over two billion people
these days are waiting to commemorate
the birth of one whom they consider
humankind‘s savior

it happened more than 2000 years ago

since then it has not really been established
from what he has saved us

looking at our history
does not help much either

maybe this is a good thing
such indeterminacy can be quite uplifting

after all
who does not like to be saved?

Get going while the going is good
'cause the good get goings are getting hard to come by.
Breath that collective sigh
The grass is greener
that ain't no lie.
Things may look a lot meaner
but they're not
Media play ups with the big lay ups
difference ain't that different
Same most people are
helpful and kind too
we can't be divied
I know that's true.

They called me Pluto from afar, and I,
Nameless and void, embraced the title
With the force of a thousand burning suns,
Each one like the star I loved ever so dearly,
An immense sphere of fire which had me
Helplessly, hopelessly bound by its gravity,
Caught in its orbit from the beginning of time.

They called me Pluto still from further still,
Speaking my name as the orbit of myself
And their water world drove us apart,
And I gladly, worshipfully rejoiced –
I had a name; I was no longer void.
I was distant still, but they called me Pluto,
And I wore my name like regalia,
A crown upon my lifeless skin.

They called me Pluto still as they
Waded further from the cosmic shore
That was their home, sending probes
That touched the regolith of Mars –
There was life, and light, spreading out from Planet Earth,
So I waited, hoping they’d come for me
Sooner rather than later, tomorrow and not two centuries from now.

They called me Pluto even as they stripped me of my name –
I was ‘planet’ no longer,
And I grew colder and bitterer as I spun,
Because I knew things they did not,
Things about the rise and fall of civilizations.
They did not see what I had seen,
They had not been watching
Since the dawn-time.

They called me Pluto,
And they cried my name
As I watched them burn,
The light of the flickering candle in the dark
That had once been humankind
Flaring, more luminous than the sun for one bright, shining moment,
Then fading.

They called me Pluto in the aftermath,
As if I were the God of the underworld,
Guarding their lost souls from my far-off perch,
Shepherding that which could not be led,
But I was not their God, even if I’d once fathomed them as mine.
So here I wait, patient, eternal, void and barren,
For them to leave me lonely when they no longer
Dare to speak my name from the realm
I am the supposed guardian of;
They called me Pluto.

What marvellous creatures those biped ants,
Inhabiting the terrestrial little dust sphere, third from its star.
A naturally social animal “living in a complex social colony,
with one or more breeding queens.”

What organised creatures those biped ants,
Arranging themselves in a hierarchical manner, to follow
Rules and be protected by their chief, whose interest is
The survival, wellbeing and self-enhancement of all.

What ingenious creatures those biped ants,
Drawing, inventing and building that which their mind can imagine,
Creating words out of nothing to tell each other stories,
Hand their wisdom over and down to their heir.

What intelligent creatures those biped ants,
Engaging and toying with thoughts and questions
To find answers to sentiments they spontaneously recognise,
Driven by curiosity to understand their potential and universe.

What extraordinary creatures those biped ants,
Capable of love and caring, so unusual and rare on other planets,
Believing in strength and justice, freedom and equality,
Marching for their rights and for them be willing to give up their lives.

What fragile creatures those biped ants,
So vulnerable to greed, arrogance, fear and complex,
Self-commiseration and self-loathing, punishing themselves
With self-destruction.

What paradoxical creatures those biped ants,
Dividing in colours, red or blue, black or white,
Unwilling to acknowledge that any idea is a good idea
If in the best interest of humanity as a whole and its home,

Regardless of who gives birth to it and casts the seed,
For it to grow.

I am double the age I was, in my darkest hour,
When nothing seemed to be, quite right,
When I gazed extensively into the depths
Of my abyssal dark brown eyes, only to fall
Desperately in love with my Self and realise,
No one could ever care for me
As much as I.

I am double the age I was, in my darkest hour,
When nothing seemed to be, quite right,
When I stared neurotically at my surroundings,
Observing my likes, breathing human beings,
Their pain, their strength, their cruelty.
None of it was good enough, for me,
Too much love, too much pain, too much grief.

We were too much, of a marvellous creature
To deserve living in anguish and gloom.

I am double the age I was, in my darkest hour,
When nothing seemed to be, quite right,
When I survived my own death and will,
And decided to love all, as much as I love I.

When ancient Greeks dwelt upon notions
Of matter and its nature, formulating philosophies
Of physics to grasp and get a glimpse at the Universe,
A single common inspired idea, bound them all in reflection:

‘Nothing comes into existence from nothing’.

There had to be eternal surviving basic elements unable
To be created or destroyed, continuously mutating to underline
Apparent change, while composing all that ever was, is
And will be. Omnificent and omnipresent in a godly manner.

Evolution laying the grounds for rare creatures
To grow into great thinkers, ponder and observe,
Empirically prove the facticity of these elements,
Philosophical atoms, scientific elementary particles.

Notes on the elegant musical score
Orchestrating the Universe, its dance and its laws.
Indivisible, matter reduced to its core
Permeating space and everything within.

This basic notion twirls in my head
Pervading my being with the awareness of its substance:
I am part of all that exists and with it,
I share my essence.

A consequent conscious feeling of unity
With the Universe, all that exists and the humankind.
A sense of inevitable peace,
While accepting to be a part of it all.

Harmonic realisation that combined we are
Nothing more and nothing less
Than the Universe becoming aware
Of Itself.

We have what it takes
To end the world.
We've had it
Since the beginning of humankind.

Who are we?* we ask, always asking ourselves the same questions...

We are the world.
We are brothers and sisters. Sons and daughters.
We are friends, cousins, acquaintances...
We are lovers and enemies, and also, strangers.
We are anyone and everyone, all at once.
We are, despite all else, connected.

That must mean something to us. Shouldn't it?

We are 7.5 billion bodies, each alike in enough ways that might make our differences invisible. (But are they?)

We are the same, in so many ways. Enough that our similarities should outweigh our inevitable differences. Our similarities should be enough to prove that our differences are not worth fighting about. Yet, somehow, they aren't. Because we do fight. We fight without any known rhyme or reason, and without genuine purpose. Without empathy. We fight over our differences with enough audacity to claim that they should be ranked. With the belief that each of our differences should be sorted, allowing some of us to be valued as less than others, and also, some of us valued so much more. So, we fight. Like siblings or old lovers. Every single day. Probably have since the beginning of time, or, rather, when we created the concept of time. Perhaps the fighting began when we became a we. And since, the fighting has been constant. It's the only thing that really brings us together. And the one thing tearing us apart.

We find any excuse we can that will bring us closer to division rather than unity. Somehow, we are still far too concerned with the qualities that make us different rather than with those that which we share. And for so many of us, it seems easier to choose not to share. We are selfish and we rarely share. We are all in this together however we behave as though we are unaware the other exists. Mindlessly we share similar DNA but we act like we don't care. It must be easier to behave as though we are unaware. We do whatever it takes to ignore the facts that lie right before our eyes and we build walls around them. We look the other way, in any direction that might lead us into misdirection. We pretend we don't see, that we don't know, that we don't care.

We the people, of the world. We the hopeless, the reckless, the desperate... We the lost.

We are time-wasters, dream-chasers and we are all ******* fakers. We are figments of our own imaginations. We are alternate versions of ourselves living in realities of our own creation. Realities that aren't real at all, just like us. We hide beneath our fake faces and our fake words. Our fabricated worlds are all we have to show for. We live in pretty, little bubbles as an escape from our invisible reality, in an effort to shield ourselves from the dangers of the world. We're supposed to be in this together, though somehow we'd all rather be alone. We've forgotten the meaning of we, and we've doomed ourselves to eternal loneliness. We are, if nothing else at all, inherently lonely.