#inclusivity
Over horizon, in the dark,
transient allure of shooting stars.
Still yet vibrant moments
of joint within and far.
A vastness seized with eyes.
A million years of travel stories,
narrated each, entwined,
it’s not the ears they reach, but mind,
recalled and forgotten as told.
I always feel I know them all,
not memorizing a single one.
A portal gate, wide opened
to connect past with present moments,
events long gone, foretelling return,
tethered together
with a radiant thread of light.
By courtesy of night sky
offered repast of boundless calmness.
I fear to call how troubled a soul
must have become,
to miss this invite for peace of mind
addressed to everyone.
It’s mesmerizing every time.
Apr 12, 2025
Apr 12, 2025 at 2:16 PM UTC
a single touch of welcoming
is all i desire, no matter the
strain it will have.
i am for it all
Feb 4, 2025
Feb 4, 2025 at 12:53 PM UTC
To live is to be a poet,
For ink is not the symbol of a writer.
It is the heart, which crafts itself
into the perfect brush,
To paint down the hues mixed by the mind,
Merged trying to find meaning,
then laid upon the canvas of life, yearning improvement,
By the soul, the painter.
To love is to be a poet,
For a poet is not defined by her wealth,
Not by what she is, what she does,
But by what she feels.
Love, hatred, sympathy, empathy,
A poet is nothing without a heart,
And the heart itself is the pen of life.
She does not need a page if that’s what she lacks,
Not even eyes for even the dark has a way across,
Not even ears for even silence, has a sound you sense,
And not even speech for even the silent have thoughts.
As poetry is a resilient art,
a tapestry of patterns and practice,
Weaved out by the blessing of humanity.
to reminisce is to be a poet,
For being a poet is to express,
Being a poet requires passion,
Passion and blood,
Blood that runs deep down your body, rich in life,
Be the blood warm, like happiness shining down on a sunlit day,
Be the blood cold, like ivory snow that numbs your hands.
To live is to be a poet,
For a heart, a mind and a soul remain a poet's weapons,
And humanity is a vibrant canvas brimmed with unvoiced tints,
For feeling is itself a page bejeweled with ink.
- Suryanshi Sinha
Mar 11, 2024
Mar 11, 2024 at 9:46 AM UTC
O brother, tell us where you've been!
What is the world like beyond these trenches?
Is it safe to crawl out —
we heard the wolves were just 'were-' with a sweet tooth.
Won't you help us sniff out the lotus from the roses,
their thorns so cleverly hidden…
Sisters, we're tired of hiding in the dark,
our eyelids shut by the nurse's damp cloth;
To our champions: were you blessed in your travails?
Did you find the loving,
the caring,
the fabled Happy People that
Nashville balladeers croon about?
brave children, remember to return;
we dreamed of setting foot in a place of our own, too.
does one exist in their world ||
// NOT THEIR WORLD
NOT OURS EITHER
BUT ALL OF OUR
UNIVERSE //
Jan 10, 2021
Jan 10, 2021 at 2:23 AM UTC
Can you believe that in some counties here in the Bay Area, a six-figure salary is considered ‘low income’? Hell, if Silicon Valley was it’s own country it would be the second richest country in the world, just behind Qatar.
So tell me why, being in such a rich part of the world surrounded by the latest technology that instantly connects you to people and resources there are kids that live on the street with no food to eat, or clean clothes to wear? Why are teachers reaching into their accounts to provide those same kids and others with tools, knowledge, wisdom, and hope to persevere and overcome these atrocious adversities? Why are communities and cultures that have been deeply rooted for generations disappearing in plain sight? Why do people live in tents and some in cardboard boxes? Why, with all the money, power, and resources at such close proximity, do “invisible communities” exist? Let’s face it, if six-figures is considered low, then the average person must be nothing.
Sustainable regenerative models have an underlying sense of belonging. If we, and willing we can, cultivate real relationships with our neighbors we can work together to create a community - a society - that is nurturing and beneficial to all.
A tree works best in a forest, not alone nor in a grove. Alone the tree can only do so much and a grove is much to similar and demanding. But a forest however is diverse and naturally connected by way of life, never taking more than than needed, but always giving more than expected. A natural ebb and flow inclusive of all in proximity and beyond.
But what do I know. I’m just a tree planting a seed among a forest that could be.
Oct 6, 2020
Oct 6, 2020 at 2:24 AM UTC
I walk around these places
Trans-centric spaces
Yet I don't feel like I belong
I know that
I look like them
And based on my reading
I feel like them too
Though I still have this sense
That I somehow do not count
I am not quite enough
I feel without a place
Maybe because last time
I was at a trans art show
And my art lives in words
Not in images on canvas
Just another piece of me
That doesn't quite feel
Real enough or
Good enough
To be taken seriously
And I know
I know
This all boils down to
The way I treat myself
But I'm trying
I'm trying
Some things just take time
Nov 27, 2018
Nov 27, 2018 at 11:23 PM UTC