"distressing" poems
One day I rode upon an Autumn train.
The sky was slate, the wind was cold and blue.
I saw stark trees and brilliant leaves and rain,
and yet I only thought again of you.
I'd come out on this trip to hide myself.
I thought I'd not be found right in plain sight.
Music I had, and earbuds from the shelf,
I soothed myself with them all through the night.
And when the morning came, all cloudy cold;
all still and sad and broken I became.
For in my heart, I'd suddenly grown old
and all I'd left to whisper was your name.
I droppped my hat down low upon my eyes,
and hid in Love's most distressing disguise.
Nov 8, 2011
Nov 8, 2011 at 3:56 AM UTC
Delicate nets collect on sailing clouds of violet mist
While red leaves twist and spin in turn
Gleaming sparks of dawn cannot be dismissed
As the scattered night sky
Is adjourned
Sweet water gathers in a dream’s own reflection
On a whirling spider’s silvery thread
Morning has broken needing no authentication
See her truth glowing there
In an intricate web
Tiny stones are surrounding sharp blades of grass
Worshiping the presence, they behold
Looking up from the shadows of a looking glass
With their own stories
Still untold
A leaping bass, splashes proudly in a silent pond
Each drop of water expressing its distress
Thinking that the sun was waiting to respond
To his shimmering silence
Used to impress
A single drop of water, a red leaf twisting in the wind
A spider weaving her web to be blessed
Even the tiny stones worshiping their friends
Leap with the bass, distressing the pond
To impress
Oct 26, 2010
Oct 26, 2010 at 1:58 PM UTC
Where goes the time when it flies?
Simplified by expression, and stained by clarity.
Smudge by lucidity
smeared by simplicity
tainted by intelligibility.
Tempus fugit as in time flies.
Sharply distressing with painful feelings
to the point of mental instability
morning or night
we become possessed with its mystic dealings.
Where goes the time when it runs?
Not a solitary explanation is found.
It happens and it won’t stop
until life terminates as well
without cause.
Derived of rationalisation
lacking understanding
short of justification
bursting with vindication
persistently and with conviction.
Where goes the time when it sails?
From the second that we’re born.
Where were we existing?
We cannot be so sure
Cannot recollect the past
Not for the first five of our years
Memory so blur, so shadowy
Hazy with distortions
obscure and confusing
Unit our mind starts slowly to recollect.
Where goes the time when it escapes?
The chronology of life so mysterious.
Nothing can solve its ambiguity
for time is a complex case
with an infinity of secrets.
What’s the obsession when we have so many setbacks
drawbacks and obstacles
obstructions and conundrums
to take care of before time perishes away
and leaves us stranded in oblivion.
Oh time, you magnificent of all mysteries,
the high and mighty of ambiguities.
Show us mercy and explain
we are not detectives of secrecies
your spell with us reflects on the whodunits.
Oh time of things past and yet to come
give us a clue as to what is to derive!
“Remember”
it softly replies “Make most of your lives”
“Once I fly away no one can have a replay”.
Apr 2, 2013
Apr 2, 2013 at 6:11 AM UTC
Of distressing note
Is never finding out
How to keep
An audience beguiled
They consume mockery
With more than a voracious appetite
They judge an act
With mouths open and eyes closed
What a pity
What a shame
What an ordeal
For the somber actor
b.
Sep 20, 2013
Sep 20, 2013 at 5:04 AM UTC
Back in those days
when I was young and strong.
Pristine, Noble,
as pure as you'd long.
White as a dove,
handsome as a king.
I'm a token of love,
far greater than a ring.
My making contained
both good and bad.
My maker being
a hot headed lad.
Blood as blue
as the skies and seas,
I stood along the riverside
enjoying the occasional breeze.
My history is both
wonderful and morbid.
My beauty-spoken of,
I'm known by each kid.
Lovers cherish me,
write songs of my presence.
create tales of their own,
activate every sense.
And now when I speak,
when I look at my current state
I'm sad, deeply sorry
at my distressing fate.
Handcrafted marble
whiter than milk.
Quality as such,
smoother than silk.
Today has eroded,
decayed and died.
It matters not
how much I've cried.
For it all falls on deaf ears
while factory noises expose my fears.
My white is no more,
I'm a deepening gray.
I see pity in the eyes
where once admiration lay.
The pride of India,
its biggest glory.
The life of Agra,
this is my story.
Being the crown of the nation,
the jewel of its eye.
A wonder of the world,
I feel like a lie.
For what I am today
isn't me at all.
I've lived at great heights
survived a great fall.
It is my request
sincere and deep.
Give me no reason
to further weep.
Awaken. Arise.
the time is here.
Preserve your glory,
keep the pride near.
I am none other,
than your beloved Taj Mahal.
this is my story,
one I ought to tell.
Now my life
is in your hands.
the choice is yours
as are the lands.
Choose wisely,
The devils or me?
Perish with them
or rejoice with me?
Dec 25, 2013
Dec 25, 2013 at 6:45 AM UTC
my mind is going to explode
not sure how much longer I can stay on this rope
my arms, legs, and hands are giving up
my days blend into weeks, there is no living up
no laughter-filled dawns or innocent wrongs
all so mundane, just a playing pawn
in a losing game, just losing weight
it's depressing this depression, I wish I invested but now I am stressing
they say it's a blessing which is distressing because I feel like I am suppressing
underneath the weight of academics, surprised I made it through 12
first-year almost broke me and second year is not discerning
my mind is going to explode
the candle won't stop burning
my cup is overflowed
Dec 5, 2021
Dec 5, 2021 at 4:57 PM UTC
The gurgle of the coffee maker,
The clink of your spoon on the frigid counter,
The sizzle of bacon residue in a frying pan,
and an egg cracking over it.
The murmurs of the news reporters on the tv,
The distant roar of a train in the background,
The dive into sensory pleasure,
while reality dissipates.
The smell of hazelnut creamer and cinnamon,
The taste of a waffle with buttery syrup,
The warm sun on your face through the window,
today is good; today will be different.
The giggles of the waffles and coffee,
The light conversation and hard laughter,
The feeling of home... within them,
a sudden shift in atmosphere.
The sharp loss of appetite
The grieving of what wasn’t lost
The shared remorse for nothing you’ve done
they tell you that you’re pathetic.
The despair in your mug dropping into the table
The swallowed tears and screams
The chaos that covers every square inch of you
distance between you and hope still stands.
The ***** kitchen and your empty stomach
The distressing moonlight that creeps in the window
The anger in thinking you’re liberated this time
sounds of an empty home stir.
The cold seats that have accompanied nobody
The wallowing roar of silence
The jacket of despair that wears you
your average day.
Feb 3, 2021
Feb 3, 2021 at 4:37 PM UTC
HE always gets the higher rank,
Not just HIM but any
Of the fall soldiers.
What do they fulfill,
That you are missing,
Are you troubled behind closed doors?
You have a youth of your very own,
Standing right here,
Tacitly craving just a loving expression.
You wound me when you advise tactfully,
that I should vacate,
So you and your vernal pibe,
Can take in abortive entertainment.
Little did I know,
Lounging in the same environs,
Was a taboo in the posh palace.
I would reflect,
Reimagine & rationalize.
If you neglect to
You may find a solitary soul.
My heart hopes for the highest,
But days past tell me otherwise.
Humans argue, fuss and struggle,
But those who,
Value and treat unconditional loves,
Warmheartedly get the real pleasure.
If I ride off from this declining,
Tormenting cliff, like a lost knight,
Know why.
&
When things get distressing,
Maybe then you will understand.
Love & Art,
Offspring
1991-20??
Nov 21, 2013
Nov 21, 2013 at 3:39 AM UTC
Dear Moon,
You looked beautiful tonight.
The kind of beauty
That grabs all eyes
and insists that they pay you attention.
But moon,
tell me,
are you lonely up there?
The infinity of stars that lay
scattered in your presence,
seem as if they could be pleasant company,
but is it all an illusion?
The stars trick the foolish
into thinking that they are in your
constant amity.
That’s what it looks like to us, Moon.
But those stars have never uttered one word to you
have they?
Immeasurable distances
make conversing quite difficult,
I would imagine.
Are you sad, Moon?
Is it distressing, Luna,
that us,
the ignorant,
believe that just because
our eyes see the stars in a way that
makes us believe they are near to you,
that you are not hurting?
Child of the night
who lives solitarily.
Do you weep?
Do you shed tears that we mistake
for beauty against the vast night sky?
Daughter of the dark,
who graces all with her
entrancing despondency,
Was there ever a time when you
had hope that somebody,
anybody
would save you from your fate?
Do you feel forsaken my love?
What have you done, Moon,
that would condemn you to this
paradoxically poetic reality?
You didn’t want this.
You only wanted to shed awe upon us,
and light the path home when it got
too dark.
And what have you gotten in return?
Isolation.
Nov 5, 2013
Nov 5, 2013 at 10:59 PM UTC
Saying Goodbye Part IV
To AW:
9 years…
9 years is a long time to know someone.
9 long, amazing, wonderful, crazy years.
(Even if we were only friends for 7 of those)
What more is there to say?
You’ve ALWAYS been there.
You’ve ALWAYS been my best guy friend.
You listened when no one else would
Even when it was something stupid.
You took my slaps and punches
As my punching bag
And never forced me to stop.
(You’ve no idea how much this helped!)
When we grew apart
You were still there.
I didn’t get to say good-bye when you graduated.
But now I don’t want to.
I don’t know how.
Even after a year of being apart
We can still pick up where we ended.
What more can I say?
Please keep in touch!
Please, I beg of you!
I can’t lose a friend like you.
These past two days have reminded me of that.
Thanks for the memories:
Crazy
Stupid
Bad
Amazing
Wonderful
Weird
Fun
Messed up.
Honestly
I never wanted to hurt you
(Really! I just said those things as a joke! I don’t really want to throw/push you off a building and I don’t mean all those distressing things I always say. It’s only to you because I love you and know you won’t take it seriously!)
I don’t want to say good-bye
I don’t want to leave so soon
But I have to go
I have to say good-bye.
Here it goes:
You’re my best guy friend
And I love you for who you are!
Please stay the same crazy, loving, ****** that you are!
I’ll miss you so much!
I don’t know when I’ll see you again.
But just know these few things:
How much I love you
(And our friendship)
That you’ve helped me
(Even when you didn’t know it)
That our love/hate relationship is why we’re such good friends
That we WILL see each other again.
Finally;
I’ll miss you like crazy!
Good-bye!!!
Jun 13, 2013
Jun 13, 2013 at 1:49 PM UTC
It started out as a flame
Flickering
Dancing off a matchstick that was an idea.
It kindled an idea to help renew,
To regenerate what was once lost.
The fire grew
And with it
A passion that could not be extinguished.
The warmth was welcomed by her body
A body so cold
So helpless against the dangers of the world
And herself.
The fire gave power
And with the power there grew an inferno
Once ignited, could not be smothered.
The fire whispered
Through smoke and cinders;
It whispered
To encourage the distressing ideas that flowed through her.
She was frozen
Frostbitten to the bone without the fire
And so
To stay alive
She stayed close by the hearth.
When friends became concerned
They tried to call her back
But she was too attached to the blaze.
While the smoke tangled in her hair
And coursed through her veins
She drew in ever closer.
She huddled towards the light
That was leading her to her dangerous desires,
Cutting everything off
Except for the sea of flames.
She clung to her damaged thoughts
And kept the fire steady.
Going almost unnoticed
Her skin turned red and warm;
She was too happy to embrace the heat.
She understood she was too close,
Yet she rose from her perch
Roused by the incandescence
The feverish luminosity.
She
A mere mortal
Drew within reach of the alluring fire.
The flames licked her face
Her hands
Her hopelessly lost mind
As she dove in
Headfirst.
Everyone she had turned away watched
Unable to help.
She registered one single thought:
It's too hot.
But
It was too late.
She couldn't step away from the furnace;
For suddenly she was bound by ropes of her own doing
A funeral pyre just for her.
She was stuck within the depths
Of the scorching fire she had so arduously cared for.
She tried to call out
To those just outside the fireplace
Watching
Witnessing
But the fumes enveloped her
Stifling her pleas,
Her cries for help.
She couldn’t breathe
The embers burning her lungs as she inhaled,
Silencing her voice as she exhaled.
She flickered for a second more;
The life left her eyes.
She collapsed
Leaving ash and bone to intermingle into nothing.
What she had once mistakenly perceived
As an idea,
No larger than a matchstick,
Was something she could not control.
But no one could control a fire that destructive
Or
Deadly.
May 7, 2013
May 7, 2013 at 9:53 PM UTC
I am getting older
and my body is in tatters
My Doctor's say, "You're fine, You're fit"
I think they're mad as hatters
Each day a new pain rears it's head
My body falls apart
My Doctor's say, "You're fine, You're fit"
As they listen to my heart
My bladder's my new stop watch
Each night I rise to ***
I get up once at half past ten
And then just after three
I'm cold and then I'm sweating
Sometimes both in one breath
It makes me feel I'm crazy
It's a slow, nervewracking death
My knees ache every morning
And my hips pop as I walk
I have to work my jawbones
Just so I can start to talk
I've had surgeries on my body
Just to help me stay alive
I can't see where I am going
I'm can no longer go and drive
But, my Doctors say I'm healthy
They say I'm healthy as a horse
But isn't "Flicka" served in restaurants?
His flesh is now a new main course
I use a cane when I go walking
I have a seat to go upstairs
I wear a wig when I'm in public
I seem to dress myself in layers
I need a pill to wake myself up
I need another so I sleep
But because my bladder's my new stopwatch
I never go to sleep too deep
Today I'm going to get tested
To check the hearing in one ear
Please excuse me for a moment
What was that you said my dear?
Now my Doctor's keep insisting
That there's nothing wrong with me
Like I said, I think I'm crazy
They're the nuts and I'm the tree.
they've got me tricked out special
I've got orthotics and a cane
My bursititis hurts like crazy
And I think it's gonna rain
My oxygen tank is empty
And my voiding bag is not
But I'm still having those flashes
I still feel cold and hot
With the bag I sleep much better
I don't get up twice to ***
But it wasn't fun last birthday
Having a colostomy
But, my Doctor's say Don't Worry
Your'e as fit as fit can be
But I tell them it's distressing
For I'm not yet thirty three
I'm sick of always hurting
Each day more vigor do I lose
But today I am excited
I'm getting velcro for my shoes
I think some exercise might help me
With all my aches and all my pains
It may help me to feel younger
Feel like thirty two again
But my Doctors, Oh my Doctors
Say there's nothing wrong at all
It's just a natural part of aging
It's mother nature come to call
But I know, I 'm getting older
and it's just a part of life
I'm just glad I have a drug plan
To help me with this strife
Now, my O2 tank is full now
And I've got a buzzing in my head
That means my battery is running low
So...Goodnight...I'm off to bed...
May 15, 2012
May 15, 2012 at 7:36 PM UTC
Blank canvass,
Then colour brings it to life
Shades and tones scratch in to picture
It bleeds creativity,
Moments become minutes
Which consume the hours of the day,
A picture is formed by
Impressions,
Outlines ,
Engraving.
Life upon the page,
One last brush stoke, shading put there
Complete,
But what did my brush strokes create
A hand, as if reaching out the page
Ominous,
Distressing,
Sinister,
Is what covered this canvas of white
To look upon it,
"Did my eyes deserve me"
Moving forward as if to clench
I move, but to slow
As what was inanimate,
Now paint drips off as it has hold
Upon my hand,
The paint seeps up as I am consumed
By the canvas
Holding on to the frame,
My finger scratch upon the wood
As I scream,
The terror frozen within the paint,
I am but brush stokes
My face painted on canvas
The hand upon my shoulder
I am cold now,
I am for eternity now the paints prisoner,
The hand is my guard
Such vivid brushstrokes
As if she painted fear upon the canvass
A master piece of cloth and paint
Not knowing I am trapped now for eternity
Terror painted within this frame.
Aug 13, 2014
Aug 13, 2014 at 6:07 PM UTC
The time of crisis had us distressing the meaning
of each syllable in our dialect.
Im such a derelict.
The stasis I’m stuck in
had me believing the worst of it all.
Crushing.
Flushing and re-brushing
the paint on the distorted canvas,
which was our lives.
Ten lines and a million problems.
Pay attention to your symbols
never ignore them.
Dreams were made from sinners,
but the streams of time make all things thinner.
All things end in rugged ways.
When the tall bell rings,
only broken brothers stay.
With wretched tales of quarrels,
no barrels of whiskey can calm the bay.
Dec 21, 2013
Dec 21, 2013 at 3:12 AM UTC
I'm battling the toughest enemy
myself, that i couldn't carry
Everyday i want to bury
my heart that's always teary
Arrogance sometimes arising
Selfishness is encircling
Desolation isolated me
lack of passion come free
My ambition is so high
without persuasion I die
Alone in high tones
come without high hopes
Negativity are all in my system
each day distressing perfect scheme
My toughest enemy is not you
from the start it was me, and always it’ll be
Fighting every inch of my piece
yearning to defeat the fiercest antagonist.
Aug 31, 2015
Aug 31, 2015 at 9:50 PM UTC
If you cracked open my skull,
(and discerned past the alarming indirect realism
Featuring a ****** cerebrospinal fluid-y cranium,
Hewed and fractured crudely
And gushing like a cascade),
You'd unearth a disturbing array of mechanisms,
Filed, packaged, and manufactured,
Well intentioned lies and repulsive judgement,
Distressing reality and optimism open to ridicule
Self-interested altruism and desperate defenses,
An assortment of fallible hope and fallacious despair,
All nearing a point
Of sudden, piercing tragedy.
For I, too,
Am devoid of worth and life,
I, too, have done nothing
Worth life's light
Jun 2, 2014
Jun 2, 2014 at 10:32 AM UTC
I am a raincoat on your way home, sheltering you from the storm. When its thundering and lightening my only wish was the electricity spreading through every single one of my veins to keep you warm. I could write and write but it's never electric enough to keep you sane. And every single sympathetic step towards the end, towards bathtub I wish I was the one who took the pain. I wish I was a toaster accompanying your stares towards the water and I'd slaughter all the distressing thoughts that make your mind wonder.
But the music in my head made it stop. Everything stopped and it was calmed at suicide. But how do you run and hide?
And how do you explain your neck slipping like butter?
The rope sending you into a suffocating slumber.
Do you say it was an accident?
Do you say it was the thunder? That sent you into a frenzy in which you'd never recover.
Now tape yourself together little wind up toy, just for a little while.
Because even rain or shine if someone asks you how you're doing, you always lie and smile.
Oct 22, 2015
Oct 22, 2015 at 4:13 AM UTC
*In a dark and lonely room
winter creeps in through
a lonely window
of broken glass
breeze flows
dry and cold
it sweeps in
and ***** out
all the heat from within.
In the gloomy darkness
I shiver and fear
and hope
that this night would pass
but the distressing wind
keeps howling
whistling the songs
of broken heart
& love lost
while sadness lurks
beneath the darkness
of the night
keeping me awake.
As I lay awake,
my blanket of blue
wrapping her hands around me
gives me warmth,
she protects me
my pillow gently holds my head,
she comforts me
to dream a lucid dream
and I drift off into sleep
in blissful peace.
When sleep fails to descend
in my loneliness,
I'm comforted by pillows
and wrapped in blankets.*
Dec 12, 2014
Dec 12, 2014 at 11:29 AM UTC
surrounding us: a billion stars
in a time when a trip to mars is like walking around the block
and captain kirk and mister spock are arguing
about the prime directive.
we’re beaming to a planet’s surface. now listen:
i know about inverse tachyon beams
i know about coded klingon screams
i know about going to warp factor eight
i know about redshirts' survival rate.
(no. chance.)
i’m beaming down with the main crew
to the surface of minerva II
we've got a malfunctioning interstellar transceiver which is distressing-- dysgraphing? dismantling…
…i don't know.
scotty said it was defective.
so we’re on this planet,
standing on one side of a thick forest packed with monster janeks,
starfleet says we need to fix this thing yesterday, and we’re in a panic—
and **** it, mccoy is a doctor, not a lumberjack,
and kirk says we should just burn through the middle with phasers,
and spock says we must preserve respect for all life forms no matter the situation.
now please remember kirk’s the captain.
that means he runs this show
but kirk always listens to spock,
so
we spend two days walking through the forest.
surrounding us: a billion trees
in a place where a strange disease is rare as feathers in a flock
and captain kirk and mister spock are arguing
about the prime directive.
halfway through this dark-lit trip
things go wrong (obviously)
and an alien with shellac for skin captures the captain.
said alien grabs a vine, ascends into the canopy of the trees,
and for one glorious moment
i believe kirk’s the dead guy in this episode, not me!
but spock, in his calm and logical vulcan voice,
orders us to exercise any necessary force to recover the captain.
translation: **** EVERYTHING. JUST GET KIRK BACK.
we reach the janek village.
being a good redshirt, i rush in, phaser blasting, ready to complete the heroic rescue of our captain—
and get killed instantly.
as i was dying, i heard the sound of thousands of janeks dying beside me
saw spock help kirk off the ground
and the last words I heard were theirs:
“captain, are you in need of immediate medical attention?”
“nah, spock, i’m fine—”
“mr. scott. the captain is hurt. beam us aboard immediately.”
one’s arm over the other’s shoulders,
they vanished.
surrounding them: a billion stars
in a time when a trip to mars is like walking around the block
and captain kirk and mister spock are arguing
about the prime directive—
but the prime directive
was never the real objective.
Dec 4, 2013
Dec 4, 2013 at 10:30 PM UTC
(The sun is somewhat dimmed, as though I'm looking through a film.)
Losing myself in the crinkles of your eyes
As you smile carelessly into the camera
I remember
The way you scrunch your nose a little
The way your lips remind me of cherry blossoms
(It's a little cold here. The temperature is falling.)
Even as I lay in bed shivering and battling my fever
I remember the nights you wished you were here
The nights you work as a bartender, carelessly picking up girls over the counter
Do you serve them all poisoned holy grails?
(A hollow whirring. That's the sound I hear when my ears are blocked.)
Your favorite song plays in the background
I remember
When you said my voice was soothing
When you said I meant something
Ed Sheeran probably didn't mean it
But now I cringe with every note of his
(The brightness before me is blurring. Are those my tears or is it just the water?)
It was beautiful, really
But pink sakura petals do not bloom in this region
Even the colour pink is distressing to me
Since we matched in winter through spring
(You nicked my heartstrings. How do I mend it?)
I find you in all the little things
Cigarettes, temples, business trips, huskies,
Harry Potter, Radler, Netherlands, salmon,
Macaroons, banana man, an 18 grand television
Round and round, the second hand runs on the face
The sun goes down and down, signing off the days
Round and round, you're running in my head
I go down and down till I reach the seabed
Mar 5, 2017
Mar 5, 2017 at 8:05 AM UTC
(An experiment, this poem can be sung to the tune of "America" from "West Side Story.")
(Fans)
Donald Trump, oh,
You fearless leader.
Of praise you are so deserving.
Never liking what critics say…
And always hoping they'll go away.
(Critics)
Donald Trump, oh,
You nasty leader--
One who’s so blind and self-serving.
Only caring about the rich.
Your biggest concerns: your sales pitch,
And the people who snitch,
And the money you earn,
And the people you burn….
When will they ever learn
How you're destroying this nation?
And still you expect admiration!
(Fans)
We all agree we like Donald Trump.
We want to be more like Donald Trump.
Our cup of tea: it is Donald Trump.
(Critics)
Lying is key when you're Donald Trump.
(Fans)
We want to visit his tower.
(Critics)
Watch him accumulate power!
(Fans)
We think he rules us with finesse.
(Critics)
Though he's an autocrat, too. Yes?
(Fans)
Drilling off shore: that's with Donald Trump.
He'll never bore you--not Donald Trump.
Job growth will soar with our Donald Trump.
(Critics)
Tariffs galore with your Donald Trump!
(Fans)
We're going to vote for him next year!
(Critics)
It's hard to believe you are sincere.
(Fans)
The man is great; don't forget it.
(Critics)
Sorry, you're going to regret it.
Immigrants fear Mr. Donald Trump.
They won't go near Mr. Donald Trump.
One thing is clear about Donald Trump:
A racketeer he is--Donald Trump!
(Fans)
He says we all should do all right.
(Critics)
If you are rich and if you’re white!
(Fans)
Four more years will be a blessing.
(Critics)
Four more years would be distressing!
(Fans)
Well, don't you know that with Donald Trump
Stocks will all grow, yes, with Donald Trump?
You'll make more dough, yes, with Donald Trump.
(Critics)
With quid pro quo, yes, with Donald Trump.
(Fans)
If he wins, we're gonna be glad.
(Critics)
If he wins, we’re gonna be sad.
(Fans)
Certainly, no one can beat him.
(Critics)
Anyone, you must defeat him!
(All)
La la la la la la la…la…la…
La la la la la la la…la…la…
La la la la la la la…la…la…
La la la la la la la…¡Olé!
-by Bob B (6-19-19)
Jun 20, 2019
Jun 20, 2019 at 9:31 AM UTC
You've been here before. You woke up today and realized that the stress, the angst, and the foreboding that you've allowed to rule your life is there by choice. You've gotten lost in the spiral of anxiety, again.
If it's not your health, it's your money. If it's not the money, it's your kids. If it's not your kids, you're worried about past life choices and how they will affect you tomorrow. Your fears line up at the door, wrap around the block, and await their turn. Your door is open to them all and you don't deny them. You let them in.
Once they are inside, you wrap your fears around you. They’re a welcome smothering; a wearying security blanket of trembling phobia. They are as familiar to you as they are distressing. These constant, restless, companions are more comfortable than the unknown.
Today, though, you stare at the line of fears and realize that something is missing. Happiness. Contentment. Acceptance. These are conspicuous in their absence. And you remember an old Cherokee tale. You have two wolves engaged in eternal battle inside you; one is fear and anxiety and the other is peace and serenity. The strongest is the one you feed and you've been feeding the wrong wolf.
You've done this your entire life in a self-centered, selfish, guilt-ridden, indulgent, fashion. You wallow in the darkness because you're afraid you don't deserve the light.
You know you’ll feed the right wolf today. But can you do it tomorrow?
mighty river;
the fish navigates
as it will
May 29, 2016
May 29, 2016 at 1:52 PM UTC
Step in and rest wearily
Your troubles here are the best
Every image your fear does possess
Such pretty illusions
Poses and all sweet scents
Where too are all the roses
And the thorns they don't bite
When you're safe from all your doubts
In this room comfort seeps deceptively
Till your dead
From the inside
Out is but a grave
In the comfort zone
Artificially boxed restrained
Air short getting shorter waning
All the once pretty flowers
Their colours run down dreary
Till sludge is climbing up your legs
No lock no key but deception
Has claimed another chapter
Of what life may still claim
Time for motion of ones will
What does willingness will for
With some distressing emotion
A heartful of determination
Shall give rise to some clever
Quick thoughts in desperation
Beware of your next step
That such is beyond the
Zone...
Of deathly comfort!!!
Aug 27, 2013
Aug 27, 2013 at 9:44 AM UTC
1. To be one with my beloved was not my destiny.
Had I continued living longer, it'd have been the same waiting!
2. I lived on your promise, thus-beloved, I knew it to be false.
For would not have I died of happiness, in case- I had faith!
3. Your delicacy made me understood that you have made a loose pledge.
You could have never broken it, had it been firm!
4. O’ someone should ask my heart about your half-drawn arrow.
Where would this pricking have arisen from, had it pierced the liver!
5. What kind of friendship is it, that friends have become critics.
If there had been someone as healer, if there had been an assuager of grief!
6. Blood would’ve unceasingly dripped from the veins of stone,
Had it, which you are considering grief, been a spark!
7. Grief is, invariably, life-consuming; still one cannot escape as 'tis a matter of passions!
Had there been no grief of love, there would've been sufferings of livelihood!
8. To whom would I confide that the distressing night is a severe catastrophe!
Would death be bad for me if I died once and only once!
9. Since my dying disgraced me-- why wasn’t I drowned in the river?
Neither my bier would ever have been carried, nor would anywhere be a tomb.
10. Who would ever be able to see Him, for unique is His Oneness!
If there had been even a sign of twoness, somewhere He’d have been encountered!
11. These inquiries into mysticism, this eloquence of yours, Ghalib!
We would’ve regarded you to be a saint, had you not been a wine-drinker
Dec 23, 2013
Dec 23, 2013 at 9:16 PM UTC