In the quiet expanse of time, I find myself grappling with truths and untruths, wondering if I deceive even my own heart into believing I've attained tranquillity. Indeed, I am in a state of well-being, owing to the strides I've taken on this journey of self-betterment. Yet, the undulating waves of emotion persist – highs and lows interweaving like threads in a tapestry. Perfection remains elusive, and perhaps that's the beauty, for I've poured my essence into every endeavour.

Now, as I stand at the crossroads of zero, an architect of my own renewal, I embrace the task of rebuilding from the ground up. Metamorphosis courses through me, rendering me unrecognisable even to myself. Laughter spills more freely from my lips, though occasionally restrained by the shadows of doubt. Tears flow more earnestly, yet at times, I still restrain their cascade. Solitude becomes a cherished companion, a realm I delve into to nurture my soul. Simultaneously, the embrace of friends becomes a celebration of my being, an affirmation of the love I hold for myself in their company.

In this delicate dance, I witness the scales of life gradually finding equilibrium. The pendulum, once erratic, now sways in a harmonious rhythm. The art of relearning tranquillity unfolds before me, a masterpiece in progress, painted with the hues of experience and wisdom.

Time, the patient sculptor moulds each fragment of my existence. And in its embrace, I find solace. For while the road ahead is veiled in uncertainty, I stand here, resilient, embodying the truth that healing is a symphony of seconds and seasons.

And as I mend, I extend to you, a wish that your heart finds solace too. In this dance of existence, in shadows and light – may we emerge stronger, taking flight.

Sweet Serendipity

you stumbled upon the pieces of me

and i'm so glad that you did;

life will never be the same.



You stumbled upon the pieces of me

i'm relearning how to to breathe

life will never be the same;

you set my heart ablaze.



I'm relearning to breathe

would've suffocated if you hadn't met me

you set my heart ablaze;

I am forever grateful that I found you.



Would've suffocated if you hadn't met me

but now inhale more easily

I am forever grateful that I found you...

Sweet Serendipity.

5 minutes.
I sit on the water. The water’s surface is calm and quiet.
While the strokes continue, I look at the person sitting in front of me.
I can only see their back, but I’ve become used to it.

4 minutes.
The coxswain is calling starts.
There’s only a few minutes left, but I cannot keep time.
Everything’s happening so fast.

3 minutes.
The judges call for the boats to line up.
Gracefully, we glide across the water.
Smooth and kept.
Our balance leans the boat port-side, but it is soon restored thorough the echoing voice of our coxswain.

2 minutes.
We’re in our lane. I now take in the presence of the other boats.
They look fierce and prepared, then I look back into our boat.
We need to stand just as strong.
We are strong, if not stronger.
I remember that, because there’s no backing down.
I will not show fear.

1 minute.
Coxswain tells us to sit at three-quarters slide.
The point is adjusted and voices become silent.
I am reminded of every day I worked at practice.
Down to the last hour.
Down to the last minute.
My concentration becomes keener.
I take my final reassuring breaths.
I am fearless.
I am strong.
I am a rower.

0 minutes.
“All boats, ready.”
I dip my oar in a bit deeper. The silence is almost frightening.
My nerves are on a thin thread.
I breathe deeply. There’s no turning back.
“Go!”
“Three-quarters, half, three-quarters, full, full.”
“Power 10! Let’s do this! That’s 10! 9!”
Only three sounds can be heard.
The placement and swing of our blades against the boat.
The coxswain’s encouragement.
My ragged breaths.

I don’t dare look away.
“Keep the pressure, girls! We can beat Oakland! They’re a boat-length ahead! Bring me up to their 8 seat!”
I disregard the alarms going off in my body.
I exert all of my energy. I’m feeling lighter.
“We’re gaining on them! Get me to their 7 seat!”
Time is nothing to me.
I cannot think, only do.
My sole thought is my technique.

“Ladies, we’re walking them! Bring me to their 3 seat!”
I don’t doubt my coxswain’s words, but I am tempted to look to the side.
Our boat leans starboard for a stroke, but jolts back in balance with the next stroke.
My body begs for a rest, even a let-up.
But that’s exactly what the other teams want.
A chance.
A single chance to dominate us.
But I won’t give in.
Not now, not ever.
“We are even with Oakland! We’re in the last 500, girls! Don’t let them catch up!”

The last 500…?
But we have gone so far.
I won’t give up!
“Ladies, power 10 in 2! That’s 1! 2! That’s 10! 9!”
This is the last chance…to show them everything.
My will.
My strength.
My resolution.
The time is now!

Suddenly, added adrenaline runs through my body.
My breaths become more ragged and I feel a bit high.
I don’t let up.
The horn goes off, signaling our finish.
I lose the will to move.
Our coxswain tells us to paddle, but relearning how to breathe seemed more important to me.
Regardless of the silent screams of pain in my body, I obey my coxswain’s order.
We wane off after a while and once all boats cross the finish, we congratulate the other clubs.
I’m becoming tired; my body is crying, but we’ve succeeded.

Everyone worked hard.
We shared everything.
Endurance.
Hardship.
Strength.
Courage.
Friendship.
C­onfidence.
And there’s only one way to show how strong we really are.

We row.
And that’s all there is to it.

Life is the treasure and knowledge is the fire to kindle and wisdom the outcome to distill it

Poverty is taking away food from a fellow human being
Poverty is not being grateful that you have slept having eaten a comfortable meal
Poverty is going out there with a poor self image and using the presence of others to mask your inadequacy
Poverty is not knowing how divine you are, your soul content

Poverty as a woman is not being able to say how you feel and what you feel because you are afraid of rejection or disappointment
Poverty is trying to make a guy feel insecure because you yourself are insecure
Poverty is trying to have multiple ****** relations to either draw a man or men towards you or simply for the sake of trying to fuel your self esteem
Poverty is dreaming and letting the birds talk about it as a could have been
Poverty is stabbing a person you love dearly in the back
Poverty is blaming society, culture and circumstances at home for not progressing forward
Poverty is killing because you are stuck in unorderly primitive and unruly state and you do not know tranquility

Poverty is wanting things to remain the same because it protects you from growth and the awe of advancement
Poverty is living in the past and endlessly trying to change the present
Poverty is not knowing what to say because you have forgotten how to compose yourself in the presence of others
Poverty is thinking for short term satisfaction breeding inevitable lack of long term contentedness

Wealth is inviting the future fearlessly
Wealth is loving abundantly
Wealth is joining the heart's dance by yielding to emotions of pure positive vibrations
Wealth is making the heart intelligent so your desires are not  of a marginal durability
Wealth is seeking the truth because it will wash away the lies and test your bravery as it opens up the wounds and the pain of reality
Wealth is knowing that in giving a lot and asking less more than half the time; you remain abundant
  Wealth is imagining what a future 'you' would be like and in pursuit you strive to make your future self proud
Wealth is having an open mind and seeking first to understand than to be understood
Wealth is trying to find better solutions for either parties, a higher way; which healthily benefits either parties

Wealth is having someone who will support you no matter what
Wealth is sticking to divine principles because they will stand no matter what
Wealth is treating another better than you treat yourself and in essence you treat yourself as the greatest being
Wealth is being patient and persevering for good things because you will honour them as you understand what it took to earn them
Wealth is making a promise and keeping it, it boosts the progress of the whole Universe; even the promises we make to ourselves
Wealth is cleaning up after ourselves and engineering our personhood to not rely on insubstantial and baseless objectives and mantras
Wealth is taking a stand for one's own life and not waiting for a hero to pull up the yardstick
Wealth is going to the dam with a  broken rod and teaching yourself how to fish until a master comes and philosophises your decorum, approach, conduct and credo on the whole process of being independent and going out into the world,
Wealth is unlearning all of the miseducation that we have been fed since the day we were born and relearning and rewiring our psyche to be conscious and cosmically aligned with our divine purposes and use the resources around us to make the raw a tangible gem and vice versa.

Say no to poverty.
Live a sincere life of truth and meaning, we only have so much time to pay off our debts until we're rich enough to give back to the world again.

Trust =  faith, belief, hope, conviction, confidence, expectation, reliance

The sordid talk of “trust”…

A recent email communication has inspired me to research and clarify the word “TRUST”. What does trust mean to you? When you set your alarm at night, do you ‘trust’ that it will wake you up in the morning? What happens if one day, it doesn’t? Would you then ‘distrust’ your alarm clock? How many chances would the alarm clock have to fail you before you shopped for a new, more reliable one?

Do you ‘trust’ that someone received something you left for them, or do you follow up to ensure receipt?

The Doctor-Patient relationship is based on “TRUST”

I don't remember a time I 'trusted', truly trusted, anyone. That is until I began working with dear therapist. I was thinking about how it takes a lifetime to gain trust and only a moment to lose it....sadly.... And I was reviewing the times the word 'trust' has been written or spoken by DT in the past 5 years. I dare say he has written, or said, the "T" word more in the last five years than I've ever said in my entire life!

Examples: (as you can see, I'm all about the 'evidence' big grin)

DT said: it took you over a year to develop the  trust  to let me know some things directly from your words....
DT said: Give ME your hate - because I am not making the pain go away. I won't go anywhere if you do.  Trust  me.
DT said: I ask that you try to  trust  what I am saying here and continue to commit to this our work together.
DT said: I  trust  in you and the strength of our working relationship.
DT said: you can  trust  that I and others will be there to help and support.
DT said: You will continue to challenge my concern and trustworthiness because this is what you have needed to do to protect the fragile self that has over learned self-reliance.
DT said: I will not abandon you because you are only going to lean into "trust  and need" to the extent that you are not collapsing.
DT said: You are slowly growing in your capacity to tolerate these feelings in the presence of another  trusted  person - NOT AN EASY TASK!
DT said: I understand is a long process and  trust  /fear/shame is involved.
DT said: Building  trust  with others and within yourself takes a long time.....given your starting position.
DT said: I insist that we have the  trust  and honesty about how you are doing and what you need.
DT said: There is so much learning, relearning,  trusting,  questioning, testing that you are doing. I  trust  that you will give it your best and your best will be good enough
DT said: Rest your head and  trust  that you are safe in your space right now., no one is going to hurt you and you are wrapped in your blue blanket with my faith enclosed.
DT said: I accept your anger at me for this (not that I like it…) and I  trust  that we will continue to work through new challenges honestly.
DT said: As you learn to  trust  and open up with the shame and fears and we keep you fully in your body during these times
DT said: Fundamental  trust  in the therapy relationship can take years and you are getting there slowly and slowly is necessary…
DT said: make arrangements with 'best friend' or someone else you  trust  to take your meds and give you only enough for 2 days at a time.
DT said: I  trust  that you will bring your fears, needs and whatever else shows up.
DT said: you are in the middle of a giant, long term test of me and others on whom you might have some  trust.
DT said: If I gave that impression, then that was my own "stuff" getting in the way of  trusting  you in knowing what is best for you.
DT said: The nature of your  trust,  distrust, anger, perceived loss of me is a major "therapeutic" aspect of your healing and our work together.
DT said: you can  trust  that I and others will be there to help and support.

Wow! That's a WHOLE lotta "TRUST" to push and push and push....and then to shatter into a million pieces in only a moment....

Did DT teach me to "trust"? Yes, he did.

...but more importantly, he taught me that it isn't safe to trust anyone. Not even a therapist who extended a 'life-line' to you every single night for 2 years.

I "trust" that he isn't "here" tonight.

I trust that he discarded me and left me here alone to try to put back the shattered pieces of my life...by myself!!!

Just as he trusts I will make the best decision for myself. (that sounds to me like he has thrown the proverbial 'trust' ball back into my court)

Dear Therapist, I see your "trust" and I raise you a "discarded, shattered, afraid, little girl"...who, after 5 years and thousands of dollars working with you....is back to trusting no one. And more deeply wounded than ever. I trust that the knife in my back will hurt for years to come. And I trust that the bad taste in my mouth will remain after a few bottles of wine.

Trust....my new 'drinking' game...I will drink 1 glass of wine every time I hear, or read, the word 'trust'…I should be sufficiently drunk, or at least buzzed, the majority of the time!


**Trust....trust - no - one!

I hope she knows what she's getting herself into.
I hope she knows what your heart sounds like after a night of
comparisons between her handwriting and mine.                                                                                                                                      
I want you to know that I am through with dumbing
myself down to fit inside your god complexed hands.

Don't tell me I never tried to save us.
I wrote you songs with knives on my palms
and your ears were anything but listening.

I had a dream about you every night since you told me
you didn't know how to love anything with a heartbeat and hope.
I started sleeping again when you came back, and oh when you came back...                                                                                                                          

I am not sorry that my temper is as short as the lifespan of us.
I am not sorry that your smile is the only one that ever made me
want to wake up in the morning.
I am all pain and long long longing and she has always been
a storm with a heart dead set on your stillness.
Our problem is that I never stop shaking long enough for the dust to settle.

I've been writing with the same pen for four years and
you still only recognize my words when she plays them back.

Let it not be confused, foggy or incomprehensible-
you were the one.
Until the one became none and I stopped being a number when you stopped counting miles.

I hope she loves harder than a woman with dementia, relearning parts of you every morning
in the places you reserved with my first and your last- maybe next time.

Maybe next time, maybe next life will be different.
Maybe I'll be patient, stronger, I'll stop covering my smile. You'll stop pretending to be in love.
I will stop shaking and the dust will settle and her poetry will make you sick.
Her poetry will sprout evening primroses and she won't know that you always fall asleep before midnight
or that you're allergic to flowers that bloom when the sun is down.

She kept her songs, they kept so little space,
The covers pleased her:
One bleached from lying in a sunny place,
One marked in circles by a vase of water,
One mended, when a tidy fit had seized her,
And coloured, by her daughter -
So they had waited, till, in widowhood
She found them, looking for something else, and stood

Relearning how each frank submissive chord
Had ushered in
Word after sprawling hyphenated word,
And the unfailing sense of being young
Spread out like a spring-woken tree, wherein
That hidden freshness sung,
That certainty of time laid up in store
As when she played them first. But, even more,

The glare of that much-mentionned brilliance, love,
Broke out, to show
Its bright incipience sailing above,
Still promising to solve, and satisfy,
And set unchangeably in order. So
To pile them back, to cry,
Was hard, without lamely admitting how
It had not done so then, and could not now.

Tossing and turning.
Unlearning abusive systems and relearning loving skills.
Becoming a dream keeper as a rebellious angel child anything is possible.
So I am very soulfully strong and heart-meltingly adorable.
I provide nightmares for my worst enemies.
And sweet dreams for my dearest friends.
Anyone in the middle is going to live with their political aspirations.

Storm Siren's don't say much,
We usually observe.
We usually react,
Rather than instigate.
But when a storm siren
Wishes you well--
It would be best that you do well.

Please, may you be as brisk as the wind,
May you be as bold as thunder,
May you be as swift as lightning,
And may you be as calm as the rain.
May you know you are loved more than the rain
Falling to thirsty ground.
May you know you are admired more than the lightning
As it pierces the earth.
May you know your voice is more awe-inspiring than the thunder
As it mutes thoughts.
May you know you are stronger than the wind,
As it cuts through forests.

Storm Sirens call forth
The storms within your soul,
The flash of light and crash of thunder
That mute your thoughts and your inhibitions.

Storm Sirens hate storms,
But when a storm of a person,
With galaxies for eyes and gold for a heart,
Crashes through their senses and
Walls they built brick by brick,

Even the most up in arms
Storm Siren
Will fall to their knees
In awe.

The Moon and the Stars*

It all started one night under the stars.

Lying in the field on the clearest yet brisk last nights of summer's warm-held grasp. Telescope, blankets, friends and stars. We watched and waited as satellites and planes flew overhead; deciphering shooting star from orbital waste, relearning and recalling constellations recognized throughout man's lifelong past. Gazing into the wide open of the unknown with thoughts of extra-terrestrial, black holes, and the possibility of life after death.

The darker the night the more magic seemed to exist. After wrapping up our outdoor viewing of the universe, we headed indoors for peaceful sessions of passing the pipe while listening to shamanic throat singing and overtones, as our friends sat *gravely entranced, zoning out to the wonders of the world covered by media through National Geographic and the world-wide-web.

It was somewhere a midst all this where I find myself; body calm and mind relaxed, propped up on the couch pondering the innermost immortal thoughts of the interconnectedness of life and death and sound and energy, spirit and soul as visions of spirals infinitely intertwining as one appear before my eyes. The sensations of what I imagine the reference of “getting the gears rolling” in the center of my brain as my pineal gland begins its first steps of decalcification brought about by the intentions of man.

Up until this point my life was on a one track path. A steady straight line towards the unknown, unawakened, and ignorantly naive, believing everything I had been taught up until that moment was a true solid fact. With this new sensation of the potential for higher vibrations within my own soul, my heart began to rapidly race but without pain and suffering, rather with the excitement of this new realized grace.

Awakening to this new idea, to this new age, to this *new way of life.

Sixty Eight years of age
and he texts her puppy love
msgs six time a day,
in between phone calls.

long ago lovers,
high school, I think,
Facebook stumbled upon,
and the inky surprise,
that they have relearned to be,
a new shade of
a true blue tint of
the word,
devoted.

mushy is the heart that goes
soft to hard to soft,
soft by innocence, then
Pharaoh hardened by life, then,
softened by reflection,
mushyed by wisdom,
that came costly.

when relearning
the side effects of
discovering the words
that were left unsaid,
or even better,

spoke this time with
better understanding,
greater appreciation.

Now so better
After Aging Aching
in an oak cask
of finally, filly fully
fermented love.

I don't need inspiration
to clap for you,
but your confidence un-betrayed,
name omitted,
as one grandfather tips his hat to another,
all he can smiling say,

*******,
romantic rediscovery at 68,
I suspect is even better than the
first fumbled go around.

wring your mismatched hands together they don't belong to you but they're still yours
you watch old reels, the war replaying on a silver screen
relearning a past you still don't remember (your hair used to be short, but you like it better long)
your smile is crooked when you look at him
you don't know if it's fondness or hatred (or something in the middle,the point between rage and bone-breaking love)
he'll never understand how easy it is to make men into machines
but the blueprints for your breathing patterns are hidden away in ones and zeroes in the back of your mind
your tongue and teeth are stained with your old body, ten thousand lifetimes ago you still feel your arm sometimes
ghost aches haunting your every step
when you close your eyes you see an ashtray, blood filling your eyesockets like saltwater
you've forgotten about that night (1942, the war playing in the background as you looked at him, soft around the edges) stars falling from his palms into your chest
you're an ampersand, your fingers interlocked with his
when you ask him what it was like
(you aren't sure what you mean, but he is) he says, soft around the edges,okay
and it's enough
war isn't pretty, it's a tragedy and so are you but it's enough for now
press your fingers into the sway of his back
cough russian winter into his lungs
and try to forget about it

On the 15th of August,
We
Excavated the tombs of
The Queen of Obedience
And
King Gypt the Meek,
Who reigned 12 years before
Their daughter,
The Preteen Queen of Mesopotamia,
Ascended the throne.

Had the elbow of our lead
Archaeologist not have pierced
The false wall shielding
Their hidden resting place,
Their elegant tombs would have
Remained forever lost.

An ancient parchment,
Semi intact but translatable,
Lying at the feet of the Kings tombs,
Contained a marriage proposal
To the young
Princess of Obedience
From the grand Island of Righteousness,
Where he spent years on
Her island relearning the ways
Of the LORD from her Holy Priest.

It Read:
''I am Gypt,
Disciple of righteousness.

From the ends of the earth
And
Within my lush empire,
Many daughters of Eve
Have Fallen short to embrace
Yahweh's instructions.

But you are without blemish,
And perfect as can be!

So take now my golden sceptre,
And rule by my side,
Until death arrives
To
Claim our short lives.''

is this the silent ache
they talk about?
that turns into something
much better?
am I growing without
really knowing?
put down your suitcase,
what a weapon it's been

all the things you thought
you had to be, and what
you needed to change,
maybe you didn't have to be wild
but needed a good shake
a good earthquake for that
rebel in you to learn who
you really weren't


all the times you've been stirred from
sleep, well it's okay to dream now,
go ahead and laugh if it loosens up
the dust,
even those that took you far away
fell in line with something greater
a conquest in their direction
doesn't mean you looked the
other way,
lonely barely begins
to describe the storm
but everyone has seen
the smooth stones at
the bottom of the river,
at one point
rough and withstanding,
day to day relenting,
but i've never stopped
to judge a pocked thing,
and it's certainly not
the worst to lose a way or two
or be knocked from a hiding
place,

so it's okay
that you're
all alone,
the road is mighty long
good lord that suitcase, you wield it
like a sword,
it's okay little girl,
we've never had this
in the bag, and if no one's
here to walk you back
then

sometimes you gotta walk yourself home.


sometimes you gotta walk yourself home.

Hello Dear Friend,
         It’s been a while since I’ve wrote you.
Woes of lost friendship must have driven me here,
in fear of other lanes that is, to this letter.
Laughter and joy has been had, them in lieu of you.
Ewes can ape wolves, as you’ve seen in three years prior,
the choir sang the same triad, this time quiet.
Quite sad— I know, but I’ve spoken enough on me,
for thee I am writing, and to thee I now write:

You must have been busy bringing joy to the world;
or joy to a world, of one I’ve met never.
Another basis, wherefore, I stop this stasis
of silence. We’ll needn’t recall to remember,
for like the migrants of nature, nothing has changed—
only the season, or maybe just the weather—
regardless, the moral stands as thus: History
has shown those of the same feather flock together;
so, as such, we do not lose time in relearning
quirks or behaviors—innate powers take over

Then, again, the inane behavior shall ensue.
Fluid synchronization of minds—now union—
is source to the river highly known for knowledge.
Dialogue sows the seeds, such that comprehension
of grand ideas, which sprout like fruit at the Lethe,
can be harvested to feed the minds of others.
Thoughts that they found too puerile, we now encounter
regularly, and never have we thought to laugh
at any one. Instead we laugh coyly, as we
discuss things of great measure absentmindedly.
The weight of measure felt by us knows few others—
wherefore, I ask: what deserves merit? But One knows,
and those answers lie in the minds of the many.

But here I must stop, for I, quite abashedly,
feel your response to this notion has bearing on
the rest of my premeditated first letter.
With Godspeed I send this, in hopes—with haste, you’ll read
and respond. At last a new dialogue begins.

Remember: those who look— will find,
       *Your Dearest Friend

My relearning emotion cries
and courage sings.


Cover me with your consent
of unaided efforts, which you
feel rightfully towards me.

Please hold me in the realm
of your purely worship for
propriety.
Have you completely forgotten
about me?

My sombre music
wails in distance and
acts like a ritornello.
You wonder about its
beats, but it has always
remain closer to you.

-Shivpriya
#shivpoetesspriya

Sometimes it is 4am and I'm awake
relearning to breathe, calming my heart
because for once you saw me and smiled
and the reality, well it tears me apart

Sometimes it is 2pm and I'm anxious
heart pounding and hands shaking
because I know in twenty minutes
I have to seem perfect for the taking

Sometimes, it is 6pm and I'm thinking
whether I'm annoying or just weird
I just.. kinda hope sometimes for once
It wasn't just as I feared.

nudni ludzie zawsze mają coś
do powiedzenia

-

boring people, always have
something to say,

bo to zawsze znaczy gawarić
         o innych -

because it always means
speaking about others.

3 ******* nights,
i've been mitigating "concern"
for a light source
via a candle,
   and a samsung tablet...

what has resorted
in giving me the most comfort?
what prometheus came down
with onto the plateau...

what the demigod son of
zeus came down with,
with, electricity?!

                  fire, fire is comforting,
in that it warms,
but also illuminates...
what is a thunder bolt?
light... and then?
  electrocution!
         no more, no, less!

the cats agree...
i'm good with:
from earth you came,
unto the earht you will return...
in between?
i need to pour some wax
into my hand,
just, to "make" sure...

                    danke (dir).
hier, mein zeppelin!

          was war was:
        mit die Elisabeth-Gruß?!
             tragen-zu komödie-skizzieren?!

english people talk too much...
   englischvolk spreschen zu viel...

i'll speak my german,
via anglican grammar...
                for a reason...
       beyond the reason of:
well, i've integrated...
there's no other reason for me
to "integrate",
other than to,
disembody myself from
these, corrupt people...

              ich bin deutsche,
durch fälschen...

            i had to...
  you think relearning head-banging
was somehow "easy",
without learning some deutsche?!

oh, yes yes...
   ich war gehen mein glauben im
diese fälschung sachsen...

   pierdole...
               nawet...  jeżeli mówię
gminą mowy,
  a nie panem miasta:
tym - germańskim...
                             to, moja: sprawa...

when was, center, osten?
            oh, right... when Warschau...
und Berlin was "osten" off anywhere
beside Paris or Loon'don,
and as far east as Novosibirsk?
as vest as is vest as
is the "pity" showered upon
           Doob'lin?!

i'm waiting.

and in my waiting: who could say...
i have a fetish for german language...
but none of their pornographic materials?

perhaps i would have learned french...
if i knew the post-latin order...
and how the germanic languages use another
order... how even western slavic uses...
post-latin romantic order of words...

best example?
sunflower oil... in english...
in german: sonnenblumenöl...
huile de tournesol in french...
olej słonecznikowy in ****** western slavic -
masovian or galician or...

the sunflower is a "precursor" of...
oil... not elsewhere...
among the french and among the polacks
oil is stressed first...
then the denotation of: what kind of oil?
why i didn't learn french?
oh... i was supposed to forget my mother
tongue...
i would have learned german
with more ease having acquired english...
fwench ****** it oops...

what's that, kind auditory hallucination
of spontaneity and no l.c.d. being ingested?
what's that word?
niemcy? hear that? the word means:
germans...

so what's cooking and more to the point...
who's cooking and what?
languages?
in my vicinity... 4 at least...
one as still acquired...
one in a caste of a broken lending broker...
one as a fetish and one as
a... minor fetish... Paris circa 2004...
and not because i'm english in any way
possible and i have a: the sort of grudge
that a ****** deals a russian a hand...
english superstitious enclaves when being
a tourist in Paris...
as someone not from Warsaw...
i did find a lisp of Bulgahov in Moscow...
it was aired... suspiciously silent...
a dog-whistle you might say...

the old capital was in lesser Poland...
greater Poland and its trade ties to
Brandenburg via Posen...
no one was expecting a Winchester to London
shift... the masovians were being
incorporated synonym in tempus (in time)
with what was to become of the pagan Prussians...
the new rulers of lower buxton & saxony...
punk history lessons...
because the northern crusades only took
place due to some people
defending the last pagans of europe...
the lithuanians...
and the marriage was a success...
as was rome...
the crown that was known
as greater poland, lesser poland...
snippet of pomeranian...
and...

when bohemia became integral to
the borders of defining the holy roman empire...
the crown with the grand duchy of lithuania...
perhaps the post-vikings did *****
a brick that founded the basis of Kiev...
but there's also L'viv...
and as one greek said to me...
there's no Istambul where i look...
there's only a Constantinople...

no... the Notre Dame would have survived
the **** occupation...
Paris wasn't bombed...
London though? it's a miracle that St. Paul's
survived... with or without a fire...

all this history and... no history class back
in school... dates that are like cognitive
tattoos... i am almost ashamed of reciting them...
but then i do have a body without ink...
historical infantilism...
who is to cite the h'american constitution,
the declaration of independence...
who is to cite the magna carta...
who is to convene over the Union of Lublin -
signed in 1569 - that created a single state
of the Polish–Lithuanian Commonwealth -
who is to ask this "neo-nazis" these
germ-an-ans... and the Muslims regarding
their Iraqi "beef" with the Mongols?

is this truly infantalism? historical infantalism?
to remember or at least,
ascribe oneself a continued presence
of these events? what if not in skin alone...
the mind is a fickle embryo that's bound
to be ****** into a whirlpool of:
scientific exploration and "gender neutral pronouns"...

because what the hell is worth my attention...
that a battle of Hastings took place in 1066?
what of the battle of Tannenberg in 1410...
then the teutonic knights were fighting a northern
crusade against a converted people from 966...
and their coalition of lithuanian pagans
and the rabble e pluribus unum?

infantilism... i guess it must be infantilism...
just like those people citing the former
glory of the british empire...
and they being the descendents of former colonial
subjects...
but if they're all so oh very serious...
look at my tattoos! look at my historical infantilism!

i too can play this game...
i too can look bleak with surprise:
oh you think that the northern crusades didn't take
place? the only holy ground is the levant?
not the old forests of mother Prussia?
to me... it's historical infantalism...
to most it's... Al-Ḥarb al-Ahliyyah al-Libnāniyyah...
or the Dissolution of Yugoslavia...
or...

that... "thing" in Syria...
i love how the Muslims love to put down Christianity
as not being the religion of the pacified...
hell... even i have heard of buddhist warrior monks...
and they cite!
my good friend Samir loved citing this to me...
when i was going through my apostasy and wasn't
ever going to be confirmed in the church's
bureucracy...
apparently a Muslim in the west knows very
little about the catholics coming from old Rus...
vicinity...
what's that quote he used...
matthew 10:34 - do not suppose that i have come
to bring peace to the earth.
i did not come to bring peace, but a sword...

and my most beloved quote about
a second coming... in the Islamic hadith...
حدیث نماز خواندن عیسی به امامت مهدی‎
the (hadith of jesus praying behind mahdi)
as cited by ibn ibn ibn abu huraiah
ibn ibn ibn allamah sayyid sa'eed akhtar rizvi
ibn ibn ibn jabir ibn abd allah...
ibn ibn ibn al-husayn al-ajiri and many others...

where will the kind sir, descend?
in Damascus... and again that Syria "thing"...
once upon a time i could find a good
quote with regards to the descent...
his hair will appear as if falling pearls...
his tears this that and the other...
in a: once upon a time you could find
everything on the internet without it being
meddled for herr zensor purposes and -
an objective lack of transparency...

i see no better indicator that a second coming
has occured within the dogmatism of Islam...
if you couple the two "stipends" of:
believable wording to be carried on and on...
until a freak accident like the Syrian civil
war occurs...

it was hardly a civil war in the polish-lithuanian
commonwealth...
given how the swedes felt inclined to invade
and lay their deluge...
because the king was a swede in this...
freakish... monarchic democracy....
and of course the ukranians...
and of course add some spice of the ottoman
nibble...

again: isn't this historical infantalism?
i should be... when people have all the right
to excavate as much from the holocaust
and the dead in the water slave, trade...
trade... which implies the middle ground
of misery while two opposing factions prospered...

to write of such things...
and not need a little sense of how infantile it is
or rather: can become?
in an otherwise pedagogic rubric?
like we, really needed to learn of the fact
that england was under roman occupation...
and how that's a reason to be proud...
as somehow related to the modern
aesthetic splendour of the Italians...
of which the modern germans scoff at...
given their mozart and their "****"
of the opera... and how... oh ****... i'm using
their letters... but how the germans nor the polacks...
ever entertained the ancient romans...

again... this most certainly has to be some
variant of infantilism... why would i recite
some distant date...
mind citing a past and dead and gone?
perhaps... i never really figured out a "way out"...
perhaps i was always playing the mole...
and digging trenches...
looking up psychological erosion of:
being just as bad as the "other side"...

or perhaps i'm just the sort of *******-beater
that forgot to fall in love so so hard
that he would be living with a regret
of getting a tattoo of a name: ИЛOНA
on his left collar-bone?

perhaps one of the two!
let's flip a coin!

Coming of Age

I spent two days with you in a bed made ***** by breakfast crumbs and tears and sweat from last night relearning the way your body contours when it sleeps.
I know I was getting too close, but nobody gives a **** about what you do on your birthday.
I had forgotten what it was like to be yours. You picked words like apples from the high round bits of my face with your teeth tucked behind your lips. Crisp and sweet like we thought it wouldn't be.
I know that every good day has it core. Even the peach of your mouth has its pit, but our roots run deeper, freer, from orchard blocks and white picket fences.
We planted seeds even though the soil was rocky and dry. Like vines, we intertwined, even though our souls are parched and tired.
I'm turning green, like the sunflower stems on my dusty window sill.
Your evergreen isn't planted in my yard, but your roots run in it.
Yesterday was hard for all of us,
but tomorrow promises rain to wash us clean.
They say to never plant before a rain because the water will sweep the seeds away. Carry them into the next garden, next county, next life
but if you're too ******* afraid to start again once everything's been flooded, you're never gonna grow.

Hot kiss in the cold rain.
A steady beat of a pulsing vein.
The fearful calm of the never the same.
The sweet aftertaste of your whispered name.
Two extremes inside one heart.
Living in the bewitched twilight of the after dark.
Made a little brighter by this perfect counterpart.
This perfect flame started by a lover's spark.
The relearning of what it means to mean.
Finding the greatest things on earth in the in between.
It's the transition of real life into a dream.
The infusion of love in this neglected bloodstream.
The perfect play of light on the perfect pair of eyes.
The look of which expels the bitter taste of goodbyes.
It's the safety rope for the deepest self dug holes.
Shes a harbinger of love, the savior of souls.
The North Star, that brightest bit of day.
That little feeling inside of you so you never lose your way.
A radiant hope in this desperate living death.
Every inch of her a place to catch your breath.
Made of the stuff of heaven, part blind trust
and perfect mixture of both love and lust.
It all boils and burns into left with only this...
A simple hot kiss,
in a cold rain.
With love flowing in every vein.

It's been a while
since feelings like these have pervaded, invaded, slipped through
the walls I built up.
I was afraid to trust
having been misused, mistreated, mistaken.
But you cured me...
it seems, I hope, I fear
with your incorruptible inculpability.
I was wary to let go, commit, reveal.
But you convinced me
it's okay
to express, abandon, accept.
So to me
it's quite new
(kind of hand-me-down new)
this feeling, experience, occurrence;
like closing a box,
hiding it away,
only to open it
much later
and find something:
new, developed, changed
better.
It's all so
strange, unexpected, exciting
incredible:
the way you make me feel.
I'm relearning
how to trust, to share, to grow
to love.
And,
despite my misgivings,
I long to grow closer, learn more, be free.
Because to me
you're unique
amazing
inspiring.

i wanted to be more than life stuck in these bones,
but they're intent on running.
i thought i'd be content with settling down
but i think they are hunting for something.
i can see myself moving from city or town
though its hard to feel more than motionless
when about a month maybe more
is all you'll make an appearance for.
i'd like to feel more than simply life in these bones
but right now they're only good for aching.

matching socks hide away my weak feet for a while
but it doesn't take long for the absence of skin--
reminding me my brittle feet are breaking,
creaking, wary under the weight of heavy bones.

my hands feel empty.
but doctor's say nothing's missing...
i know i'm losing something to distance
you can hear it if you listen.

i keep replaying the sound of your whole life splitting
its way from mine
a misgiving sound for a while i'd been wishing
not to listen to, but i
decided to make it into an alarm clock instead
to keep me from dreaming too big, because
nothing scares me quicker from sleep.
i'm relearning how ferocious
your memory could be.

and only when you look you will see
inside your reflection--half of what you should be
not a would-be, but a could've-been
stuck with ******' half-life personalities
singing for their expiration dates,
cracking under your empty gravity.
breaking, fading, floating away from reality.
it took too many broken bones
to realize how unbroken we weren't supposed to be.

myself personally, i think there's no sense in
looking in the mirror
when i see no more beauty there.
i could let loose these slippery bones
and collapse on the floor.
and i figure to stay here a while, because
i can't sleep inside silence anymore.
city sounds don't cut it, so
i let your memory whisper faintly to me
but not so gently, more in line with a taunt
composed of words like,
"you are the thing that carved the me
out of me
so of course i had to set myself free."

but you can keep talking to me
and choke out all the mystery
this is near to death--
it's half misery, half meant to be.
it's all left me.
you haven't been living the right way
and it's left my body empty,
boneless.
it's let my body empty-out;
crooked tendons pining towards you.
a sorry skeleton, crawling,
unable to keep it in the ground.

hey, yeah, yo,
what?
no way.
guess what?
grooving for all of
eternity.
where am I,
how did I get here,
boy this place is different
than yesterday.
get a note from the doctor,
never was suicidal,
not even hiding
in some crazy state of denial.
did what the president
told me to do,
yay, wahoooo,
scoooby-dooby-doooo.
shUTerRP shannon.
raining on my funk.
thrilled, something like
that. ready to get back
to the action, gotta change this
attitude, this moment has already
left for tomorrow's clock.
another day, lost a dollar,
going, going, gone.
who turned out the lights?

i just wanna make beats
and run away again.
just kidding,
not really.
gonna go sink
my teeth in lasagna
and forget about January,
& the past four months.

hey, hello, nice to meet you.
very glad to know I'm
somewhere in 2014.
fresh starts and stuff,
healthy lungs
and a fatter ***.

relearning how
to feel
this earth.
proceeding with
caution.

The foreign feel

This cool plastic

Pressed to rough

Skinny artist’s fingers

A gentle pressure

Spills inked expressions

Cursive scrawl confessions

I submit myself

To this oddity

Relearning how to

Embrace myself again

life has finally
gotten the better of me
life has finally
caught up with all my bad decisions
life has finally
consumed all of the light

i am confused

i am trying to
piece things together
without any memory

every feeling
I can’t figure out
why I feel this way

it is relearning
life again
hurt again
love again


i am relearning everything





i want
more than anything
to be me again

October bonfires for Autumn lesser pyromaniacs ,
with Oak , Hickory and Fall leaves , ashes floating
in the Black Moon night , they ride into star clusters
then fade out of sight
Locked in flames allure , counseled by fire , glowing
embers , hypnotic flickering light , running nightfall shadows o'er the hardwood lines  
Gardenia perfume , warm coats , our uncloaked breath mingling with sweet smoke , cricket songs , hand-made skewers with
bratwurst and marshmallows
Trading stories , relearning one another ,
growing stronger , warmer , drawn into the wavering glow , crackling
tinder , white ash flurry , kindling eventide mellow* ..

Memories encroach on a star speckled consciousness,
How the sun felt in years gone by.
What was life like when happiness sprouted from the earth?
How mud splattered flower child was taught to be quiet.
We spend years relearning that we are birthed of stars,
Only to let simple vibrations of air
Crumble war torn castles of consciousness.

THEN

You were a pillar, sturdy and tall.
I desperately clung onto you.
Dependent, naive and still young,
I was ignorant to the fact that you
woke up too early and came back too late.

Until one day you collapsed
in front of me
and I fell along with you.

My fault, my fault, my fault.

Those bleak nights with your absence,
I stared into the darkness that seemed
to stretch for eternity.
I could not stop my cheeks from getting wet;
that saltiness that seeped into
the corners of my mouth.

No. I could not stay like this forever.
I need to change.
I need to be independent, because I'd
lost you.
I don't want to lose you
any further.

NOW*

You were once my anchor
to keep me from sinking.
Yet I've learnt to stand
on my own two feet.
You have finally returned,
but you are no longer as strong
as before.

It's okay, it's okay, it's okay.*

You are shrinking- more bones
are protruding.
You move slowly, meticulously,
as though relearning how to
walk again.
I admire your resilience;
your diligence to get better.
No more waking up too early
and coming back too late.

We are both aging, yet
your rate of getting sunken cheeks
and sagging skin appears
to speed up too fast,
too soon.

If time could rewind, I want you
back to when you were still
tall and radiant, and that
I would get a chance to love you
more- I would not be a burden
to you, then.

What has been done cannot be undone.
So I embrace the changes
and learn to love you
in the present and many
years to come.

Thank you for being my pillar.

That day I had to relearn how to breathe again,
Differently; I had to know what it was like before you,
What it’s like to carry a freshly cut wound;
Delicate; everywhere with me.

That day I had to relearn to walk again,
Straight, without checking any recent messages
Not tripping upon a memory stricken in midday
Seeing everything around me through new eyes;
that somehow everything does not relate to what you like and how you were.
Relearning how to be me again.
To stop from having to ask about you.
Refrain myself from caring and worrying.
To learn how to manage my time better,
to fill the living void inside of me,
Realizing that as from today..
You are not a part of me.

That day I had to remind myself that sugar did not make my coffee sweeter.
That coffee has always been bitter.
That day I had to remind myself that the day was longer;
That the ticks of the clocks were slower.

That day was a miraculous rebirth of a new entity
A new mind, a new set of rules and priorities
You became the change in me;
As I was the change in you.
And I shall give you that part of me,
That part who gave herself to you.
You can have her.
Though she might not retain in your mind much long.
You ought to know that she still has a profound respect towards you.

I have learned to trust beauty that comes from my body and elsewhere

I have mapped out the rivers that flow through my arms and into my chest,
And I have memorized them and labeled them as “Something So Much Better Now”

I have knitted and patched up the tears and fractures in my bones, placed there by strangers who did not know themselves as well as they pretended to

I am learning to appreciate the rain aside from sleepless nights, besides,
Sometimes even the sky has to cry

Every evening I have taught myself how to tuck myself in again, kiss my own forehead, and chant myself bedtime stories,
And every morning I have taught myself how to appreciate opening the blinds and cracking the windows to smell whatever roses the bees are flocking to at 9am on a warm summer morning

And yet I know that the cold is coming back,
And I know summer is as short as a child’s attention span,
And winter has been harsh before, but that does not mean it cannot learn from its mistakes like I have, and still am

But I am learning, I am relearning

And with that, I will teach myself how to respect the colder weather like a mother or father

With strict discipline, openness, a warm hug, and trust

Strength is over-rated,
Weakness seems to be my escape from days of old.
I wish I would just forget sometimes.
But here I am, still learning to forgive and forget-
To love and cherish;
Through the power of one who died for me.

My mind is spinning in a million directions,
I only know I have not been here before.
Avoidance has been my technique,
Then you took me by surprise.
Now I am relearning ways of life…
Yet confidant You'll catch me if I fall down tonight.

You astound me by Your sovereignty and justice,
Balanced with unsought grace and mercy.
They terrify me yet give me peace
Only because You loved me first,
Has this soul learned to love.

“It’s been trying to rain.” My Grandfather said to me over the summer
Not even looking at the bright hot blue sky with very few clouds
As if they each were a living thing, capable of trying to do anything at all

A couple days later, it rained for a few dozen hours straight
Y’know, for a long while now, I’ve felt like I’m finally on the path of self-discovery
That I’m mere inches away from self-actualization
Now, I wish that it would finally come

I’ve been relearning most of the things that I thought I knew
Like how to read and write and think and feel
I’m even learning new lessons
Like how to believe
And be strong
And be calm
Hoping to be wise one day
Like my Grandfather

And on the day he died, it rained all night
The world was weeping, its tears
Were frozen and bitter

I don’t know what to say
But I know now that I can feel because
I can point out the sorrow constantly in my chest
I can taste the burning sensation
Bubbling up the back of my throat

I have never felt this way before
I’m trying to be strong
But realization, it comes in waves
We never got to go fishing again
Never got to grow one more garden in the spring

According to mom, grandpa was my first word
And I’ve found myself speaking a lot more softly than average
Like a lone cloud in the desert when it’s trying to rain

I've been staring into the dark every night thinking of nothing
But when I do think, lately I’ve been thinking of, well
It’s hard to explain, but it feels like that self-actualization
It feels like it’s across some vast, empty part of my soul
And through much, much more pain
But it’s waiting for days later
When hopefully I’ll understand life and death
And my spot in between them both

I know nothing of death
That’s why I’ll always love the music that the river makes
That’s why I’ll always love the feeling of dirt under my nails
And the smell of the air when it’s trying to rain
Cause I know that this is life, life is precious
Life is the most beautiful thing in the universe

Two weeks later and the world is crying bitter cold tears again
And I know in my heart I’ll never feel the same warmth
I’ll never be used to this, everything is changed
My eyes are always trying to rain
But I’m learning something important
Hopefully I'll learn what
The lesson is
Soon