"translates" poems
i've moved past my belief
in the Christian trinity...
for me...
the meditation stands
on the pivot of
the following translation
the hexagon,
start of david -
which translates
as the Holy Ghost -
which denotes
a congregation...
the pentagon?
of the befitting analogy
to the five senses...
the "son of man" -
or simply...
the myopia of man
having to excavate
the sixth sense
using telescopes,
microscopes, the like...
and, finally?
on a hand of five extensions,
there are four...
the square...
Y H
⠁⠑ read clockwise
like English traffic
H W on a roundabout.
which? denotes the father...
if the Hebrews "think" they
can hide their vowels?
the Latin answer is...
to interpolate Braille into
their language...
and Emperor Nero would have
appreciated it...
whether with, or without
the Byzantine propaganda machinery
of the nevus testamentum...
and it wasn't a propagandist
piece?
how much longer did the eastern
Empire, outlive the Western
empire, when the onslaught
by the Ottoman's reached
Constantinople?!
the Greek were craving
a cultural revival!
they believed the Romans
to have origins in Troy!
they plaid the weakest cultural
card of Judaism,
revamping it into Christianity...
hell... that's what i believe...
and i'm not about to meet
a Jehovah's Witness propagandist,
or some aged Pakistani
citing the Quran on a park
bench...
or some Scientologist
on Oxford St. with his wacky
machine...
or some pseudo Hare Krishna
monk with a book about
some guru, pushing it like
marijuana...
to change my mind on what
i'm digesting!
plus?
⠽ ⠓
Æ ( read anti-clockwise)
⠓ ⠺
fits in perfectly into the Adam
and Eve narrative -
as with all mythology -
given the extent of time...
nuance, metaphor...
abbreviation...
ars poetica!
Aug 19, 2018
Aug 19, 2018 at 8:32 PM UTC
It's been long said in ancient Sanskrit texts,
"Yatha twam karasi,
Tatha twam bhogasi."
This roughly translates as 'As you sow, so you reap.'
This is true to the core but it's neither unconditional nor is it surely possible for you or me to be happy tomorrow even if we do good today. You might also have observed that sometimes you don't get exactly what you desired and yearned for when putting all your efforts. I will explain in the text that follows.
I am not Superman or a Godman blessed with super powers. I just believe in humanitarian virtues of course for all my life. And I don't despise the idea of theism. As some other people among the readers and their respective circles even I tame the same ideology about God having created the universe and then let us take charge.
I don't get involved in worshipping the creator, but I do thank that creator for having created us all. But how do I keep myself away from the various types of evils? The answer lies within.
What I identify as evil or deleterious to anyone or anything else, I don't do that and I totally despise all of it. Doing so I am aware that what I have been taking to and what I should get into. Whether it's my career or my love life, it almost totally depends on me and my Karma. The remaining few bits also depend on time and third parties who can affect my life greatly or maybe a little.
I don't know about what they quote other "Spiritual" people about and I feel that each of us can have our own views about time. I don't feel the urge to read about spiritual issues written by some well-publicised so called "Spiritual Gurus or Dharmatmas" who talk about out of the body experience.
The next time you think about some problem posed to you, your relative or a close friend, do try the following:
Just get out of your own mindset, think about the issue from a neutral point of view with your sixth sense (common sense) in right place. You're bound to find out the best way for solving it; let it be life or let it be any matter related to it.
Nov 12, 2013
Nov 12, 2013 at 4:27 AM UTC
when a heart broken
lover
pours out all
her feelings and
translates them onto
words. something
beautiful gets created.
appreciated by many but
never the one
she's always written her
heart out for.
Oct 29, 2018
Oct 29, 2018 at 1:33 AM UTC
Past years reminding me of ancient ideas, wasted hope on young lustful love
which now translates to the tune of reluctant,
senseless adoration as I watch
my first birdie take flight
and spread his wings like a majestic eagle in the sky.
I wave goodbye.
You know I'll always remember
the first summer we spent together.
In the good times, and through all the bad
concern and dim hopes were all we had
but then, she heard wings of all sorts
scattered at her front door flocking
My birdie came knocking
stopped the boat on uneasy waters from rocking.
Opened up his tormented soul for me to see
and asked every graciously "forgive me?"
I pleaded, "but it was I who'd sent you away!"
and it still haunts me to this day
that I hurt my best friend
and thinking of those tainted sheets in which I lay.
But you told me not to worry, not to fret
the past is the past,
so lets start off where we finished last
we were stupid, carefree and naive
we knew no greater truth than hair dye & ****
And simple things,
like paintings, a smile and teddy bears
were all we needed.
But I'm here today to prove
That I will always stay true
To give guidance and support all the way through
Ex-Lover,
Best Friend,
Brother
I love you.
Apr 8, 2014
Apr 8, 2014 at 10:52 PM UTC
The sensual glee, that translates as conjugal poetry
gently speaks about the pair's easy, perfect chemistry.
Intimate moments exude a rare sense of aesthetics,
pointing to an alchemy they could easily spark
by their sultry proximity; minds and bodies, move
in resonance, and the waves of exhilaration brim and flow.
Feb 3, 2016
Feb 3, 2016 at 9:13 AM UTC
They are not long, the weeping and the laughter,
Love and desire and hate:
I think they have no portion in us after
We pass the gate.
They are not long, the days of wine and roses:
Out of a misty dream
Our path emerges for a while, then closes
Within a dream.
[The title translates, from the Latin, as
'The brief sum of life forbids us the hope of enduring long'
and is from a work by Horace]
5.1k
I find myself
Visualizing your glasses
When he removes his.
I imagine his crooked tooth
When I see yours
Impeccably aligned.
I learned a new word today,
Cafuné,
Translates
To the act of tenderly running one's finger through someone's hair.
I grew fond of the act
Long before
Getting hold of the word.
I know not whose I prefer
Now his I adore
But as much as I do yours.
This is a *********
Torn by emotions
We have history, we share chemistry
I love you
Though I love him too
Cannot think of him
Without thinking of you
This is a *********
I have come to loathe
But the truth is
I belong to both.
Jan 15, 2015
Jan 15, 2015 at 7:47 AM UTC
it was that metallica in moscow
prompt that got me started,
obviously the real relationship ended
and the writing began;
but what can you do?
as a child i wanted to become a veterinarian,
but god, why a poet?
it’s usually those who wished otherwise
who become mozarts in the unwanted category
of being themselves... just so there’s some sort
of anaesthetic expressed by ease and fluidity,
and apathy, and automation;
writing doesn't have to be of a lofty/ aloof
ontological orientation... it just has to be basic,
and true... it has to have a quality
where truth translates itself as fiction...
and you begin lying to yourself on paper.
Dec 12, 2015
Dec 12, 2015 at 10:48 AM UTC
Your Clouds, judged be it pickled or disdain
Have mostly trained your canaries to think
Whether to ruffle more Feathers; Then feign
Those Truest Notes dipped; And begroom your Mink
For who could solve what your Tampered Mind spies
Then translates such Harvest for a Desert
To Good Sense cheer; From Truth becomes a Lie
With Random Calls ring your Body to advert
And whilst you do, any Cause to forget
Those Taped Pioneers who endured your Phase
Pray for your Interview; And chance to beget
Which Startled Sweets was the Sweetest at base.
Yet still Occupied to that Video owned
Belittle what Possum's Cry now reknowned.
Mar 13, 2013
Mar 13, 2013 at 2:38 AM UTC
When I called the visual appeal of your body topography, you laughed. You misunderstood.
The sharp angles, the planes, the curves and the hollows of your body, of your skin stretched thin over bone, these are what I find beautiful. This is the topography of you, the places I want to map with my lips and teeth. The familiar places, my home within a home, my love.
Your body is geometry, trigonometry, mathematics you hate almost as much as the way I can trace your every rib and vertebrae. Perspective translates your flaws into aesthetic beauty, but your perspective is your own and you will never see what I do. I will love you enough for the both of us, darling, love your flaws more than your perfection just to give you what you deserve.
Dec 4, 2013
Dec 4, 2013 at 10:23 AM UTC
i.
i know that the ear is connected to the nose and the nose is connected to the throat and the throat is connected to the mouth
which is probably why, when we kiss, i hear symphonies
and when i hear "i love you" travel from your lips to my ear
i taste bliss on the tip of my tongue
ii.
i read somewhere that smell is most strongly attached to memory
this means that i will keep your t shirt forever, and maybe your shampoo, too
apparently photographs are not enough
iii.
someone told me that it is not the eyes, but the brain that sees
eyes are just transmitters
but what i see in front of me must be love because it does not register with my mind at all
but my heart translates it beautifully for me
it knows exactly why its own beat becomes erratic when you enter my thoughts
it knows exactly what's going on in this tenement of flesh i call my body
iv.
they say that the last of the five senses is not touch, but equilibrium
which is probably why, when i don't feel your hands in mine
when there is air and not skin
my whole world is off-kilter
i know what it means to fall in love
Aug 25, 2014
Aug 25, 2014 at 11:05 PM UTC
SHIVA
(Bijoylakshmi Das)
The silence of night scares you
With its eerie thoughts
Ever azar with doors wide open
To give vent to unrestrained dreams,
Never letting you to rise above
The mundane laws of existence.
Do you ever think of SHIVA
The eternal principle of the Sublime?
Sitting alone on the peaks of the Himalayan silence,
Speaking to you in His divine muse-
Of ineffable ecstasy.
The body is not all.
That obeys the physical laws,
The mind is not all.
That listens to odd yearnings.
And the spirit too is not your limit.
You have to go beyond
Far beyond life's petty limitations
To reach Truth, Consciousness and Bliss.
SHIVA, the enlightened.
Which translates human dialects
Into an indefinable divine hieroglyphic.
SHIVA, the Supreme
Creates the Universe,
Rules it too,
Annihilates when Harmony loses its identity.
The universal principle of Love
Gets bewildered in empirical rules of earthly existence,
And Spirit fails to rise above,
SHIVA opens His Third Eye,
In its piercing gaze
All lights fade and
The fugitive human mind finds no sojourn
He warns you.
Arise, awake
To reach your goal
Beyond the earthly ken.
(Bijoylakshmi Das Haridwar)
Jan 13, 2020
Jan 13, 2020 at 7:31 PM UTC
Granny gave me moccasins
To run and play in.
She got them from the pow-wow.
They made me swift
And light on my feet.
She told me
“Remember who you are”
Granny gave me a dream catcher
For my good dreams to fly through
And the bad ones to get caught in.
She got it at the pow-wow.
It made my nightmares go away
And gave me dreams about my ancestors.
She told me
“Remember who you are”
Granny gave me a totem pole
So that I would know our seven clans.
She got it from her father.
The Ani-gatagewi keepers of our land
Ani-gilahi and Ani-waya the peace and war chiefs
The Ani-kawi and Ani-tsiskwa earthly and spirited messengers
Ani-wodi and Ani-sahoni the creators of medicine
She told me
“Remember who you are”
Granny gave me a book
With the words of my people
And their stories.
She got it from the pow-wow.
I learned about our earth mother
And how we grew from her *****
She told me
“Remember who you are”
Granny gave me a day
To wear my moccasins.
She took me to the pow-wow.
I saw the people from my stories
And dreams.
My people and clans.
She told me
“You are ᏣᎳᎩᎯ ᎠᏰᎵ (Cherokee)”
*The seven clans of the Cherokee tribe: Ani-gatagewi translates to Wild Potato Clan (keepers of our land), Ani-gilahi are the Long Hair Clan (peace chiefs), Ani-kawi is the Deer Clan (earthly messengers), Ani-sahoni or Blue Paint Clan (medicine for children), Ani-tsiskwa or Bird Clan (spirited messengers), Ani-waya is the Wolf Clan (war chief) , Ani-wodi Red Paint Clan (medicine).
May 7, 2013
May 7, 2013 at 10:19 AM UTC
Oh the Archer, so brave in the sky! Think not, fool. Ruled by Jupiter, you liked to be liked by everyone, be the life of the party. Awwwwww, so transparent you are. This likeable, likey-like-like thing you try to weld translates to your horrific sense of insecurity, a second close to Cancer. You push your way through life, not out of real accomplishment, more out of riding the **** tails of others. You're the ******* scrub behind the velvet rope. In all reality, you simply drive a 325i from 2001. Sagittarius, the Universal world traveler in hearts and minds - lover of philosophy, you couldn't scratch your way out of local knitting club convention. You don't travel, you just write or yap about it. Good for nothing, what's the point of having a bow if you have no target, jack ***
Advice: Stay home please, stay out of my way.
Jul 1, 2015
Jul 1, 2015 at 9:39 PM UTC
Last night, ah, yesternight, betwixt her lips and mine
There fell thy shadow, Cynara! thy breath was shed
Upon my soul between the kisses and the wine;
And I was desolate and sick of an old passion,
Yea, I was desolate and bowed my head:
I have been faithful to thee, Cynara! in my fashion.
All night upon mine heart I felt her warm heart beat,
Night-long within mine arms in love and sleep she lay;
Surely the kisses of her bought red mouth were sweet;
But I was desolate and sick of an old passion,
When I awoke and found the dawn was gray:
I have been faithful to thee, Cynara! in my fashion.
I have forgot much, Cynara! gone with the wind,
Flung roses, roses riotously with the throng,
Dancing, to put thy pale, lost lilies out of mind;
But I was desolate and sick of an old passion,
Yea, all the time, because the dance was long:
I have been faithful to thee, Cynara! in my fashion.
I cried for madder music and for stronger wine,
But when the feast is finished and the lamps expire,
Then falls thy shadow, Cynara! the night is thine;
And I am desolate and sick of an old passion,
Yea, hungry for the lips of my desire:
I have been faithful to thee, Cynara! in my fashion.
[The title translates, from the Latin, as
'I am no more the man I was in the reign of the Good Cynara']
2.3k
she opens a pack of
sheffield english type number five cigarettes
i rest my head in her lap
as she reads a french newspaper
its raining in paris and theres a girl there who is unhappy
dreams of romantic places never have sad girls in them
she must be a tourist
she sips some strange brew of teas
that has a heavy bouquet
loam and flowers..like a sweet wine
she suddenly laughs and translates a piece of the
french news for me
but i dont hear what she says
i only hear the rich beauty of her voice
i only hear the captivating beauties of her
i lean up and kiss her
she tastes of the sea and english cigarettes
i am lost in her essence and her her girlish delights
she pokes me and makes me look at a photograph in
the paris newspaper...its the sad girl
she looks english
that graceful beautiful elegant sadness
that only english girls can speak without ever saying a word
jezebel sips her tea and smokes her english sheffield cigarette
holding it like girls hold cigarettes in that dainty way
i forget the english girl and her sadness
as i lay looking into the eyes of this dreadlock hippie queen
janis joplin plays softly from her mp3
shes tapping her bejewelled toes to the ancient music
bachelors in literature she loves the written word
she has read everything ever written by anyone
she has read her way through forty years worth of poetry by me
and corrected my atrocious spelling along the way
this is morning in her arms
now you know why i am so in love with her
now you see why she is everything to me
she leans down and lays a single tender kiss on my cheek
and tells me she loves me
this is heaven
Mar 21, 2014
Mar 21, 2014 at 6:44 AM UTC
Find your identity
Not in your Suffering,
No, we survive trauma
But keep on living because
Someone loved us once
Told us we can achieve
Anything
Fail I may but there’s comfort
In the safe heaven of your warmth
Yes, you guide me to a path
Of self-discovery, until I
Realised my full potential
Grandmother’s prayer
Spirit rekindled
Arise
The entire universe is wrapped
Around your slender neck
which translates as; Woman you
Are so God **** Beautiful
God done made you,
Beautifully crafted in a raw material
Known as melanin with a heart of gold
And your eyes contains all the light
God used to make all humans
For the love of God, celebrate you
For you smile in the face of adversaries
You raise the bar and brake records
At the setting of the dawn, and if anyone
Should look down on you
Made you feel inconsequential
Do not curse
Know your identity
You are not your mistakes,
No, not even painful childhood
Memories can define you
Woman your fireflies heart
Raptures in brilliance
Constantly,
Which allows you
To never doubt your worth
You are ingrained with love
Yes, you are the best version of you
Even in difficult circumstance
I admire that bravery
Down your spine
Nov 19, 2017
Nov 19, 2017 at 12:59 AM UTC
Through the darkest seed
Through the light split by blood and greed
They desire that which is forbidden
Yet persevere disregarding being forgiven
It's in disgust as infestations reap its greatness
Holding broken memories we soak in weakness
It's in these crown of thorns we rest in what we believe
Yet voiced with transparent lungs we grieve
We try to fight the silence but no one is listening
Screaming our emotions translates to whispering
As we bury their hope in the ground gasping their final last breath
We except their fate
Their destiny
Their death.
Even after death we feel their words resonate
As they breach the great white gate.
They are never forgotten, they are always loved
Looking down on us from above
-Joseph B Schneider
Aug 6, 2014
Aug 6, 2014 at 2:36 AM UTC
I, am a dreamer.
I will sit; still.
My mind escapes.
It soars and takes wing.
Capturing words that compel me,
Nay, force me to pick up a pen.
It searches my heart,
Explores my soul.
Takes energy from my feelings.
It travels to my past,
Taunts my present,
Questions my future.
Finds more words.
Herds them, into sentences.
It takes my passions,
Translates them to thoughts.
Colours them with hopes.
Carves them with doubts.
Reinforces them with truths.
Undermines them, with reality.
I, am a dreamer.
I write down,
Scratch out,
Translate, change,
Combine then rearrange
All these words.
You see my fears,
Hear me laugh,
Shout, curse
And question why.
You feel my pain.
My joys.
My happiness.
Tears as they roll down my cheeks.
Love as it leaves my heart.
I, am a dreamer.
I see how things can be,
There is logic to these.
Coupled with emotions
Braced from my heart.
Ignoring the would - ahs
The could - ahs
The should -ahs
The might be’s of my life.
No matter.
The power of my words,
The righteousness of their being
The bold advances of their meanings.
They are only as substantial
As my thoughts.
For I am not a prophet,
I, am just a dreamer.
So read my words.
Let them enter your mind.
Your heart.
Your soul.
Let them lead you
Down the roads I’ve traveled,
To embrace the Love I feel.
Partake of my passions.
Lift your soul,
Cry with me,
Laugh with me.
Find deep within yourself
What I find deep within me.
Do these things
Celebrate them,
Enjoy them,
Feel them,
Live them.
Then maybe; I won’t find,
That I am just a dreamer
Dan Gray
2004
Mar 2, 2013
Mar 2, 2013 at 1:45 AM UTC
I wish there were words to make you see
words to express these images
but im not a painter, neither much of a talker
i take solace in the silence
as there are sounds to shut out
no sounds keeping me from the symphonies in my head
The impulses recreating euphoria
that feeling of joy, which i wish i could share
i wish i had the words to express
but all i have is this silence
it gives me pleasure, it gives me joy
i wish i could share it
Babies, i envy the most
the only image that matters to them is that of their mother’s tired yet content face
in that little brain of theirs is imagination in its purest form
untainted by the world
dragons they haven’t seen yet, neither fair princesses
but even then they dream when they sleep
and those tiny brains of theirs explode into a billion different colours
and equal number of shapes, which none of us remember
That’s the reason for their smile
the laughter without a cause
because they haven’t been told yet how beauty is defined by the world
in their eyes everything is beautiful
they have seen true beauty
they show it to you by holding your finger in their puny hands
and you feel a sudden rush of warmth you feel when you look into a lover’s eyes
I wish there were words to tell you how I feel
words, to show you the world through my eyes
to describe the shapes I see when I stare at a wall for too long,
that feeling of wanting to fall back into a dream
the words to tell you why I love that one particular song
the one that plays over and over in my head
but somehow I can’t remember if I have ever heard it or not
One day I wish I find a dictionary that translates thoughts into words.
Jan 2, 2012
Jan 2, 2012 at 1:49 AM UTC
Perched against an ancient stone
That stands on top of the hill
Bathed in the crystalline light
Of a November sun
And wrapped in my winter coat
I listen
To the Makers of Wings
That dance through my being
Until
Dimensions shift within
While one reality is fading
A new one opens up
Giving access to
Beautiful geometry
Of multi-colored light
Dissolving matter into
Fluid rainbows that
Make me wonder:
Where does this body stop,
And where the stone begin?
There is no more I
Nor is there a You
There is no grass, no stone, no air
No cold or warmth
And
While my senses are blending
Light and sound
The veil is lifting
The feeling of connectedness
Leaves no room for thoughts
I drift in timeless space through
The eternity of the moment
That allows me
A glimpse of what I am
A chilly autumn breeze shifts
Dimensions back again
To where my brain translates
Geometry into matter
And tricking me once more
Into illusions
On the far horizon
Out of undefined grayness
Of multidimensional vapors
Ascending water
Reconnects as a cloud
And above me
In the blueness of the sky
White feathery wisps appear
A clearly visible Infinity Sign
Morphing into the double helix
Of a strand of DNA
How powerful the metaphors
We create along the way
As guidance on the winding path
Of the ever expanding Self
And out of the silvery cloud
Hanging over the sea
The White Phoenix is rising
© Jasmine, Wadebridge, November 2010
Aug 8, 2013
Aug 8, 2013 at 9:49 AM UTC
My Father wears a
Cologne of dirt and sweat,
cowboy hat and boots,
a moderately large belt buckle,
and a salt and pepper mustache.
When he sees me
his face lights up
and he embraces me
engulfing me in his
familiar scent.
"My baby" he murmurs
as his hands smooth my
hair. "Te Quiero Mucho"
he says as his lips make
contact with my forehead.
"I love you too much",
he translates. It feels as if
my heart is going to break
and my eyes well up with tears
"I Love You, Too" I choke.
This is met with another
embrace, kisses on my
cheeks, his stubble scratching
rather than tickling my skin,
and the touch of his forehead to mine.
Once a month for
16 years, this is what
has always happened. But
now the ritual is ended and my
Father's Cologne is only a memory.
Apr 23, 2013
Apr 23, 2013 at 2:43 AM UTC
Anxiety is at the heart of all that ails me
like my best friend ever, it has always been with me
So familiar, my anchor in the dark
I return to it endlessly to remind me that this is just like the rest
This new thing, this new test
is just the familiar torture you've known all your life
By my side, it destroys my mind, and I can't stop
this addiction, will always be with me,
The lies it tells me, that this turbo spinning depleting energy keeps me safe
That the constant tension that translates into fear and self hate
Is as it should, as it was set up for me
And blocks me, just when I want most to be free and easy
Letting go of my best friend, so scary, and feels so light
and beautiful, like the afternoon sun in a quiet garden
where everything is colorful and peaceful and the air is fresh and warm
and there is the smell of water from a hose...slightly rusty with an aromatic humidity
and little birds flutter about, and a sound of a buzzing insect appears occasionally
All is well, and from here I can do anything
but I catch myself: I am not safe without my best friend
and the ax falls down into the scene and it is now night and I am hungry and cold
and unwelcome and stalked and frightened, as it should be.
Anxiety is my enemy
It keeps me from this delight in life
and I can go on: and when I meet it again
I shouldn't welcome it in like a friend, but finally
be honest about it and say: go away
You have no use anymore in my life
You served me at one time, but that time is over
and you must evaporate
and I must face the fear alone, without you
You stay back, and I go forward, with courage.
Jan 22, 2014
Jan 22, 2014 at 12:03 PM UTC