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Rama Krsna Jun 22
the tree of life
with its roots entrenched in ego
incessantly watered by
the fountain of desire
flowers lofty expectations,
which when unfulfilled
crumble like dry leaves
from flames of disappointment
and the smoke of anger,
poisoning mind and intellect
till humans are human no more

© 2019
Zywa Jun 17
It is not personal
when things go wrong
although I live wisely
because we do everything together

in the karma mixer
of instincts and virtues
and circumstances that change
from moment to moment

My life is too short
for any karma of my own
which will come later
as a drop in the brew

from the karma mixer
that's all I am
unimportant, even
if I'm famous
Collection “Ifless”
Ahnaf Jun 11
What do you say?
Should I keep trying my luck at the human condition?
I'm struggling to believe the human condition is for all of us;
Because of the way we humans are hardwired to think and judge,
and as a result, the way we have constructed meanings and standards in our societies,
many of us are left with an appalling serving of the human condition,
with little other than pain, misery, and humiliation on our plates

So what do you say?
Should I abandon the human condition and maybe seek more transcendental avenues of living?
(it's not as exciting as it sounds because I'm compelled to consider it)
Or, do you think the human condition can still accommodate for the joys of every one of us?
Sarah Adams May 12
I’ll be here with my arms stretched wide

Ready to catch a break

Instead of all these curveballs

That keep hitting me in the face

I don’t even like baseball

⚾️
aziza Mar 16
my mind's
peat forest
drained dry
my thoughts are
wildfire flares
in the nights
and
some fires
never die out.
Laurence Worsham Nov 2018
Sound the horns before the crash of the drums,
Reign forever the promise,
only as long as does not perturbe the ageless splendor of it's denial.
The angry man is vain in his resentment of luxury as he toils,
and so he proceeds in vain of his resentment.
The happy man is foolish in his love of life, forgotten to that horrible heaping part of himself,
sprawled with constricting joints and bleeding that blood,
Pay he luck not to remember.
Always eager was accepted by the Earth.

Always downward impress the power and cascading mountains of the horizon.
Ever so that the dwindling height impresses the speck at the edge of it's microscopic lense.
From what pestle were ground these grains of what the body shivers to behold?
From what tree was made sacrifice and ripped the shreds of this beautiful scenery?
From what point does the needle steer it's compass,
Pulsates the ebb of the magma of power.

The excretions of raw turmoil brews,
Below the vats of anamorphic hell was raised,
And up was risen low on high and behold that it was seen.
The slumber had encroached upon itself,
Flitting it's tail at the flies and leftovers of the night.
The spoils of day at hand make clear the path of the arm.
I am stretched about it's expanse and yearn the pangs of inward loss.
The melting hot aftermath boils my blood dark and red,
I am ready to sanctify these old bones with new fire.
I lurch my eyes upon the stocks and bundles,
I am in love.

Flesh loathes the indulgence of the mind,
masked in the light by its submission.
I have made acquaintance with the tonic of breath upon the bellows of breast,
I met the waves that mirror this and thine.
Well met are they, and I said that it was good!
To the heavens which impress me impress myself!
Know my mind you manifold of high towers!
Know me that lightning had stricken the chapels of your Kingdom, my name in blazing stars.
Know my name to the inextricable folds of your searching rebuttal.
And behold my pride,
erected there with bricks I would bet against mountains.
Was my blood so bold to creep back whence it came?
If not so, then was made slave to my own boldness.
So there it was,
and so wept the Earth for a thousand years.

Tears falter to the sun, and my cheek is dry.
You know me, but what are you hiding?
Amongst the flags of nations the sweat of day unfurled,
There in the depths must be hidden.
Feed me or be refused the exhilaration of my tongue.
Set loose the fruit into my view,
I will do the rest.
Having filled my bucket of what belongs to me, harken to my plea for more,
To the adoption of my whimsy,
flicking fast the worm of yesterday.
I had worms in my thin stomach.
Aside it, the froth of snails had savored,
molding the lowest of all my opinion.
Better is the least of my gripes,
entrust me this day or all days hence I will mock you.
The threat twas modest now cast into hard metal for the shackles of a generation of tender feet.
What had inspired now falters,
I can weep no more.
Mr.know-it-all gazing far into the future
Pretentiously weeping ahead of time,
realizing then, it was...
some kind of special torture
hoping that he was wrong
on what makes him cry.
I felt my time was running out,
that it would all be over soon.
The desperation of the moment,
made me think through and through.
What truly matters is joy and colour!
And every breath you take and savour.
Try being good to one another,
and keep your mind sharp,
like a whirling saber.
Oh wait! it was not the end!
What is this? i have no end? now i see!
I was just this greedy little thing,
when theres truly no end to me!
We are a cloud of information,
and the ego is our damnation.
Believe! we can be anything!
if we let ourselves be free!
...in this land...of...make-believe...
habiba May 2018
It began with absence,
It began with desire,
And all the things in between you could not acquire,

The eves of the trees were slick with dew,
Drops of water all over the leaves, spewed
My heart was young, light, propitious,
Everything around me kind, bright, almost ridiculous,
Perhaps then was when you surmised,
That I would prove an absolute delight

Did you wonder if it would be easy?
I feel like I was supposed to act ******
The veins you clogged and the bones you broke,
The fingers you bent and the heels that just won't
The hair that was shaven as it grew unheeded,
My nails were pulled, they were not needed.

Cast down all the hangings that I put on the wall,
Take a scythe to them as I watch, in thrall
I fell to my knees and you helped me to the ditch,
Disposed to push me in as they swang the pots out and hitched

Scrubbing as I reeled, I could not get clean
The filth was everywhere, I found it hard to deal.
In a state of numbness, I found some balance
So now I'm clinging to this graceful frame of nonchalance,

Pray not leave with distaste,
In your abiding, unreasonable hate,
You crash about furniture as you do,
And I no longer care to clean up after you.
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