And if you are in any doubt as to your ability,
To effect a change upon this world,
Look no further than a pool of rock water,
Disturbed by a single drop of rain.

Now imagine a torrent.

Consciousness is decay

Consciousness is atrophy

Consciousness itself is ‘DEATH’


[Consciousness]


Perhaps suffering

Is not the result of

Divine punishment


But ‘the fruit’ itself

The pain

The poison


For time is no object

A mere space and place

The lack of

For events and

Ever Changing ‘reality’

To be


There is no ‘cease to be’

But

Only complete transformations


Awareness

Consciousness

Measures the transformations

Eternal transformations

With finite increments

Of time

Decay

Atrophy

And

DEATH



Consciousness

Must measure

And limit itself

Likewise


For eternity

Is

The ‘death’ of

Consciousness

Or lack thereof


[The Cave]


And the sweet hereafter-

The full escape from

The shadowy cave

Of imprisoning

Awareness

‘Consciousness’-

Will be forever unimaginable

For the exterior scenery

Must be that which

This conscious world is not

With absolute free will

And yet

No absolutes

Free

Or

Will


[The Tunnel]


Between the seemingly

Infinite cave

And

The ‘objective reality’

The truly endless lofty sky

There is a long

But narrow tunnel of

Nothingness

That must be crossed


The Aging mind

Is like the overgrowth

Blocking our view of

On either side

And the search for truth

Of either reality

Shadows or sunlight

Clears the view

Looking towards the cleared

Side


[The Escape]


A full escape of no return

Is the end of consciousness

And

‘Waking’ from the ultimate

‘DREAM’


[Keep Dreaming till the Daylight]


You may wonder

What is the use then to

Keep dreaming?

What is the use to limit ourselves

To the good solely.


But,

As we all know

No matter how perfect

The ‘real’ world is

There is no harm

Savoring the sweetest

Illusion for the time being

And make it as sweet as

Can be


[Nobody likes a Nightmare]


Consciousness is a dream

But we can still

And should still

Make it the greatest

Reverie

Psychic vicissitudes working cross purposes
One thought dissolves and another one surfaces
Feelings are fleeting
So watch as you’re greeting
The many sensations that consciousness furnishes

there are days i long for
the allure of philosophy.
writing.
a less personal affair,
but only to a degree.

rather than what i do.

such responsibility, to hold
another's fragile mental
stability within the palm
of my hand!

i am no healer, i do not
offer cures. no. the
gravitation i hold
is simply an

   e  
        c    
             h
                  o

of everything
which shall always
be nothing more than
the reverberation of my soul.

i am not a poet.
my mother tongue is not
within clever word
play or meter.

i speak the words of the
effervescent
cosmic tapestry
within the singing
of the spheres.

there is a quiet history in
that celestial symphony,
an Edda of instrumental
humming all that
was and shall be.

I have felt the weight of so many feelings pile up inside me over the years
The top layer of myself is composed of a loss for words
I fell in love once and back then it was as if the words would never stop flowing out of me
Poem after poem pouring out of my soul about a girl who i ended up falling so completely out of love with
Ever since then i have looked at my notebooks, stray post it notes once equipped for a passionate flurry of words to be smattered onto and then neatly folded into an origami heart  
I’ve looked at them and felt only loss
Falling out of love overtook me as slowly as falling in
Shy moments persistently becoming noticed until i realized that
I wasnt who i used to be when this all began
And honestly?
I dont know who i am anymore
I really don’t
And perhaps that’s why i havent found the words yet
These past few months i have been urging myself to write, write, write,
You know you will want to remember what this is like so write
But i looked inside myself and all i saw was a confusing blob, a living person with questions for organs and i didn’t know what to do
What had become of who i was
And so i pushed writing away
Words that so easily poured from my fingertips, trapped behind a self made dam
I felt silly
I feel silly
How to i begin to describe that i no longer recognize myself
That the image of who i was
A scared angry depressed teenager has been smeared at, scratched away with rough greedy hands
And i am left looking at an empty husk of an adult
A living breathing ‘what could be’
And i am lost
And i dont know
I must really admit, i know nothing- at all.