Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
breathing—with eyes closed
the stillness of the moment
wind caressed my cheek
a haiku
The sound of silence,
Muted by the ears but heard by the soul,
Piercing the flesh as if eaten by a ghoul.

The sound of silence,
Unheard, unseen but faintly felt,
The sound of silence,
Separating me from my own self.

The sound of million crickets, thumping the ear drums,
Heard but unheard.

The sound of silence,
A bitter elixir of life,
Hallucinating obnoxious asphyxiating,
Even the screams of pain keep begging.

The sound of silence,
Take its sip very slow,
allow it haunt, allow it to flow,
because the treasure lies hidden inside the chest,

The sound of silence,
Once again it blew,
Seeping through the tortures of fluttering leaves and gusting winds,
Kissing the conscious, these sweet whispers of life,
The sound of silence, keeping my soul alive.
Embrace tiger, return to mountain
and get refreshment at a fountain.
In solitude and meditation
doubts are cleared by realisation.

The cares of the world are so many
one can't afford to bring back any;
although they help when called to do so
with what for others they have to know.

As yin and yang play their parts so well
those stories of the old one's do tell.
They're never alone in this struggle
and must also know how to juggle.

Advance and retreat each time they go
to share that knowledge of the Tao.
____
Written early in 2017. Based on my study and thoughts about Taoism.
Zywa 6d
Blanche, the white one
is another Tormenta
in another sunnier year

a devastating storm
in the white wall
of clouds around me

sharply I see everything
rush, struck apart, it is
a raging, twirling and

lightly gliding out of the light
into the nothing
calmly I see everything

dissolve
out of my eye
my quiet eye
Blanche = White
Tormenta = Storm

The tropical cyclone “Blanche” (category 2) made landfall in the northeast Kimberley district of Western Australia on the 6 March 2017

Collection "WoofWoof"
What do you feel inside right now?
Are you happy, sad?

Take this moment, analyze your thoughts.
Follow the spiral in your head:
The path, you fail to find the end of.
Instead, you just tie larger knots.

Where do you reside right now?
Are you cold, warm?

Take this moment, connect with your surroundings.
Feel the vibrations of nature's language:
The waves, they envelop you.
Separate, they are easily understood;
yet, together they are delightfully unsustaining.

What are you right now?
Are you living, dying?

Take this moment, stop thinking.
Let your thoughts pile behind you:
Slowly, they become unbearable.
The feelings return;
Yet again, there is the familiar buzz disconcerting.

What will happen next time?
Will you see, understand?
What does this make you think of?
Mahdi H Mar 10
Art
Art is the realm of the soul
Through it, it shares
It shares from the dreams it has seen
The dreams that will be
Through it, it calls out to its sisters
"Remember remember"
"There was a time we circled
A time we praised and sung
A time we witnessed all Splendor
Remember the taste of
To You our surrender"
So sing, play, draw all is His remembrance
Oh sweetness oh coolness oh comfort
Allows us a connection
Julian Delia Mar 9
The white flag has been raised.
The earth lies scorched and blazed;
Medals were pinned on chests,
Testament to the best murderers,
Killers being given glory and praise.

The war is finally over.
Go home, soldier.
Pick up the hammer and the nail,
For houses have been torn down –
Bombs have fallen like rain, explosive gales.

Now, the bridges must be rebuilt;
Lost hopes must be found,
Somewhere in the debris and guilt.
POWs must be returned safe and sound,
The world must continue to spin, at a tilt.

Bridges can be rebuilt, yes,
But imagine if we tried to not burn them down, at all.
Empty cups can be refilled,
But imagine if we never dried them out, how we’d all stand tall.

If we always choose war,
We shall never know peace.
If we always even the score,
We shall sire desperate pleas.
A poem that is (sort of) a sequel to 'Burning Bridges'.
Keiya Tasire Mar 6
Until There Was Only Light
I looked at the darkness within
Two eyes of Light
Gave me a blink.
I smiled.
Watching expanding light
Dancing and whirling
Embracing the darkness
Until there was only Light.
Embracing the darkness
Dancing and whirling
Watching expanding light
I smiled.
Give me a blink
Two eyes of light
I looked at the darkness within
Until there was only Light.
Today I meditated to process and clear some heavy emotions.
acacia Mar 2
Here is the one time I will use a wide toothed comb through all my kinks and my knots. Some shed strands fly off onto the white tiled walls, while some fly down -- spiraling down, as if freediving mid-air -- to the drain, where they all seem to unite. Shampoo, condition, soap ****, dead skin, impure thoughts and actions clutter around the drain, eager to rub each other. As eager as the thousands and millions of water atoms that hit me like pebbles hitting a well; I see it every time I look into the eyes of the shower head. It’s all I need to keep going, detangling. I still need more conditioner, more slip. The water likes to take the conditioner and travel from my hair to my neck, draping down from shoulders like a robe. Before the conditioner and soap can wind down into just memories of the Old Me, the steam, like an old friend, covers me in their veil. The steam covers the window in a smoke screen, shielding me from the Moon’s eyes, and the Star’s views. The wind can’t hurt me in these tiled walls; but this means the walls can see me. My skin, it blushes, and looks away, shyly continuing. My skin reminisces to more good times, when I’m held in this small cradle of a tub. The water and soap bubbles are my blankets, the loofah and the sponge are my pillows. I keep the lights off so that no one has that obnoxious gleam in their eyes while we all rest. The vents hum lowly, so not to wake the huddled curtains. Yet, when I get out of bed, I stretch, and I anticipate the sunrise of the water to spray watershine to jolt my body awake. When I am awake, I let the vents follow, I let the world see. I make the water hotter but then I make it colder, never letting the hues from the water slip from my mind. For I  know, meditation and water are wedded forever.
catch the title's reference?
Next page