"insentient" poems
*This is a poem for Rachel Corrie. I am not religious, and a far cry from spiritual, but I refuse to imagine Rachel Corrie insentient and six feet under, slowly amalgamating with the soil encasing her. Before her death, Rachel Corrie said “I still really want to dance around to Pat Benatar and have boyfriends and make comics for my co-workers. But I also want this to stop.” In the words of contemporary Palestinian poet Suheir Hammad “God has a better imagination than all of us combined” in either God's words or my own, I will not imagine in/on the same ground in/on which I maybe soon will be and more words from Suheir “What do I tell young people about non-violence when they can see for themselves how even orange bright and megaphone loud and cameras and US citizenship will not stop your ****** what do I tell young people/anyone even myself about “non-violence” when every single thing I've seen presenting itself/perhaps even masquerading as “non-violence” has been in my face and /rude/harsh/unavoidable and most of all, violent? I do not believe in God and humanity is pushing it's luck, but I believe in Rachel Corrie. This is for Rachel;*
I should study a she-wolf's prose
she wanted to write about death
but life would frequently
weasel and wheedle it's way in
there’s an overhanging image
a smaller
yet
infinitely larger
organism
continuously broached
by each word
I only want to study
a caterpillar’s motion
backward/forward /onward
across arms/legs
of this deer/dear
[her] surname/
[my] given name/
separated by [semi/totally] circular VOWels
***** blond hair
dirtied by dust /
rubble /
rhyme /reason/
whatever/ in compliance
with a rep/RESENT/ative democracy
several shades lighter
literally
figuratively
whiter
than she
need no permission
pat benatar
would/should croon
to your moves
every
boy and girl friend
i will/may/have/had
should be yours
entomo/insecto/[social] phobias
I never would’ve said so
I never
would’ve/
could’ve
told the caterpillar
to go
Nov 28, 2011
Nov 28, 2011 at 8:41 PM UTC
We gather in Old London town,
the time is getting late.
The fog is slowly coming down,
the year is eighteen eighty eight.
The Leather Apron stalks this eve
ladies of the night beware.
Such things he does you wont believe
and for your welfare he’ll not care.
Hello Mister have a heart,
a girl has got to earn a crust.
A shilling for this fine old ****
for you look like a gent to trust.
In her hand the coin doth shine.
Does she lead this toff astray?
Here’s a quiet place that’s fine,
as she walks up the alley-way.
Face to face and eye to eye.
The victim happy to be plied
with vigour she lifts up her skirt
but now her hands are occupied.
Seizing strongly at her throat
he strangles her till unaware.
Unconscious although not yet broke
he lowers her by head and hair.
Now insentient on the ground
the Ripper sets about his work.
In the dark without a sound
there is no detail he will shirk.
He keeps the body to his left,
her throat is sliced from side to side.
The woman’s family now bereft,
whilst she lies here without her pride.
Left to the nights illumination
Jack executes his deadly art.
Performing such skilled mutilation.
and leaving plus one body part.
Daylight opens up commotion,
"Whitechapel Murderer", strikes once more.
The peelers haven’t got a notion
who it is that killed this *****
Scotland Yard are in despair
as they try to Investigate
their credibility beyond repair
for they cant find this reprobate.
Eventually the death toll, five,
the murders now come to an end.
Folk are free to live their lives
but could you trust even a friend.
Over an hundred years or more
professional research is far to late.
Jack, can we ever know the score?
"No... All you can do is speculate."
Aug 27, 2014
Aug 27, 2014 at 4:26 PM UTC
With all the fairest angels nearest God,
The ineffable true of heart around the throne,
There shall I find you waiting when the flown
Dream leaves my heart insentient as the clod;
And when the grief-retracing ways I trod
Become a shining path to thee alone,
My weary feet, that seemed to drag as stone,
Shall once again, with wings of fleetness shod,
Fare on, beloved, to find you! Just beyond
The seraph throng await me, standing near
The gentler angels, eager and apart;
Be there, near God's own fairest, with the fond
Sweet smile that was your own, and let me hear
Your voice again and clasp you to my heart.
2.5k
I've been pacing for seven years now
Dug myself into a deep dark trench
The worst part about it is I've known about it but i couldn't stop
I know when things are important but i struggle with the motivation to give a single ****
It's not a term i use lightly
I want to but it's easier to run
But I've backed myself into a corner and given my past a loaded gun
Regrets are heavy
Placed so delicately on my shoulders day by day
But my knees are getting weak
It's like getting stabbed over and over again with a dull knife
It'll never penetrate but it still hurts right
I'm slowly losing this fight
It never fails to haunt me
Every single night.
I'm not afraid I'm just weak.
Jul 1, 2014
Jul 1, 2014 at 7:04 AM UTC
*Conflated afore
Twofold elation
Betimes for melancholia
Insentient erewhile
Heretofore
We love semovedly
Together nowise
Enow*
Jul 2, 2015
Jul 2, 2015 at 11:52 AM UTC
DIARY OF A REBEL OUTLAW.
Today our world has been taken by the worst of humanity,
Infected by an incurable insentient of lusting man,
Those of us left are on the run of nonconformity,
hunted down to worship the material plan,
The infected are reduced to sleepwalkers with nightmares of ruin,
Puppets for the faceless that can crush worlds in the palm of their hand,
This threat destroys more than the free thinking human being,
This threat decimates the hope of our children’s children’s homeland,
My god if there is hope, hope there is god,
Hope he comes to where we stand,
Hope she leads us back from the edge of obliteration,
Hope he cuts the chains that bind our ****** hands,
Hope she drives us forward to the gates of revolution.
Hope he forgives our crimes against fellow man.
I am Jimmy.
Mar 17, 2019
Mar 17, 2019 at 6:48 AM UTC
Oftentimes we can be inanimate as an insentient being,
If not, then lost, torn, or broken,
Drifting off into a minimally-conscious stupor,
Responding only the the most prominent of stimuli,
Quite frankly, most of the time, we aren’t really alive.
And this--this is condemnable!
This is a pleasureless trick!
The human mind has incredible potential,
Yet it's hardly active,
And essentially quite thick
Still, such is forgivable
For when we originate the formidable,
Dreams come true,
Aspirations brought to place
Life is brought to life through inspiration!
Have you never experienced some urges?
Strong desires that can never be explained?
They rain down,
As a blessing,
Better use them--
They're quite shifting,
For the love of yourself and your species:
Respond to compulsions of ingenuity!
Out of all indecipherable anomalies,
Creativity is by far the strangest.
Yet, strange is commensurate to lovely,
If put into practice,
Creativity is quite comely.
Some might say said compulsions are
Granted by the influence of divine beings,
Yet I believe they manifest from the divinity IN us,
I could grant a rant,
An oration,
Or a panegyric about compulsions
But only under the circumstance
Of such an aforementioned trance
Oh Life!
Such compulsions are
The love of me!
My pillar of strength,
My foundation of truth,
Mainstay and
My hope!
My perceived ESSENCE
Jun 2, 2014
Jun 2, 2014 at 10:40 AM UTC
Slowly, the curtains approved
And the moonlight entered serenely
Lightning up my soul
And solemnizing my heart
Insentient of my surroundings
But cognizant of the newborn love
Your advent giving a face to my darkness
Your devils meeting mine
Just how two strangers meet
By coincidence......
Apr 12, 2018
Apr 12, 2018 at 1:11 AM UTC
Blinded by fake-ups and look-sees
Brainwashed by surgeries and fakeries
Withheld by ridiculous ideals
Restrictions aided by societal feels
To them she was an outcast
But she was my Aphrodite
They could jest all they wanted
But I was taking home this deity
To remove all the tussles
Seive out the floccs
Solve all the puzzles
Open my Pandora's box
Whatever I found I wouldn't fright
Rather I think I'd take delight
Take me oh seductress to your chamber
Of your soul I'd love to be a member
Where they saw flaws I saw beauty
I saw angels doing their duty
They thought what I saw microscopic
I thought their primitive minds myopic
This strange creature unlike any I'd seen
Had pulled my heart and tugged at the seam
As she tore it open all I could find
Was I was a goner and I didn't mind
Her beauty had left me mindless
My entire being insentient
I could all but do her bidding
To this I was very willing
Dec 17, 2016
Dec 17, 2016 at 1:46 PM UTC
my perceptual imbalance regardless of talents spread out over a
chronological lifetime
gives an obfuscated vision of a murky aberration unfocused on
all but the aperture
overwhelming blind ambition especially when wrapped up in
raiment of religion
becomes translucent in the implications and applications as they
writhe into obligation
laid out in prostration in their zeal appealing to an ever evolving
version of Valhalla
even now we see demonstrations of new world rationalizations
mired in implications
Machiavellian machinations as we seem to suddenly find need
of insentient insensate
willing partisan participants who believe participating in sacred
rights annihilations
in total disregard of patently salacious overbearing lying denying
terrorizing abomination...
............A SAD SAD TRADE FOR WHAT WAS....
.. OUR GREAT....OBAMA nation.
Mar 25, 2017
Mar 25, 2017 at 5:11 PM UTC
A sad emotive
Blue ballad from
The broken soul
Of a mute man poet
His heart pounds a silent beat
From deep within
As he begins
To ballet with his fingers
Vocalizing his pain
To the world of blind and deaf
In the monsoon rain
Of his tears
As he express
His feelings and fear
About his future
In this cold world
Of insentient hearts
Being blind, mute or deaf
Doesn’t mean dead
This is the pain
That was easy to swallow
But hard to digest
And now I suggest
To take this fiery feeling
Out of my chest
Because they alienate us
They dig black holes
For us to find homes
Because all we are to the society
We lost souls
To those
Who got eyes to see
And ears to listen
We are just disable clowns
Because we are half human
But to those who got
Minds to think
And hearts to feel
We all human beings
Dec 14, 2015
Dec 14, 2015 at 5:18 AM UTC
The dreadful is not bearable.
The good is unreachable.
Our gods condemn us.
And death is a curse.
We all suffer. We all fear.
Anguish and distress
are not utterly in our hands.
We are not in control
of our life and death.
Do not despair.
~
For somatic dread
is equalized by
the deepest pleasures.
For fear is merely
an imperfect prison.
Do not despair.
~
For the good
is within our reach.
Let go of empty desires.
Dismiss aversion
and attain true delight.
Do not despair.
~
For the divinity of the gods
is our shield.
Internalize the truth:
within the divine
there is no wrath.
Do not despair.
~
For our deepest grief
lies in the fear of death.
Do not despair.
For death is no curse
and life is not far from complete.
Embrace mortality
and make it the gem of your being.
No damnation awaits.
No sorrow is at hand.
For death is insentient.
The ancient sage:
his life my blueprint
his death my archetype.
Do not despair.
For death is insentient.
~
Jun 7, 2018
Jun 7, 2018 at 1:38 PM UTC
Just remember that humanity is a 'bump-
in the road' to 'manmade , insentient cyborgs' controlling-
the earth someday..
Jul 25, 2023
Jul 25, 2023 at 6:32 PM UTC
Indecent incandescence
The ineluctable insentient
Transcendance
That inevitably transcends
All our sentience
Our intransient ascendants
Are evidently intransigent
Irreverents descended
From irrelevant past tenses
Of evanescent innocents
In essence I recently
Have my reasons
To resent my senses
That sent me again
Into decadance
Their essence
Remains essentially
Interdependent and unaffected
By your effective decrees
Of decreased independence
Demands for the deceased
Senators may be reached
Through seances and signatures
Designed to desensitize
Pieces of our peaceful
Resistance to allegedly
Intelligent reservations
With admirable indignation
These indigenous
Geniuses display divinity
With dignity and ingenuity
And indubitably
Deserve our immediate
And utmost designation
Of authority and self-determination
Signed on time
And delivered by
Intelligible design
Feb 28, 2018
Feb 28, 2018 at 9:26 PM UTC
At the foot of my balcony,
there was an inviting hole,
allowing my eyes' vision to enter,
luminescent colors burning in my head,
like a child's fantastic playground,
retaken from memory's debris.
Running out of time,
night's veil faintly glowing,
stars reaching out to me,
asking me witheringly,
why I would treat my soul beneath contempt,
why would they appreciate my absence,
my whiskey's glass,
cascading,
down the shade's slide.
Breathy wind skimming over my soaked lips,
disappointment prowling through trembling legs,
the joy of night,
taking one's leave,
the sighs of dawn,
crossing the threshold
into waking life,
tears steadily drying out,
curling my consciousness insentient,
ruptured hole,
denying my presence too.
May 15, 2025
May 15, 2025 at 7:41 PM UTC
THE WONDERLUST(48)
(Bijoylakshmi Das)
The world is far away from me with azure touch of the sky,
No earthly turmoil, but amazing splendour far and nigh,
The beauty of the timeless Vast, the Green humming with Delight,
To that remote realm I want to soar in my amorous flight.
The plash of the fountains, the soothing murmur in the brook,
The close-clinging touch of Love's sweet lips and the bashful look,
Are ever vibrant in air around robed in aureate hue,.
The glad smile of the cherished eyes to begin the life anew.
The Heaven's surprise in the spilth of an ecstatic beatitude,
Makes me more mirthful in life's wonderlust solitude,
Longings turn insentient in an eternal Elysian clasp,
The Soul seeks release from the mundane transient grasp.
The heartbeats cease overjoyed with Bliss infinite,
The seventh heaven opens doors of rapture recondite,
The gladdening glamour of the glistening stars of the moonlit mirth,
The vain loiterer finds his aimless errand's Goal at last.
The fragrant opulence brought by the babbling breeze,
All rivers' routes of the ravenous journey in the Ocean cease,
The truant spirit seeks sojourn in an ascetic heart,
Desires die the death in the deathless Vast.
The lisping lips of love speak soft whisper sublime
The sylvan woodlands are sun-clad in an argent rhyme,
The radiant blossoms are bathed in the brightening mirth,
To welcome the newly-weds in the ****** vernal birth.
The Absolute sits alone, immobile in the Immortal firmament above,
To greet the new-borns in the greatness of His immaculate Love.
(Bijoylakshmi Das, Anand Utsav Ashram Haridwar. 13th October 2019)
Dec 24, 2019
Dec 24, 2019 at 9:25 PM UTC