I
Today my heart is beating a sorrowful tune
and I don’t really know if it will end soon.
Since your departure all seems to be amiss
a pale reflection of that once heavenly bliss.
I have been left stranded on an alien shore
to fend for myself groping near your door.
The aftertaste of delight which our union once exuded
lingers on now in memory and feels like I was deluded.
Something doesn’t seem to be quite the same
even though I remember and repeat your name.
Your presence was what made the difference then
such a tangible feeling: will you not come again?
  I can only endeavor to lure you back once more
  so please don’t any of my genuine efforts ignore.

II
I look for you everywhere that I happen to go
but where you’re to be found I’d like to know.
Some say you’re in the heart and to look within
while others assert that you’re in the next of kin.
Life is really a situation of relationships with you
and knowledge of the ways of love gets us through.
If we come across difficulties and obstacles by love they’re resolved
which engenders compassion and understanding as it gets involved.
There are many people in the world who look in all the wrong places
searching for the same thing here in the available surrounding spaces.
Hoping that what they’ll find is what their heart most desires
and to fulfil this craving their mind with their heart conspires.
  Our inner being or soul though is the silent witness observing it all
  and expresses itself as our higher conscience when we heed its call.

III
To suffer in the agony of a lover’s separation we learn
that being away from the Beloved makes the heart burn.
It is even worse when the Beloved has gone away not saying why
and the lover has been left alone in the throes of love high and dry.
The heart cannot bear the pain of love in separation
and the mind seeks to achieve a suitable reconciliation.
When the power of love rules the heart mind hastens to obey
and doesn’t need any other reason to cause unwanted delay.
If all the lover’s efforts to a reunion only end in despair
then it may be better to let the matter rest awhile there.
True love cannot be really denied except at a great personal cost
and in desperation we seldom realise the value of what’s been lost.
  There is a saying that: ‘love will always find a way’
  and that a heart full of love over the mind holds sway.

IV
As I was never given a reason why you suddenly left
I can only assume that there isn’t one and love is bereft.
The heart has its own reasons which the mind can’t fathom
so the mind depends on the heart for matters in its *****.
Where the Beloved goes there the lovers also have to follow
because love is the magnet that draws them all nigh to go.
When the fragrance of love is in the air and lovers imbibe its scent
the intoxicating effect is a strong potion which on the heart is bent.
Man’s feeble mind relies more on the heart when the matter of love is concerned
but if the mind dominates and rationalises through the intellect love is adjourned.
If the mind of the lover is centred in the heart where the play of love is unfolding
it will experience anguish and misery when the Beloved anything is withholding.
  All true lovers will always seek the company and well-being of their beloved
  and are never satisfied with remaining at a distance if love is being uncovered.

V
Whose fault is it may I inquire if anyone falls irresistibly in love
and the processes of love in separation overwhelm as from above?
What can one really do but follow wherever their heart leads
and undergo the agony in seeing that love is not displeased.
In seeking the pleasure of the Beloved one’s life becomes fulfilled
which otherwise would remain barren like a desolate land untilled.
When the Beloved sows the seeds of love in the fertile soil of one’s heart
all that was in there when that time comes must be sublimated or depart.
The arrows of love seek to pierce their target which is the heart of the lover
and the Beloved is the one drawing the bow with intent to **** we discover.
To die for love is much better than to live without we’ve heard often before
and those who lose their life in the cause of the Beloved will live forevermore.
  When the heart is purified and pure love is awakened by the Beloved’s grace
  any who are the recipients thereof realize that love in separation has its place.

When will it ever be enough?

As a kid, I was always taught to reach my potential—
to set goals above my expectations
and work hard to become a better version of myself.

But when will this version be enough?
When do I finally come to terms with myself?
Will I ever be at peace with whom I’ve come to be.
Satisfied with the person I’ve built for years?

When will I learn to accept
that I don’t have to be at constant war with myself
for simply being normal?

As Mary Oliver once said:
“You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
for a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.”

But in this society, it feels impossible.

They’ve linked the term mediocre
with failure,
and so, at night,
many stare at their ceiling,
feeling like a let-down,
simply because they couldn’t be more.

It’s why elderly men don’t retire—
because even at their age,
they’re expected to keep improving.

But what if we chose instead
to normalize self-acceptance?
What if we allowed ourselves
to recognize the effort
that carried us to where we are today?

It’s okay if you’re not the next millionaire.
You don’t have to be the next Albert Einstein.

So many tell us that life is about growth—
a constant journey of becoming better.
And maybe they’re right.
But life is also too short
to live with the endless mindset
of wanting to complete everything
in the span of one lifetime.

We must learn to appreciate.
To slow down,
and build our own meaning.

Because it never depended on anyone else.
It didn’t matter
when your boss labeled you as ‘replaceable’
It didn’t matter
when you anticipated that raise
and never got it.
It didn’t matter
when you hit rock bottom
and struggled to stand again.

Remember this:
Being human never made you weak.
It made you uniquely capable
of becoming stronger.

Life is what you make of it—
not what others call average,
but what you choose to see as
success.

Despite the hardships we endure,
And of the misfortune visited upon us,
There is much opportunity for joy
If we are brave enough to discover it
And venture to uncover it.
Friendship like romanticism
Giving us momentum,
And belief like passion
Giving us objective.
But will you make the journey
Or settle where you have started?
Will you call home wherever you landed?

In the "loneliness",
I find connection.
In the "boredom",
I find fulfillment.
In the "silence",
I find serenity.

Why aren't you at peace?

The blacksmith works the iron ore
with tongs and hammer on anvil’s brow:
Within his forge’s fiery core
grows metal soft, with carbon endowed.

The coal turns grey, much like his beard
drawn out by age to wiry lace —
a silver mine that roughly rears
from his craggy quarry of a face.

In his chest, the same fire roars,
a molten furnace fueled by air
****** in by bellows, lungs engorged,
then exhaled in the bright sparks’ glare.

The chimney of his mind is filled
with sparks that dance, a glowing throng,
arising through his thoughts that thrill
to the rhythmic beat of his anvil’s song.

Reflected in his clouded eyes,
mixed in with soot and sweat and toil,
the steel sings out in joyous cries,
its notes ascending to a boil.

For though the years have dimmed his sight,
he sees through the smoke and flame. He knows
how he will find fulfilled delight —
when he with music his craft bestows.

'Tis better to have loved and lost
Than never to have loved at all;
But, like the Ghost at Pentecost,
True love stays when it comes to call.
Of all sad words of tongue or pen
The saddest are these: "It might have been!"
For us the saddest words are not:
What might have been has been a lot!

Doves flown off a high-rise,
Expectantly eager
To show how much they know
And how great they are;
People today have such a need to prove themselves.
For whom, and to what?
Such fruitless times,
When new growth
Rots on the vine.

I am smiling at your thought that the Apple Picker
has nearly died from standing on that ladder,
From hearing rumbling apples falling into the bins...

I have worked that hard as well, and I didn't die.

When a person works all day, standing on a ladder,
Or holding a paint brush, or swinging a hammer,
Or driving a tractor or truck, or shoveling manure....

You get the picture....

Yes, we grow blisters. Yes, we are exhausted.
Yes, we would rather be lounging on a beach
Almost anywhere else in the world...,

But the truth is this: After a long day's hard work,
Food fills most excellently,
The shower? The shower is the best shower ever,
And the sleep? The sleep is the sleep of the dead,
Dreamless, full of rest....

so exciting, so fascinating, so
wholly fulfilling, so viscerally
gratifying to

think, to think deeply, to ponder
the delicate prism of our reality
and its' infinite possibilities

that one is left

giddy

To simplify,
To complicate,
These questions, on repeat,
In my questioning, confused head.

What do I want from this world,
Beyond simplification,
Yet a fraction of complication?
I’ll never know.

All I know, is that incarcerated birds,
still cheerfully chirp,
And nothing is ever what it seems,
Not even people.

I learned the hard way,
Achieving desires means,
Losing drive,
A sense of purpose,
And all fulfillment subsides.

Success is a state of mind,
Placement is what brings you peace,
So much to experience,
Yet so little focus.

At a certain point,
When getting old,
This contemplation follows,
And leaves me with nothing to show,
For all that I’ve experimented with—
Because staying put is too hard to bear.