Plato
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I see shadows of people –


Is it Plato's cave?

The poet speaks on anything
thinking their words are fresh as spring,
logical as philosophy,
and tuned to nature’s harmony



Socrates reasoned that the voice
of poets was not one of choice,
but rather was much inspired
by gods touching minds with fire

The audience finds more meaning
in the mad poet's own ramblings
than the epileptic speaker
himself will ever dare ponder

They speak first on others behalf
as if they are the better half;
fancying themselves conqueror,
fisherman, a seer, and doctor

By what means are they qualified
to serve as humanity's guides?
How do the epics of Homer
make you more than imitator?

Cicero, Plato, Lucretius
Davinci, and Heraclitius:
Rare to find artist and scholar
in the wise true philosopher

Be wary of the charms of rhyme
and seduction of meter’s time
As these are well known to allure
common fools to charleton's words

I want to find you
Aristophanes told me about you
And the completion of my soul
Our soul

I want to find you
But Heidegger tells me to wait
Let the wind carry remembrance
Let love find me

I learnt it is possible
Your existence
Maybe you don’t know
But I am possible

I want to live in a van with you
Learn how to love technology
And appreciate what brings us

I want to live in a van with you
Learn to depend on my own
And paradoxically depend on our unison while self-relying

I am tired of planning my tomorrow
I do not wish to have you tomorrow
I wish to find you now

I want to live in a van with you
Travel the world apeiron* gave us
And be alone in the universe
Paradoxically enjoy my solitude with you

I wonder if you sing the same song
And if you are shaped to meet me
And the world I know of

I want to be your nobody
And live alone with you
In a moving home
In a moving truck

I want to hate me
And hate you too
Just to realize hate and love are the same coin just different sides

I want to depend on the harmony
And the tension of true songs
While we learn to fit in each other
And cry in unison

One song
Two souls
One friendship
Two forces

I think love is what we need in the world.
We needed it so badly we created it. Then we fought over it. And we corrupted it. It even became a disease. Until we found it had a medicinal effect. It could heal.

Love seeps into the ground where we bury it. The decay leaves traces of it. So is love also in death? Love is powerful indeed.

If love can find its way in life and death, it must not be mortal like us. Perhaps we can call it Divine. It must be what we see when we look up to the sky.

That’s why we describe it in so many ways. It flows like the blood in our veins. And when we no longer have the strength in our heart, it becomes the soul of our own.

From the moment
the tale of her ruin
made itself known,
mankind has
coveted proof
of her existence.

Many a curious hand
has stalked across
the glossy veins of maps
and the cracked vertebrae of books
enclosing information
most pivotal to
her secret whereabouts
and the tragic evanescence
that initiated her exile.

Many a
sailor
explorer
scientist
poet
have perished among
the gnashing jaws of the sea
in their pursuit of
the glory
her exploitation
would surely bring.  

In response to such
grievances--
the reality
of losing oneself
in the midst of
searching for what
has already been lost--
imagination--
the belief in magic,
in the seemingly
unbelievable--
was outlawed
within the
human psyche;

now,
they say she is merely
a madman's legend,
a myth concocted by Plato
so as to warn against
the perils of greed.

But never did they consider
that perhaps she did not
want to be found to begin with,
that her seclusion
has always been a necessity
so as not to repeat
the monstrosities of the past--
so she should not resurface
to satiate their earthly desires
only so she can be drowned anew.

{Atlantic}