High rise buildings don’t shed leaves.
And the trees are too far below to be seen.
‘Fall’ carries a different context in concrete
With gravity at play, its threatens to be mean....

There are pockets where nature is trimmed to size
And planted to add value to unreal estate
I should miss the mess, the sights and the eyes
And instead I watch my senses acclimate.

A pumpkin cinnamon latte, in Starbucks terms
Offers cultured aspirants a slice of respite
I am not ungrateful, but I can still reminisce
Not because of my earnestness but despite....

Memory of colours, orchestrates fall
A cacophony of wistfulness without a plot
I can’t even pretend it is autumn in my mind,
When the artifice around me is still so hot.

©️Arshia
6.10.18
#afutureisticpoem
#ifclimatechangecontinues

it is my heart language.
a tongue my soul needed to flourish.
one that only I could come to find,
a language that I needed to discover for myself.
in uncovering this alone,
I was able to grow more,
more than if it was my native speech.

though it may not be my mother tongue,
spiritually it is a part of me, it always has been.
I needed a trigger, an experience,
to unearth this buried part of my existence.
I was meant to speak this language,
one many may speak,
but few understand to its depth and its core.

it is a God given gift,
one He meant for me to find in my solace,
a part of my soul He waited eagerly for me to find.
when I found this part of myself,
I understood my trials and my pains.
this tongue erased my scars, healed my wounds.
it buried my shame, and unveiled my soul.

I

Pitch black dark, full of wonder
I step outside to leave warm light
The cold air stings my city skin
Silence permeates the night.

In the countryside I stay
Where stars shine their brightest
I look up, full of expectation
It's not fulfilled, not the slightest.

I will not lie, I did see stars
But it was underwhelming, I thought.
6 hours drive away from home
It was all for nought!

In that single moment I aged many years.
I was Disappointed.
Discouraged.
Disheartened.
I went back inside
I was Defeated.



II

Next night, just as black,
just as cold, just as still
I leave the light and creep outside
The dark gives quite a thrill.

I can barely see but I still walk
Soon my eyes adjust
Shadows, treelines, unlit pathways
With time, become robust.

And then I see them.

Stars like tiny pinpricks, materialise
Thousands upon thousands appear
I stand and watch as they arrive
Frozen in awe, not fear.

Yesterday
I was wrong.
I was impatient.
I was naive.
And that's ok.

In that single moment, I aged many more years.
I wasn't Disappointed.
Discouraged.
Disheartened.
I went back inside.
I had Discovered.

When we are born we are born to be made,
Shaped like clay from the confines of the universes hands.
Like art.
And like art we are critiqued,
And like art we become,
Until our colours, thoughts, behaviours form,
And we are human,
We are all in one piece,

And these people stand and these people stand and give their verdict,
And these people stand and extend an invitation to us, an invitation that tells us to now be a "Starry night" instead of a Picasso painting,  although they don't know even Starry night had their Picasso days.

And these people stand as they extend their arm, capturing the essence of our being on the street, when sometimes our clay is soft, or when the paint bleeds from us.

But our arms and wrists  can bleed,
But our minds are told it cannot,
With the exception of one day to ask: "Are you okay?"

But by then I'm already in the kiln, and already dried to the bone,
Because I am an artist,
And i will shape myself again.

You know those films on movies where they flip the table
Throw things around and scream obscenities at everyone
Well this is exactly what I would do,if my life was a movie
Instead I the prey sit here hiding all the anger trapped inside
Instead I the prey take a walk stay silent taming it all in
Instead I the prey fall prey every time to the predators bait

You know that feeling you get when you are disgusted by yourself
Trying to conjure up where everything went wrong?
How you can change things?
What to do not to repeat the same mistake?
When you finally think I got this,you repeat the same thing
Only to get things actually have gotten worse
Well that feeling of disgust is not funny

You know that feeling you get when realize how naive you've been
When you realize all the anger that you have is because:
You just couldn't let go
You held onto your ideas so strongly,you couldn't see the others
You loved someone to much but didn't love an ounce of yourself
You listened to all the negative people
You felt all the negative energy and let it consume you
Yeah well I can tell you how pathetic and joyful realizing that will make you feel

I put you on top
So far up there
When I need you the most
When I come to collect my fingers caught ***** first,
Then I stretched a little further and got hate
I stretched a little further and got unfaithfulness
I stretched and got pain so much pain and anger
When I almost gave up I got me back with a sprinkle of wisdom
So I'll give you this I love you always will
Even though you shattered me
Though I love you more because you dear
Returned me back with a sprinkle of wisdom

Down Isle one thousand
in booth number three
you'll find trepidation
Brewed up in a tea

A new reservation
A live presentation
of self preservation
In the row next to me

A section of reflection
and anger deflection
will give me direction;
This seminar is free!

A booth full of flyers
with snitches and liars
are there for the criers
"Out of place", I decree!

Discover the artist
that's working the hardest
ideas are farthest
from reality

Their booth I will spend
all the way till the end
their work, it will mend
me holistically

When the convention is over
my home, I will rover
to settle with the prover
my sanity

The trip was successful
relaxing and restful
no longer so stressful
natrually

What made Rumi
is not the poetry.
That's media not
the end of the discovery.

The reality, ***!
Can a bard stich
a word on it
where none nothing
can stand still?
Treading on the way
poet Rumi sings.

A story about the here and now
Can’t be seen in lost and found
Almost like neat and delicate abandoned shreds of paper
Like the uneven ridges of the ghostly bleached white coral reefs
Or the brain juices between the cracks
I can’t compete with time
So turn tail and run
As time ages cheese
And as I grow older
And as my mother grow older
And as my grandparents grow older, under foot
I’m talking about the taboo of me
The taboo of you and me having ***,
without meeting the parents
Without foresight of the complicated future extinction of the
             human race
The lucid dreams,
I keep having only not to remember
The next day or the same night