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Path Humble Jul 2023
Empyrean Heaven (there is no promised land)



there is no promised land)

the promise is where you stand
at this exact moment, where you
stick the landing every morn best,
best you can, assess the window’s
first delivery of the status of where
you are, whom you are, bent or *****,
empty or full, impoverished or worse,
sated, foolish or brave, (dis) believing
the top of world is planted beneath your
feet; but above, at this the fiery places of

Empyrean Heaven.

Empyrean Heaven, nearest to me, thy there~thee
will find, beyond the heaven of the air and the
heaven of the stars, no land, the incorporeal
existence, carefree, know this you-human,
an unpromised state is the causal residue,
of actions between human to human,
not thy god, irony delicious, earn it
with every thought, instinct, act
deserving of this, this
“unpromised place”


G.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
There was, declared Saint Basil, a certain condition, older than the birth of the world and proper to the supramundane powers, one beyond time, everlasting, without beginning or end. In it the Creator and Producer of all things perfect the works of His art, a spriritual light befitting the blessedness of those who love the Lord asks of you~human.


———————
Jul 3 7:59am
patty m  

so deep this beautiful confessionary write. Yes, as age gathers its flock to the fold, the black sheep stays a step or two behind. Mulling over a manifold of days, moments hours. The good the bad, the triumphs the failures. The times given in to sin, the cries for forgiveness. Behold the many times he lifted us up and answered our prayers. Faith is healing, and your words humble and sweet, speak volumes.
On the resilient Earth I flutter
today , tomorrow and day after.
Each day brings me closer to my zion , the love of being in peace within my sion.

Familiar surrounding and smiling faces, supramundane existence and the hope of being.
Cleansed soul and mind, every heart so kind .
Actions never judged and reactions never grudged .

The first rays of the sun gleam and every moonlight transcends into a sweet dream .
My whistles loud and clear, living in no fear , coarse yet pure !
Each day in and day out with super energy I scout .
Cheerfulness and laughter I tout.

© Mrunalini.D.Nimbalkar
This particular poem is an outcome of a small video I viewed where the people speak the language of the birds !

Trevia:-

The title of this poem is SHANGRI-LA which is an imaginary, beautiful place, often far away, where everything is pleasant and you can get everything you want.
Turkish bird language (Turkish: kuş dili) is a version of the Turkish language communicated through high-pitch whistles and melodies. Originally used by Turkish farmers to communicate over large distances and now down to 10,000 speakers, it is at risk of extinction as mobile phones replace this purpose. The language is associated with Kuşköy, a village in Turkey's northern Pontic Mountains. UNESCO included the bird language in its 2017 list of intangible assets.Other countries with whistling languages include the Canary Islands, Greece, Mexico, and Mozambique.
It simply inspired me to dream of this place as a utopia ! very raw, eternal and positive hence the poetic expression of the same thought process .
Thanks for reading.
#Fictional poem#
#Rhyming verse#
24/04/2020

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