A girl with spects,
Her innocence and her acts..

What she hide behind the spects,
I have a zeal for find the facts..

Is there the brightest shine??
Which is beyond the thinking of mine..

I think there is the deep calm lake??
Its the natural beauty, rest of world are fake..

I wanna look into her eyes,
Two drowsy cups which are so nice..

Is these more intoxicate than wine??
I’m in fuddle or i’m fine??

Glasses..don’t put off it,
It’s drive me crazy little bit..

Stand against the mirror and see,
the pearls are present originally under a transparent sea.....

April 28, 2014 turned out to be more than a beautiful day,
and yet more hilarious, I should say.
  After a long day of hard work, as usual I headed to
LDC to prepare for my evening lectures.
I majestically moved to my lecture room about 7;00
which was unusual because I always made it more earlier.
Upon reaching late, I looked so confused
and I grabbed a seat to keep me calm.
Trying to concentrate on the learning,
my mind was disrupted as I couldn't bear the noise
that came from the surrounding
this attracted my attention and I decided
to excuse my self for a moment.
As I moved gazing out;
I saw people had gathered near
the most influential department in every sector
(toilet) and to my mind I thought it would either be
mob justice or a strike.
Though this has never happened at LDC
because it would be news worldwide.
Ignoring that, I saw someone weeping like
“I need this money”; as I personally approached them.
Oh no...she cried; I have to do it again.
Lost in the confusion, As I turned back to go for my lecture,
someone shouted …it is true, they are out….
Obviously, by that time I was out of the lecture
and I didn’t mind the statement in motion,
but when I gave it a second thought;
I camouflaged without hesitation.
Then I decided to draw closer only to see,
there were sheets of paper.
This was really unusual as it caught me off guard.
Results..! My eyes almost
run out of the sockets through the spects.
Well for those who had failed,
I only thought of Fangil mande
who had just resigned 2 days back,
both situations stood painful I didn’t know
where I belonged at the moment.
I drew even closer only to be relaxed
by my name that appeared in M…showing
I hadn't passed, (but I had rather excelled).
My friends were all around as I turned
in excitement thinking about who I could tell first,
obviously whoever was around had known.
But this didn’t stop me from bearing a huge smile on my face,
only if people knew how my heart was dancing
the famous ‘calypso’ dance, and just by the side
there was a post indicating gowns on sale.

I immediately jumped into one gown
and moved gently like a lady walking down the Aisle,
while all my friends clapped and laughed excitedly
as if I was going to give them gifts, all for my achievements.
Then my buddy Jason taped me
and said ‘I have something to tell you’.
Oh no it wasn’t like I imagined,
It wasn’t graduation day, I was just taken up by the moment;
in shock of my excellence.
I smiled and moved away
‘Thank you Lord’ is what kept on my mind whispering
you are a genius and so I moved a way
in flames of happiness.

[individuation exercises for supernatural parts in the opera of...]

{as I heard, Socrates had a familiar voice
to whom he paid earnest heed, as one might imagine
• a footnote may appear any where as needed to assuage confusion ******* comments provoke-- Plato said Socrates said,

You have heard me speak at sundry times and in diverse places of an oracle or sign which comes to me, and is the divinity which Meletus ridicules in the indictment. This sign, which is a kind of voice, first began to come to me when I was a child; it always forbids but never commands me to do anything which I am going to do. This is what deters me from being a politician.

From <https://markandrealexander.com/2015/07/23/socrates-divine-inner-voice/>

right.}

Socrates
caught your attention
still the executory neurons

sist, sist do not respond to premature amygdalinic response strategems
still
be
small voice
inhibitory. say nothing, Plato shall put the proper words
packed with (densepacked)

we inhibitory voices fectionary,
sweet sweet sweet words

recalled in every surviving child at

Ah, ha evil, live
in nullness

in my happy ever.
How big is my bubble?
Do you know how leaven works, kid?

Pilgrim,
ah the Duke, as a homeless auto didact acting as if
he believes virtue is necessary

not cede ary, shall we proceed, or do you feel

inhibited at the corpus colosseum gate where the ex
cite-ory zeal feels those exploratory butterflies
come rushing from the biome signaling
the hair standing on the back
of whose neck?

Keep you mouth shut. Bang.
Words work wonders in minds that find the muse
used
is heard, not spoken.
That which tongue cannot say cannot be said,
it must be known to be shown.

Ask me,
Did Plato know Socrates? I'll answer,
We may agree to think so,
yay far, and no further,

we are after the act in fact called virtue

empowering force of life?
Let's find a list of all the named, personified
spiritual as-spects of the human being mortal

anger, envy, jealousy, lust, desire, needyness, deceptiveness

all the nesses and phobias and isms and ities…
the Greeks had a reason able personification of each
or, if the daemonic tool responds to forces
other than reason,

they had a god for that.

Is enthusiasm still a way to make a living?
Can a drummer get pedagogic puns

to dance some version of the the
Eat dust, I stomp your head,

shake the dust from my feat,
Truth is never described accurately as un believable
nor is the bearer of truth, whither so ever the dis-connector

lurks, seeking to devour the power

if you are virtuous, as a viral entity,
you are unbalanced,
double minded material carnal spiritual
trip.
Too much data for

We lost some.
So? Misery loves company, all things end up adding love,

this is the edge.

Envisage reality as an abalone spiraling into
exit-dance ridden by a musical octopus

calling colors to the blind,
casting single you lore ity if ied

singularity. Point.

waited, If I'd waited
patience
suffer it to be so now, you need no agony.
Let patience have her perfecting work.

Be ye. Perfect.
As I am me. be you,
God is said to have said
some sort of epigenetic switch wills on,

by reason of you being. Just ift you, by reason.
Re-read. I meant that you ify all you believe,
ift
even the lie that says you are not worth living.
-- the proverbial unexamined life -
-- I thought that was legendary
-- a category of lives not worth
--living. Can you imagine the exam?
-- must be tricky, examining the life you live as
-- you live it gives it value, makes it worth,
-- worthy of attention to the shape of this
-- worthy thing or thought or what measure?
--The unlimited is alone.
All one expand the band, trumpets, lyres

give us a big badrum

Oh, yeah, Socrates was to Plato, in my game, today,
as ******* has become to my Old Man,
Ai must be ah, the ay-eye, ahee

hee he heehee hee

This is as probably an opera as not.

whom, who, do you true rest as you hear and stand
being neath the knowing of the true rest

joy to your beautiful feet. Dare ye let them dance?
RELIGIOUS PRE SUPP
Heaven and Hell.
there is a heaven and a hell? no, that is not the first precept.
the first precept is
there is a mind smarter than me
that imagined me and empowered me to be
all I can agree with others to be

we were made
we make
we

too steep? Sisyphus, what's up?
Did you know Socrates?
Sophia mentioned the highest parts of the dust of the earth, did you really grind that dust
with this imaginary rock?

If you were me,
you would be making the world a better place.

Or thinking about making the world a better place.

Someday, after you learn being me makes you
*******.
Really, dead center on the spects, carazy smart
seri-al-owzly simple minded
regarding pre-literal ideas that few, if any

besides you, me now, ever literally take for granted,
for God's sake.
Right, that's some good to be done-

set that blasphemin', God-blamin', goofball free.

If you were me,
you would be hoping nothing you are thinking
is really doing what you are thinking. But it did.

You ever been in an angel bar? I know where some are,
if I were you,
I'd take the dole and hang out widimall day. They are
here to serve. It's in their contract, and they love

leading expeditions into the unknown unknowns, ain't
never been this far before.
Okeh. That did it. Conway Twitty, I could not
have guessed...

Serious poetry, Nietzschean twit. Is laughable.

If you were me,
you would know this is in the cycle. This is whatchamightcall,
the way home, the short version-cut.

I look out on the world from the cave that I am in.
The cave and I are one, sheltered and shadowed from the strangers of the world around me,
And it has been this way for so long that I cannot fathom what the outside is like
The outside is reality and I am not ready for that, not yet.
But how can something so seemingly beautiful and lush be reality, when all its qualities equal fantasy?
Perhaps the cave is my reality
A dark, dim place where loneliness and fear of the unknown drown you.
Many times I have thought this over, pondering the subjects in my mind like spects of debris floating in the wind
And I realize I do not want either,
Yet one day I realize that I must choose
Whether I prefer the brutal, harsh reality of the world,
Or the false, artificial world that only fools believe to be real.
And then, I think again, that I know I am not ready.

You're the flower I never had
Precious like the blood that bought my salvation
My heart is painted with your love
And your absence makes you more beautiful
For you who made me abstain from all habits
And i aborted all my fears and disbeliefs

Did I ever tell you you're raised in the
Billboard of my mind
As I see you in every single
Thing I do
I have buried my spects
To see no other and focus on a treasure
I bought when my heart was hunted by
Heartbreaks
I can't see the future but i feel your closeness
like the branches to the tree
Am planting a garden of Faith
Hope to stand over all calamities

like me or not, am here to stay
but only on purpose.
whether in the short or long-run,
i have got the courage to carry on .
Though many bare blind thoughts
i stand to sieve them for sense,
cause all i care for is positivity in the mind,
a listening ear, an open mouth to give the tongue
an opportunity of express, amidst misery
or fortune.

what i see can't be read, yet what i read can be seen
and what i bare is unbearable yet i still bare it.
what i think is not in my memory,but part of my thoughts
and what i act comes from my brain.
the brain uses energy to think
though food eaten doesn't go to the brain
what i feel is pain in the chest yet my brain holds the issue
in question.

so sorry for those whose Hearts decide without
contemplating; and have their minds open to
any ideas whose origin sounds worse
than a midnight horror

am not a fan of hear say but though easily taken
by facts.
stinking facts that rest the dead in peace,
and makes the winter surrender its
coldness for warmth.

a-pair of spects is not enough
to help me see this happen
rather the astonishing faith i bare
bends the ocean waves
to grant me a safe stay.
The untamed memories cling unto my back
strongly guiding me never to give up
but focus with passion.

And thereafter; wash my illusions
not to the setting sun
but the night moon to light the disgraced souls
with an ever-brightly-shinning tom-morrow.
my strength lays in my hope
my hope surrounded by faith
for its faith that i believe:
" all is possible"

Whenever I see a sunflower I think of you. No matter where we lived, in the summers you’d bend your back to the earth beside our porch step and you’d raise magnificent flower beasts with their rough stalks, edible seeds, and gentle yellow petals, sometimes it seemed you cared more for them than you did for me.
Whenever I smell peaches I think of you. Not real peaches, but that dollar store lotion you would buy. You stopped wearing it after your sixth child, after your light grew dim, and we thought it died. I found an empty bottle of this lotion in the heaps of our rubble on yet another evicted moving day, its plastic insides held the smell of you before you started to hide. And in my garbage bag suitcase I hid your memory away so that I could find you again at the next place.
Whenever I cross a mosaic path it stirs an image of you breaking glass, pressing transparent cuts of colors to wet cement slabs, I would revel in awe of your art, your makeshift thrown-together crafts, and now I can not sit in a church beneath stained glass without your face replacing mother Mary, but I am no Christ figure, and you are not so Holy.
Whenever I see a drawing of the sun I think of your tattoo. A black flaming sun, eclipsing the spider beneath its place, chiseled into the bark on your back. Is this the same spider you saw above my cradle as I slept? You say it was a massive thing, crawling toward me, stopping you dead in your tracks. You say this spider popped into a puff of crystal spects, that you ran to me and saw nothing but a resting baby. It took you years to finally cover the spider on your back, but when you finally set the sun in its place you forgot color from your blaze and cut in the black. Maybe this is why I was born with embers in my hair, my locs are the ancient flame you lost from your belly. My sheath, my skin, pale porcelain, can only thrive when kept out of the sun’s sight. Did you tattoo yourself with this in mind?
This whole world reminds me of you. This is both good and bad. I could have never avoided your poison, less I were never born. You gave me nightmares and lost my heart in boxes every time we moved. You showed me bright colorful beautiful things, like the mosaic glass, I first saw you lay it out in patterns catholic saints would admire, and with the very same shattered frame you cut your face in front of me. That was a horrible scene, but it taught me something. That suffering and beauty can have a thin line between, that tragedy can become the art only I can bring. I know from you, my only true mother, that people are both good and bad, that the world is forever holy and evil all at once, and that there is nothing one can do to prevent casting great pain onto those we love the most, but of all these extremes and places in between the only thing that exists on every plane is the love we have for each other.