Earth comes out of its greenroom

I bend at the window
looking through the glass
down upon its vastness

something out there is wrong

the future's not what it used to be
a shadow tells me

I feel mysterious today
a stranger to myself
I don't recognize my voice

objects outlive us
but we are more than an accident of stars
someday we will be infinite
breaking into the distance

by serene velocity
by delicate transitions

bringing us closer
to a renewed interest in happiness

I walk these streets, silent and still,
Faces pass by, each chasing their will.
No words I offer, no call, no cheer,
In their worlds, they dwell—so far, so near.

Let them wander where their visions lie,
Beneath the same vast Nepali sky.
Dreams of theirs I do not intrude,
For in my quiet, I find my mood.

Am I rude to pass and not engage?
Or just a soul, freeing their stage?
Each moment they craft, I let it unfold,
A mosaic woven in threads untold.

Beneath these hills, in Kathmandu's grace,
I honor their rhythm, their time, their space.
For in this stillness, I see more clear—
A bond unspoken, yet ever near.

Let their paths shine, let them be,
As I journey within, just silently.
Nepali hearts, vast and deep,
In quiet respect, their space I keep.

By Arcassin B

"Its simple as me and you,
Simple as one and two,
Simple as a church being filled up in these pews,
You think this the real you?
Will Reincarnation make the same you?
Will you go to a heaven-like state or a dying Hellish virtue,
So many choices , you gotta choose,
To be honest,

Might be beneficiary to you,
Open up your eyes,
Death is not the end,
Dead not dead at all,
Its spookism,
Everyone got a time,
Got a date,
Everyone has their cake ,
Inherited their space,
Matrix Reloaded so many times,
We need the spell to break."

New poem titled "Reloaded" full poem link below <<<<
✅️

Oh, sea of tranquility,
we came, but we could not swim,
so we claimed you with a flag
and put a towel down for the race,
then we left our grubby footprints
across your perfect face

A jet black shellac record spins
seventy-eight times a minute.
Its label bears a lady ’round the pin:
She strums her lyre pictured on it.

It’s a flat earth of forgotten tunes
that spins on an axis of steel
through heavens lit by a lyrical moon
filled with the stars of bygone years.

The label’s lady of the lyre
smiles up from her grooved time machine,
her strums reverse the stars’ funeral pyres:
On each rotation her lyre gleams.

Beyond the grave, voices I hear
defy the dark passage of time:
They sing, resurrected from yesteryear.
Her lyre scores each lyrical line.

Each scratchy hiss and tiny pop
I hear from the disc’s dust and scars
reminds me of a radio telescope
that points up to distant quasars.

Alas, the needle drifts further on
‘til it reaches the groove’s final string
and then the tonearm waits for a new dawn
when this time machine once more sings.

“Why am I here?”
I asked myself that over and over again
as my body floats in space
the outer layer of the atmosphere is so dense I can feel the surface rub against my helmet
my body is light as a feather
I can hear my bones rattling with one another within my body
when I was standing on the earth’s crust
I can see the stars at the night sky
if I where to look hard enough I can see constellations dancing and embracing themselves with glee
now I’m up above with them
but the constellations do not applaud for my arrival
they just shimmer until they turn dull
so I dance with the void instead

for a while my brain feels quiet
a constant low ringing in my ear
I couldn’t tell if I was just imagining it
or my ears were in shock from realizing how quiet the universe is when you only known sound from I’m from
I snap my brain back into reality
remembering what I must do
I look at my surroundings
at first all I saw was nothing
but then I see a gray sphere a distance away
it was the moon
spinning in rotation
impersonating a ballerina in a huge ballroom filled with mirrors
I paddle my feet to its location
setting my feet in its dry surface
“mission complete” I told myself

I sit down with my legs crossed
observing what’s around me for the final time
I can sense the earth mourning my name
begging me to come home
I put my hand out in a cup-like position
where I can see the earth within my fingertips
then I finally realized
the earth can give you so many questions
but the stars give you theories

I’m told that I’m a dream produced
by time and space and DNA, that’s organized in such a way
that chemistry and physics are enough to make it dream,
so let’s accept that really there’s no ghost in the machine.

But still it seems that I exist, and isn’t it amazing dreams
can interact with other dreams,
do calculus and higher math,
gaze at the stars, make art, make love,
investigate it all and find
we’re just another accident of chemistry and space and time.

There’s a girl I know on Mars
Who wears tube socks
With everything she wears,
No matter if they’re stretched out or not.
There, the wind barely blows,
It barely even whistles.
But she doesn’t like her feet
To get cold.

Every time we talk,
We talk about everything
And nothing.
She sits at home and watches
The stars from her window,
Swinging one of her legs
From the arm of the couch.

I told her that I’d mail her a new
Pair of socks if I could find
A pair with Mars on them,
And a pair that had the moon
Printed on them.
Especially that far out, I bet they’re
Hard to find.

Maybe I’d settle for a pair myself,
To see what she sees in these things,
After all, she always wears them.
Maybe I’ll get her a pair that stretches
To her knees,
A solid color to match her couch,
To hide the red dirt that creeps
In her house.

After all, we’re human.
We need something that connects us
To who we are, who we used to be.
Anything to make us feel
More important than what we are