isolation is a redly glowing wolf
it is too close to me, get away
how can i believe in myself?
the night swallows self-confidence

i am waiting for an angel sent by
the tall and wise heralds of my fate
they are riding the train of future
i don't know how to hop on, no clue

eden's sounds are distracting me
but in her eyes i can see where my train
is supposed to stop and to arrive
ancient existences are floodding her pupil

they stem from a place called nirvana
it is the deep core of a human being's soul
light suffuses their shape, goldly shining
they fight against the demons of our world

and as the years passing by, they become
our nostalgic memories and our sentiment
i want to be there for eden, protecting her
the red wolf will not come between us

in the middle of nirvana, ashima wakes up
she doesn't know how she reached this sphere
full of silver lights and black silhouettes
everyone she knows seems to be present

greyly shimmering leaflets are floating
through the air, gently, like mist
and red fireflies are clapping their wings
the crowd of shadows is starting to sing:

"ashima, you have come a long way to us
we are the voices of nirvana, listen
nirvana is the deep core of your soul
the land of your most secret wishes

sometimes, in your dreams, you reach out
when you are waiting for a train and the
rays of the sun are reflecting your thoughts
you never find us but we know where you are

you may call us your wishes, we belong to you
as ****, as branko and your mom do
are you the imitation of your dreams, ashima?
or do your dreams imitate you, our girl?

certainly, you will become the thing you dread
we know that you took revenge recently
when you were slashing the *******'s throat
as his blood was slowly flowing into the sheets"

in the middle of her apartment, ashima wakes up
she becomes aware of a crinkled and dark leaflet
it is more than twenty years old, informing about
something that ashima can not read anymore

the letters on the leaflet have become dust
ashima is taking a deep breath and sighs
her pitbull branko is strolling towards her
his wet tongue, ashima thinks, feels cute

Like Christ I was betrayed by a kiss
The best kiss I ever wasted
The one delayed with a wish
The last I never tasted
Twas the sublime decline of the un-divine find from the mine within my mind
My new muse fused with pure white beacons of truth;
It was love.
It is love.
It will always be love.
Until the bodhisattva’s of bohemia are free to leave in peace,
Until the unbloomed seek what their enlightened prophets beseech.
When the the ****** find nirvana by practice of kinder hearted karma
Then and only then the world will know peace

A pauper once pondered if he would ever fall in love with life again,
after feeling the rain during a chance encounter with fate
he abandoned the lottery,
with the tenacious ferocity
only a vagabonds prophecy
could stake to his faith

For he’s fought his life with losers and uncouth career choosers,
he was the splinter caught between a hellfire and winter
after Papa State eraced the grace from a once true and youthful face
he found the hunger birthed by adversity is a lethal fuel for change
So now he’ll never rest upon a steadfast crest lest he can can feel his dreams like pain

Buddha was not the only one who understood the relationship between suffering and nirvana. Jorge Luis Borges once said the most important task of a human being's life was to learn how to transmute pain into compassion. Perhaps every human being, even if unconsciously, spends her/his life doing what Buddha did with his. As everyone knows, it is not an easy journey, but it is vital humanity takes it successfully. For millennia, however, humanity has, for the vast majority of time, failed to make spiritual progress. For example, for the past 3,400 years of recored history, most scholars have found that only 200 of those years could be deemed peaceful;  the rest were fraught with wars after wars after wars. Buddha, Borges, and most of the rest of us wish there were continual Peace on Earth, but sadly we see that sanguine phrase only a couple of weeks a year on Christmas cards.  

Copyright 2020 Tod Howard Hawks

my dear heart,
it's flying
flying aloft
it might reach nirvana .

in the deep sea of desperate
you fell and scattered
i'm in the verge of expectation.
hoping for you would come back one day