#lyricalphysics
What’s small, is small
what’s big, is big
and all that’s in-between
is also, either small, or big
never both
But isn’t it strange?
for a louse that strolls our head
the scalp kisses the horizon
whilst for us, each brow is arched
and the earth we travel, is flat
but not for Atlas, which from above
see’s that it is curved, while his shoulders
carry the infinite plane that is, ironically
a celestial sphere
which pushes this conundrum
all the way up to god
and possibly beyond
And all things are small
and all things are big
always both thing
never in-between
Thus, we should strive to remember
when the world is heavy on our shoulders
how small, it really is
and how the universe is hidden
in the tiniest of details
And then there’s us, amidst
duality of no, and every, thing
a cusp
of zero, and infinity
Nov 7, 2019
Nov 7, 2019 at 7:32 AM UTC
I
am the sum of my parts
and my parts
some add to myself
others remove
some too narrow to contain
others as broad as daylight
common
or rare
salient
or silent
my ups, my downs
all lines that coalesce
to form my image
You
are the sum of your parts
but those are, after all
the same parts
different only in
frequency and amplitude
details, and elements of character
that infinitely accumulate
Same lines
and still
you are more fine
Nov 6, 2019
Nov 6, 2019 at 8:35 AM UTC
The world is speckled
pairs and pairs of soulmates
those torn from one another
even before they first encountered
Some are separated by a single step
others share daylight
only when the sun rise or set
yet each one calls the other
and their lament is carried on
a somber song
thickening the air
rising, falling, interfering
diluted and again reformed
into a cacophony of desperation
like Cicadas bustling at dusk
like flocks of birds that greet the dawn
Poor them
wondering to and fro
in this pining thicket
searching for a common song
blinded by longing
lying awake at night
aching the insulating gap
encompassed by the constant murmur
singing
singing
Nov 5, 2019
Nov 5, 2019 at 9:39 AM UTC
I sometimes ponder
of a phone call that will never be
of silence stretching between two receivers
of a heavy sigh that exhales
years’ worth of air caged in the lungs
Yes, I’m still here
How have you been?
How is life?
How many laugh-lines did the corner of your eye accumulated?
How many past mistakes still drag around your tongue?
How many days since than have drained onto your windowsill?
How many nights were spent sleeping at the foot open front-gates?
Am I as you remember?
Are we where you imagined us to be
back then, some years ago
when both our paths diverged
when all we left behind
was dust and a sense of waste,
and a pair of phantom us, gazing onward
that shared the same time and space
Yes, I am here, but different
which may describe you too
no wonder, since passing time
kept kneading us like clay
and all our efforts to keep straight
were all for naught, we are astray
But
sometimes I still ponder
if thing did not transpire
if times unraveled could be wound up
and knotted, at that single point
then moving forward, just maybe
both of us were different now
but different altogether
Oct 21, 2019
Oct 21, 2019 at 2:14 PM UTC
Know from where you came
and to where you are going
and count each step along the way
but keep in mind, that steps
are not exclusive for the trail
and that your feet
crave the lush greenery of meadows
long for the caressing touch of seas
yearn for the embrace of freshly plowed soil
Do not be shy, indulge them
break often from the path
survey the land instead
bruise your toes on stubborn thistle
go back, and then continue forward
get lost, and lost again
with zeal reserved for pilgrims
And finally,
as you fall weary to your bed
the ache, and speckles of your blood
adorn your makeshift cot
sum up, all of your steps
and you might find
they total at the square length of your way
smile
your journey was ideal
Sep 23, 2019
Sep 23, 2019 at 2:44 AM UTC
We the people
are a Sisyphean collective
our punishment: progressing humanity
With fiery eyes and frothing mouth
we charge towards its surfaces
bashing those with scrawny shoulders
ricochet like sparks from flint
watch as we fall back
how it moves a fraction of a hair length
knowing that
if all our efforts were combined
surely, humanity would’ve accelerated
But we the people
are a democratic anarchy
each one to their own
Each thrusts towards their own direction
each blow is counterbalanced by another
as we foam like sea surf on a shoal
crushing from all sides
and our humanity
crawls in place amongst us
For we, the people
are a paradox of will
the driving, and the stalling force
Insignificantly small, with significant resistance
the viscous drag that ebbs and flows
a choreography of chaos and confusion
we are so many
so many more
And humanity is singular
a monument to our failures
its minuscule fluctuations
a testament of battles fought
but from a far, and from way forward
it is but a speck of dust
which, ever silent, floats
throughout the cosmos
Sep 18, 2019
Sep 18, 2019 at 7:06 AM UTC
Not the stillness
but the never-ending motion
not on the head of a pin
but in base of the broad basin
not a perfect evenness
but the wealth of variance
Not two opposing pebbles
laid on a lever atop a pivot
not a balance
more
like a train car
arriving at the station
where people board and disembark
while their total never changes
Similarly
not good opposing evil
not black and white
or self against the other
more
the summation of the ins and outs
of all that simultaneously occur
when nothing ever happens
Sep 16, 2019
Sep 16, 2019 at 7:11 AM UTC
The truth is
There’s always dishes to do
a floor to mop up
a phone call to make
food to cook
fences to paint
people to see
about a dog, about a cat
About a life
you never own up to
because of all the little hurdles
all the small achievements
you rake in your confined Zen garden
neatly piling skipping stones
as if boulders don’t exist outside
as if there’s no mountains that require scaling
as if the big issues
Who you are? Why you are? When will you be?
are not looming over in the distance
casting shadow in the twilight of your days
The truth is
all these notches on your belt
are the sum effort of your laying lows
the trophies for your standing stills
the “what if”s you stifle into the pillow
because you know the odds
never scale with the effort
Truth is
minimal struggle dictates the average
but you decide on the endeavor
blessed are the meek
for they shall inherit the barrens
Sep 10, 2019
Sep 10, 2019 at 2:20 AM UTC
We are
superficial beings
densely packed on the fringe
of histories in contact.
We’re torn apart
by discord from within
and rush together
when pressure rises from outside,
The balance of the two
along with our emphatic bonds
encapsulates our collective ego
defines how full we are
of ourselves.
Sep 3, 2019
Sep 3, 2019 at 8:15 AM UTC
As summer unfolds
the scent of dusty roads
urges us to roam
the succulent fig
the crimson mulberry
overcome the mother’s call
to scurry back for dinner
Instead, we scatter
like sheaf thrown to the wind
and there is nobody but us
in this unraveling earth
for we are
ones of a kind
When winter comes
frost kisses with its lips
the sills of our windows
its curling fingers
grips the air without a touch
Then, we slouch back
and huddle like a flock
of penguins in the Antarctic
seeping heat one onto another
waddling in circles
flowing as a whole
a collective race
From without inwards
from within back out
we are
together, and apart
Aug 29, 2019
Aug 29, 2019 at 7:39 AM UTC
You start small
We all do
Frantically flailing about
Trying to catch ideas
Buzzing like flies ‘round your head
You ****** them from the air
And press them onto paper
But the sneaky devils, they play dead
As long as you keep an eye on ‘em
And as soon as you turn to grab another
They mockingly take off of the page
A futile dance
Of reach, snap, splat and lose
The buzzing never dies
The sweat never dries out
The page soiled by the blood and guts
Of undead thoughts that never stay
But somehow always haunt
But, once in every while
You gather just enough
And they start to coalesce
Suddenly, the struggle is reversed
The clump just grows
Despite of all objections
And crystallizes
Into a structure and a form
It’s out of your control
And all is ****** inside
This whirlpool of occurrence
That boils the atmosphere
With each link being added
Until the world, and you
Both remain depleted
You crawl away
Bruised and fatigued
From the monstrosity created
To find a hiding spot
Where the noise will mask your presence
You wish to sleep, to heal
But ****
this wretched buzzing
Aug 7, 2019
Aug 7, 2019 at 6:06 AM UTC
It is a common observation
That things are either bound or free
And this gives birth to misconceptions
On nature’s own duality
Just like a boulder in seclusion
An object tied is never loose
It has potential in profusion
Yet nothing stored is ever used
In contrast, like a cuckoo bird
An object loose is free to roam
With nothing owned, and all things shared
Yet nowhere to be called a home
But how the stable knows of freedom?
And of the joys of taking flight?
For in the well, where he is hidden
The skies seem dark in broad daylight
And how the liberated figures
To perch and quench on rushing spume?
Since from the heavens, even rivers
Are thinner than a feather’s plume
The trick is repetition thousands
And millions, and some billions more
Each item through the options browse and
Decides to settle, or to soar
Then from this binary decision
The choice is neither ridge nor flock
And one can say, with some conviction
All compromise the bird and rock
Take heart, and listen to this lesson
In life you often have to choose
‘tween earthly form and spirit essence
You gain, but on the same time lose
A man is bound by his possessions
A man with none, will starve for sure
To thrive, one must apply discretion
And choose which path to him allures
Lo, such is life, optimization
Of energy and entropy
You minimize their combination
In hope that this will set you free
Jul 29, 2019
Jul 29, 2019 at 9:05 AM UTC
A life away
You intertwined our fingers
And whisper, this is fate
It cannot be by chance.
But little do you know,
There is no guiding hand
We are a combination
Of one path that we took
And the rest that were not taken
And in this very moment
I read a book in a café
I watch a movie from my bed
I ski across the Alps
I breathe your scent
Mingled with the aromas
Of coffee, sleep and freshly packed snow
And of many, many more
And yet
The braid made by our fingers
Is duplicated countless times
Through all these permutations
You see
The odds were therefore in our favor
Alas, no mysticism here
What you call fate, is chance
The guiding hand of nature.
Jul 14, 2019
Jul 14, 2019 at 10:18 AM UTC
Slow. slower
so infinitely sluggish
so much the earthly turn
would seem to simply vanish
'till bluebirds freeze mid-flight
like crystallizing salt
'till streams will cease their aqueous murmur
their rapids, gleaming glass
'till a heartbeat will forget
that it was once a rhythm
Still
in this absence of the motion
the tingle of the scruff just hints
the constant frolic of the air
as wings slide towards it, oh so slowly
the turmoil of the water rushing nowhere
to break on shores as far as ever
the boiling of the blood in veins
as bustling as busy city streets
this ruckus
held in the gap between two moments
Now fast. faster
more swift than any measure
until a single blink
will span entire seasons
'till mountains rise and fall
like tides during a storm
'till the moon is but a brushstroke
across the night sky whole
'till all of history is shrunk
to but a single point
Yet
in all of this commotion
no thing can separate from other
how height of peak and depth of valley
merge to the same plateau
how night and day together blend
into an everlasting twilight
how all that we were and will be
condenses, like it never was
in this silence
where time is crammed and threats to rapture
Isn’t it wonderful?
all things stand and move, still and in motion
and in the gap that separate the times
we are, like senior toddlers
just opening our eyes
Jul 7, 2019
Jul 7, 2019 at 10:01 AM UTC
The first step is the hardest
the second, harder still
a steeper step, I follow through
my world, it seems, is built askew
my goal, to clime that hill
Yet not all treads are equal
some forward
some reverse
a trail is nowhere to be found
its easier to turn around
the valley ground, a curse
But patience is a virtue
persistence is a key
surmounting mountains is a must
when voices urge within each gust
escape, and you go free
Those winds, they carry forward
and inching steps amass
a lifetime spent inside a ditch
and suddenly the trough is breached
I reach the top at last
But legs, they know just walking
not how to stand and cheer
inertia pull, and I comply
across, and to the other side
it’s all downhill from here
Jun 21, 2019
Jun 21, 2019 at 5:53 PM UTC
You are
What you are
Even while carried
To the left, or to the right
Up and down
Even if pivoted
Through each and every angle
Even when you were
And when you will
Forever still
Except
When you reflect
Through right to left
In your perception of the self
You are
Mistaken
So why rely on chiral lie
Deny your mirror form
And celebrate you
That is true
Through other eyes
You are reborn
Jun 18, 2019
Jun 18, 2019 at 8:16 AM UTC
Tangent, like so
Back side, torso
Two systems touching
Move ever so slow
Breathe in the body heat
Top off both of the lungs
Feel those expand the diaphragm
Stretching body to its limit
Then halt
Then hold
Let the ribcage further swell
To the point of nearly bursting
First stroke
Feel cold air tingling the nose
Make contact
Release the diaphragm
Slowly, almost without motion
Pour heat outside into the chill
Until the airways close down shut
Press on, then press some more
And take your breath away
Second stroke
The cycle starting over
Rhythmic, measured, patient
With maximal efficiency
Each night,
You prove through me the limit
of possibility
May 23, 2019
May 23, 2019 at 9:09 AM UTC
There’s irony
In our struggle to resolve
In our vain attempt to state
That if we decompose the world
And isolate
The properties of every element
We can construct it bottoms-up
In all its former glory
Yet nature still resists
For it is not made of the details
But of all that manifest between
It is not balanced on a needle
But emerges from the pattern sewn
From the answer, not to “Why?”
But to “Why not?”
If we just distance the objective
From the subject, that is subjective by default,
And take a glance from far enough
The universe unfolds
A whole
Much larger than its parts
The same way motion
Is not defined for isolated sole
Same as color
Is never measured by a single pulse
The same way poetry
Does not exist within a single word
Creation
Is not the grains, but the coast whole
That lets us know just where
The sea begins
May 20, 2019
May 20, 2019 at 6:25 AM UTC
Life, just like before,
Collide with us non-stop
Pushing from and pulling back to
Our mutual starting point
And each time
We come in through the door
A little more fatigued
A little bit more bruised
A little less familiar
We sit at the same table
Drink from the same cup
And watch
From our never-changing spot
How the distance between us
Grows larger
Still
May 6, 2019
May 6, 2019 at 4:13 AM UTC
Choose two mountains
And split one to a pair of hills
A hill divides in two to mounds
One mound is halved to coupled knolls
One knoll, it is but boulders two
a boulder breaks to stone, and stone
a stone comprise two pebbles
and a pebble is two shards
one shard you snap in two whole grains
and now
pick up the grain
and face it, eye to eye
and the shard that wasn’t halved
place a fist length
to the back, and to the right
and the pebble just a foot away behind
and all the rest, this way aligned
to the right, and to the back
in ever widening gaps
up to the mountain that was left
way in the distance, scraping skies
look
a grain, a shard, a pebble
a stone, a rock, a knoll
a mound, a hill, a mountain
are all the same
all woven in repeated pattern
defined out of themselves
therefore, all mountains
depending on perspective
are just grains
Now
Take your aspirations
Apr 29, 2019
Apr 29, 2019 at 2:28 PM UTC