There is a world
Where you don't get old,
Where truth and love are bold,
Where peace is written in gold,
Where human dignity cannot be sold,
Where perfect beauty we will behold
And every secret will unfold.
For sure there is this world
But where it is, I haven’t been told!
Let’s create this world inside ourselves.
Simple refined elegance
New sober hues:
A distinct personality.
How much do we take
How many objects
Walk on our legs?
The sea rolls his waves
Smoothly to the shore;
From the dunes
Shrubs of prickly juniper
Scrutinize the horizon.
Burning summer but
Cool winds softly whisper
moments of eternity.
Two seagulls head for the moon,
Hoping to dive into pristine waters
In this declining afternoon.
How great are big things?
Look at the grandeur of the Canyon,
Carved by rambling waters, roaring winds and time;
Sliced vertically like onion,
Moulded with red rock, yellow sand and white lime;
Measured by the eagles as their dominion;
Engraved with veins of pristine water and roots of pinyon;
Home of the Navajos' ancestral spirits: a land sublime.
If you can apprehend the width and depth of this reign
then you can explore the canyons of your brain
and know all the layers of joy and pain.
We are made of the same stuff as the Cosmos is made of.
What use was this creation,
If it delivered boastful, vain, narcissism and loveless, black depression?
If it is directing decision making from biological, human intelligence to unemotional, artificial intelligence?
If it is drowning azure, Polynesian islands and raising polymeric, garbage archipelagos?
If Amazon is no more a forest of lush, stunning biodiversity
but a world wide jungle of objects to be consumed?
If “this piece of work, man”, “the quintessence of dust”, is
the CREATOR of utter, hydrogen destruction, capable of annihilating any form of life seven times in a row?
I like the word reminiscent.
Like an echo of a quondam.
Events that very likely happened
But are inevitably vanishing.
Passions still light the night
And northern lights wave in a psychedelic sky.
Is it reality or just a faint dream?
Once we lived on that bluish dot,
Covered with trees, down the Galaxy
Where the breeze danced with the sea
And just music could lull thoughts.
Perhaps after a Big Crunch and a new Big Bang,
With a little patience;
We might all be Revenants.
“So this is a good bye.”
Written after listening to the song Porcelain by Moby
Day in, day out.
Life in, life out.
Just like in a roundabout.
It’s a one way ticket, no doubt!
In your journey, so many things you can do without.
Well, take time for a lookout.