How strange a tide… apathetic to its core.
Novichok in the system — we’ve already hit the floor.
Not without warning for the interested few.
Sure, indigo on the spectrum, but black in our view.
Our prophets are wary, lamenting for the lot.
The glass thicker than ever: they’re forced to watch them rot.
Let’s not dilute it over biscuits and tea.
We’re addicted to passion; it drains both you and me.
Quit cold turkey; we’ll wither and die within the week.
We blew past the sabbath; so muddle on and be meek.
Telephone the skies, but the network is full:
We put off the harvest — our calls all but null.
“Don’t think just breathe and wait for the pull of the plug.”
There’s a way, truth, and life; but deafness is the most popular drug.
Our water is muddy; the dolls’ overjoyed.
Reject all the falsehoods; their eyes shimmer from the void.
I’m here to remind you there’s more than you think.
Dead end paths are common; they want you to sink.
Exist behind ego and you’ll miss the horizon.
Perspective’s a gift if you’re looking to wisen.
Races aren’t games for an aspiring professional.
Throw out your excuses you don’t need a confessional.
There’s anguish in the conviction; you’ll be forced to commit.
But sleep-walking is pervasive; few actually submit.

These thick waves of this river,
This fading sun, a little above it,
This unique universe,
These eyes which carry universes,

All these are works of art,
created for us,
so that we can see glimpses
of our home, in them,
in certain moments,
and reach it,
when worthy.


© Manan sheel.

objectivity
its so clear
all lined up and logical
do this then that then that over there
of course, of course
just do it
simple as that

theoretically
its so easy
all planned out to the t
do this then that then that over here
of course, of course
just do it
of course, of course
have you done it?
of course not

Pain Of Place

We were happy or we weren’t.
Blended feelings formed the most;
College, restaurant, bookshop, church,
Street, park, architecture host
To chunks and bits of searching,
Forming eyes of yesterday.
Covered market, cups of tea,
Open market on a Wednesday,
Stalls of veggies, jewelry;
Child to school and child picked up,
The walking to, the walking back,
The elder tree we plucked, hands cupped,
While counted blocks betrayed a lack
Of some fulfillment.  What the target?
Surely not the streets and market.
Not the people either, nor
The daily passing through home’s door.
Gone.  But pictures still remain.
And with the pictures tints of pain.
Of place that’s not the face,
Not company.
The place acts independently,
Its energy “the spirit of…”
Its colors move.
Algos: pain.
Nostos: going home again.
Sweet nostalgia’s pull is ‘bull’.
Place may frame the pre-ordained;
Memory’s the game pre-pained.
Twists and lists: a dream.
Place and act, smell and sound:
Mind boundaries.
Mostly, we were happy or we weren’t.

To hate family is to hate self.
for whether to admit, or not
they are us,
and we are them,
inexorably tied,
Our traits,
hopes,
desires;
us,
Blood,
Love,
carry through.

this is no reason to be distraught
it instead simply is.
mother nature does not stop
do not fear this
to over-acknowledge is to assume
you posses more than the man that stands near
what lies beneath is a part of her charm
she is ambivalent and could care less
she means to do no harm.
Therefore, where the feel of inherent flaws plague the mind
let go,
sit,
turn off all distractions
and give yourself time,

to

Ponder
not when you fail,

to

Think,
not when you fall
but pass, and
Rise
above and beyond
not in the eyes of the onlooker
but in the eyes of the self...

not in unwrapped spite,
but in benevolent unison

Family:
they are me
i am them!
through eternity.

Do we need to debate an argument
of objective morality, to prove
God’s existence? Can’t we look…
upward towards the sky and beyond,
to clearly observe a magnificence
of His, spectacular handiwork?

Are we nothing more than animals,
stuck in a plague-filled universe
of endless, ruinous destruction?
Are certain levels of violence
deemed acceptable and necessary?
Are we seeking excuses… to shirk

away from the responsibilities
of being our brother’s keeper?
Can our human actions be judged
simply, as either good or bad,
to match our current disposition?
Can any of our behaviors work

favorably, to move us from a state
of chaos to one of divine peace?
Is Love and self-sacrifice genuine?
Or should we just live with a sad
realization, that we prefer to act
badly as only… inhumane jerks?