places
Manifests itself
In Petals of lotuses

Sometimes in life’s unexpected turns
Time unveils
Solutions right
Hidden
In plain sight
Was inspired by my friend’s words

“Something’s really bugging me…
and since I know there's no solution
I’ll just keep it all bottled up" - Priti
I see myself in light and shadow.
I wipe away “always and never” like spilled water,
when the paradox bothers me.

I dissolved my soft boundaries,
in the name of unreal faith.
So many places, so many faces,
yet another beginning.
I keep rolling a big stone beside others.
The home I dreamt of now exists in my world.

I have found this time, this place
describing what cannot be translated:
a room for uncertainty,
farewells and returns.

I like to stand in the last row,
to see tired bodies.
I whisper good words,
to make the world a little better.
My sovereignty is a willingness
to be an echo,
the symbol, the myth,
or a meaningless element
in the chain of woven stories.

I love metaphors.
I find myself in a forest of ellipses,
that bring unbearable truths.

Tensions, contradictions,
awareness that everything that lights
brings unseen weight.

I am a part of stories,
to vanish into oblivion—
the done past.

The Earth still breathes with me,
or without me,
among blooming linden trees.
So, I want to stay,
to open my eyes,
and be with what remains.
To my Father
What if I lock all my thoughts in a ziplock

Will they converse with each other
and share their thoughts

Will they clash and trash each other, to be out or just let each other be
and  grow new skin-words as they sprout

Who will survive will it be the wise
the thick skinned, the resilient who has weathered a few storms
or the ones who are  jumpy at the sight of the weevil inside

Each of them with an experience unique, destined to coexist

Some felt confined, the others embraced  their fate with grace, their life in a ziplock
Waiting and wanting to sprout
If I just knew
What the hell I'm supposed to do
I would make my world a small garden
Decorated with diverse flowers
Offering me emotional breeze
Inspiring mental bliss
But the roll of dice
Keeps me wandering the maze of Life
Not knowing what to expect
At the next turn or trail
Just moving about the pathway of Fate
With candles of intuitive faith
Hoping for the best
Pondering over the approaching test
Would I fail or would I pass
If I fail should I give up
To spite my lot
If I pass should I go on to face
Another stream of darkness
The ball is not in my court, it never was
Such is the story of my eyes
Blinded by the rays of mysterious laws
By the mask of unrelenting dawns
Every day, every hour, every moment
I'm faced with new beginnings
That cancel out the layout of my winnings
This is the road I must travel
And encounter sporadic marvel
That entices me to stick to the journey
At times I wonder
Is it better to know or to not know
The answer eludes me
Since I cannot change what is running
Through the branches of my leaves
I shall be content
With the ramification of my weaves.
~
Refraction
Love passes through
And changes
Direction
Let it hold sway
The heart leans toward catastrophe
In the blue headlights
Of parenthood
Mom and dad
Suspended from a pivot
Their offspring
Asleep on a sunbeam

~
They sat by the sidewalk  
Their eyes made of steel
Lack of vision
Labelled impaired

Every evening
I pass by at five
I watch them sing
A twinkle in those pair of eyes
As they smile

The little boy
Apple of their eye
Jumps with joy
Not a note missed
A duet performed
The lyrics followed
On the smart phone

A vision for the wise
Lacking in the eyes
The creator’s flaw
Undeterred
Every evening at five
They play live
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