"unconditioned" poems
My grandfather passed away on a dewy September morning;
About 17 years ago;
My grandmothers glass eyes still draw a picture of fright in front of me;
I remember as she sat silently for hours;
Cold , vulnerable;
As if she was robbed of her breath;
Since then she has sliced her life into two parts;
Before baba, after baba.
Yesterday as we sorted her cupboard;
Over hot chai;
I asked her about a saree;
" I think it was before baba" she says , like an unconditioned reflex , an involuntary knee ****
They don't teach you how to love like that anymore;
Love like this swallows dictionaries and renders meanings, meaningless;
It moves mountains and drowns rivers;
It spoons the hatred and vaults it.
My grandmother never went to school;
Even at 24 today, whenever I see her;
She presses a 500Rs note into my fist and asks me to buy something sweet for myself;
Last time she did that, she told me he taught her how to count money after they were married;
And to say words like "curd" and "rice";
Every year on his death anniversary;
She still cooks food for people;
With a metal rod holding the bones in her thighs;
And pressing the bleeding points of her psoriatic palms;
She keeps adding cards to her monument;
And remembers love;
Everyday;
In hushed muted tones;
In lemon pickles and measures of salt;
And in a way that stuns me the most;
Without even realising.
Aug 29, 2018
Aug 29, 2018 at 2:46 PM UTC
Upside-down and unconditioned I
climbed my tower.
Sprinkled my flecks and dodges.
Wistful-eyed, in soul surrender
with my twin wild roses, I grew.
Sunset in mauve near sparked attention
cop politician any progressive crew
and all the while
I whinnied to the moon.
Before the door was broken into
under-rooms had shut, had disappeared.
Streaks of starlight filled the streets
and sailing, flew.
This is way the desert sings
tra-la-tra-lee.
Tra-lee-la.
Apr 4, 2019
Apr 4, 2019 at 9:06 PM UTC
once I had a master
whose name lent some dignity and glamour
now I wander
free of institution
free of protocol and guidelines
I am the wandering ronin
nowhere to belong, related to none
and so coming in to freedom
when I was within Order and File And Rank
when I was within Identity and Badge and the Group
I had recognition and complacency
Now I am the ronin with no labels
wandering as I desire
unfettered as the birds of the sky
and as the ocean waves
Now I have no rules to follow, no obligations
just the rhythm of love and justice
Now I see all that I thought was necessary was but a burden;
the price for my place had been my freedom
And now I am the wandering ronin
uninhibited, unconditioned, free
as a sparrow might choose to rest where it pleases
Sep 4, 2012
Sep 4, 2012 at 9:42 AM UTC
I’m in the same place as all of yous, but I’m absent minded and got misanthropic contempt, like anthropomorphic deer by the highway watching Cadillac surgery. But deep cardiac compassion, all you idiots are inside of me, lashing out with lively love. Scorns used to scar, but now I smile. **** the struggle you’re on, and put your shoes on the final platform. It’s not truth mama, it’s death. Have you tried it? Me either, we’re both among breathers. Now, tell me about your facts in expressions unconditioned by human history. Tell me about those bats on your shoulders that babble obscenities like Black Beard’s parrot, named ****** He speaks not of this century, so his ***** are now children’s songs, sung around plastic bonfires, trying to roast electrical socket covers. To no avail.
Born human mightiest
Socially slighted and far-sighted
Let’s bash through hierarchy
I said bash
you P.C. crusader
cold as a computer
slaughtering the people’s good language
in the name of removing something savage
instead of asserting a new image
A true sign of the artist
but I’m no artist
Dec 15, 2013
Dec 15, 2013 at 12:00 AM UTC
Learn to write again
learn to type right
first time in 3 decades of life
I want to write closer to when I think
speed time, to slow it
make it feel like I do more
like I was in my teens or early twenties
**** these days 3 go by and it feels like one
I count my blessings to build confidence
Life grows more cruel but
I might win if I act like already won
Chaos magick, nay we do not speak of it
You forgot to pretend
to suspend quests for rationality
No longer moved by a book or film
We conditioned to be unconditioned
only to realize we ought to been wistfully in the herd
the whole time
We're the Bodhisattvas forestalling enlightenment
to get drunk with the butchers
after decades of sober high ground
We're the over-analyzers
lamenting our anachronisms in self-assuring
new philosophies
Either fully embrace one or drop out of being smart at all
the only tolerable choice to start to enjoy life again
No, no it's a false dichotomy
I want to be the eternal well-wisher
no matter the decadent displays
The shared dream of a soon to be future
We scavenge and defend
through pockmarked streets
make shelters amid crumbling concrete
We forgot how to imagine a secure society
Measured expectations and social safety nets
they took it all away along with our balanced serotonin
I used to get all jazzed up over a library book
but now the images promise us much more bliss
right around the corner
But it never soothes
never comes close
We cannot buy the contentment you claimed to offer
so we'll get it in collapse
We'll be sniped, starved, and deranged
but the thought of that life
makes us whisper excitedly to ourselves
"finally something has happened to me."
I, the eternal well-wisher
will wag no more fingers at preachers of death
Neither will I become them nor pity them
Nov 1, 2021
Nov 1, 2021 at 10:01 PM UTC
poor Man
was made in the image of God
(especially man, especially the he's!)
and so he he he must abide
with rules and propriety
and commandments and ideals
whereas I,
I am free to go
where I choose
to wing myself
(no doubt I fear the fly-swat
though I escape that mostly with dexterity)
ah, strange that it is a petty fly
just a common fly, a housefly
just me
that knows unconditioned freedom;
for I have no ideals to pursue
and am not judged nor do I judge
and can fly low and high
and no one cares if I feed at dung-piles
and sit cleaning my feet on most sacred altars
or run up the nostrils of most reverend masters
ah, to be a fly -
far better a short soul-less life
(ended perhaps by your fly-swatter)
of daring and freedom
than an eternal life of burning Hell
or eternal, unquestioning drugged obedience
poor Man
was made in the image of God
(especially man, especially the he's!)
and so he he he must abide
an eternity
of rules and propriety
and commandments and ideals
Oct 21, 2010
Oct 21, 2010 at 2:52 AM UTC
~~
my world, my womb
unconditioned but air conditioned
too many frequencies make fusions
many more intuitions gathered a lot intentions
grew great confusions
my womb, my world
the ultimate heaven that proven the sense of love
that belongs spring that sprung
my mother's face
that certainly traced a weird tune which grew red rashes,
scratches on my mother lower abdomen
I'm just eight months old
and my skin getting cold,
Even I could not told to my mother what I gather in the womb
If I make the images zoom and
if somehow her rose will bloom
which only gain,
a huge pain that could not share or even bare
the world that never care
to my mother
where there is my womb, my world
and I'm only eight months old,
getting cold,
too cold...
~~
@Musfiq us shaleheen
Feb 9, 2016
Feb 9, 2016 at 1:20 PM UTC
How unconditioned our love used to be,
but you made a habit of drinking poison while you sleep.
Now death holds you accountable for your sins
While six feet below maggots feast on your decaying skin.
I was once a slave to my lover's every whim,
but time has an endless pool for me to swim.
As days go by I replenish the black dahlias on your grave and a lover's remorse is something I do not crave.
Betrayal of trust and fiery rage
Your body now lies in a wooden cage.
If I had one last dance in your embrace
My very soul might begin to break.
Before my insanity slips back to stability,
I remember how death did seem so desirable on your lips.
Jul 27, 2023
Jul 27, 2023 at 3:26 AM UTC
Let these words embodied in tone slither inside you
like the illuminous snake in the garden,
He who would choose wisdom over blissful ignorance, come forth
Primordially flicking tongues like a fleshy breeze touching the ******** of your heart,
Making your soulgasm explode,
shaking and shattering,
The walls of this mass illusion
That you and I are separate conscious,
two brilliant waves cresting in the same dazzling ocean
Or that words mean anything at all
Follow my sign posts,
they lead to a wooden paddle boat on the muddy shore of a river
Climb inside as we slide with our backs against the dew wet morning grass
Floating in space, staring at the vaulted ceiling of stars
Beyond, behind, infinite light of time, we go as pilgrims
Once across the murky water, shimmering waves, we leave the boat
We put down the girl, whoever and whatever we still carry
We put it down, under the bohdi tree, all the arrows are slung a thousand times;
blotting out the sun,
and darkness covers us in mortal fear
But we speak in music now, we speak in flowers, and symphonies
And dilated eyes see lotus petals unfolding at the center of the arrowhead,
blossoming into divine corruption and ecstacy
so terrible that you must turn away from eternity
for now we have no answer to that magnificent shining face
that turns our hair white
We have no answer for that glowing burning face
that casts us scattered into the deafening void,
that beautiful face so terrible
we turn from truth,
we dance with death, her hair radiant,
we only are permitted to see
the stupendous *** of God on holiday
when we enter the church,
bells ringing, tolling the death of Absolute Primal Man and Woman,
unconditioned individuality, original freedom
Yet we still turn,
some taking the lead in mortal tango,
swinging to keep the beat as best we can,
and when we step on a toe, we throw our heads back and laugh wildly
And passionately tongue kiss the mouth of our defeat
with lust and longing, pressed close against our heaving chests
because nothing really matters,
that is what I say,
because if nothing really matters,
then everything’s okay
Nov 26, 2014
Nov 26, 2014 at 11:07 AM UTC
The strange thing is,
it wasn't there on the day.
I'm sure of it.
Ben MacDui, April, 1993:
cloudless, blue, glorious.
Three boys out from the city,
out from the flat grey sprawl,
shouting and laughing
into the giant empty sky.
We were there by the grace of two kind men,
teachers,
who knew of greater things
than the classroom had to offer.
But now,
looking back,
the cloud has descended.
For every three of my footsteps,
one chilling, giant crunch rings out
in restless pursuit.
Shadows are cast across clouds
that simply were not there
and an unconditioned joy cowers
beneath the brocken spectre,
the Big Grey Man that followed
unseen, unguessed, and uninvited.
Dec 12, 2010
Dec 12, 2010 at 5:01 AM UTC
To the long life of Isaah - the best lived one ever.
Another was never as valiant as he,
Intensely courageous, loyal, and steady.
Looking, there was never one quite so clever.
Being a faithful friend, one need not bat and lash
Afore he is at the heel with love and praise
Ready to briefly settle his lazy and melancholy days.
Kay he is not nor can he be found in the nine circles of ash.*
Living the lives of seven for every one,
It is his experience and wisdom that outshines all.
Called by just one name: Isaah the Most Majestical.
Knot an attic finch can render him undone.
Proving to be a companion of the most devoted,
Always a steadfast reminder of a loved unconditioned like no other.
Wallowing in the absence of those as glorified as a forgotten mother,
Still never so great a malaise as not to bound with joy though richly coated.
With his dignity and poise standing out among the rest.
Others never matching his beauty; oh so fetching.
Outstretched hands grasp in vain, with his speed there is no catching.
For of all the friends of man, he is still found to be among the best.
Jan 7, 2011
Jan 7, 2011 at 9:52 PM UTC
where do you go when you think of me?
do you go to lying on the wood floor with my head in your lap;
do you go to driving with the windows down and the cold air running past us;
do you go to the songs i wrote down and hummed for you through hour-long car rides;
tell me what you think when someone says my name.
tell me where you go when you miss me,
where do you go?
do you try to drown out evenings where we smoke too much and stumble around grocery-store parking lots
with all the streetlights shut off behind us;
do you try to erase the way my thumb moves over your hand, like reflex, like my hand in my hair, like unconditioned and honest;
do you bite your lip when you hear terrible radio songs and your passenger seat is empty;
tell me,
where do you go when you hear my name?
where do you go when you think,
oh my god,
i lost her,
i lost her
Feb 16, 2017
Feb 16, 2017 at 10:04 PM UTC
Innocence
Unconditioned
Pure
Radiant
Opinionless
Present
Aware
Open
A sliver of light
in darkened haze
teaching without preaching
innocent eyes
without boundaries
inherently loving
their unbiased heart
is a compass
for us all
Aug 23, 2013
Aug 23, 2013 at 1:21 AM UTC
There is a chance
it was all in her mind.
At first glance
her essence would unwind
dim secrets that dance
until one goes blind:
two worlds split,
but only one confined.
One world set free
of frenzied things.
Trapped in complete
illusory strings,
was the other world
that’s dark and cold;
too loveless to swirl in
for any soul.
Here, only shivers her heart
would devise
for a woman torn apart
from her own demise;
one incapable to love
and for to care,
as her silence above
screamed, “Mommy wasn’t there.”
Diving this sea of oblivion,
our lady petitioned,
unrequited love, one unconditioned,
for all unloved and not cared for,
who now searched only for a closed door.
So, when our lady, flaming with passion,
devoted her love in unlimited fashion,
most were startled,
some terror-stricken,
by a truth their world
had only forsaken.
Two months passed,
as a year of leap it was,
the moon and stars
and a twilight dusk,
with prison bars
transported our lady
from one world - dark -
into another. Maybe?
In this new world,
she was ONE with trees.
The squirrels, too, knew
how to please,
her thoughts, perceptions,
and degrees
to which our lady
accepted with ease.
All seemed so real,
yet unrealistic.
A man she’d seen
on TV, a mystic,
with talent so broad
and success, too,
that our lady
fell hard for him;
yes. It’s true...
A million fences
disappeared
upon entrance,
for the one she found
was pure as gold,
not rugged, *****
or too old.
He seemed to know
more about our lady
than the lady knew of herself,
indeed.
With love and precision
this man could foresee
that she is the one,
and for her is he.
But she knew nothing of this world so foreign,
for the laws of the old world were creeping in;
the chains that bound her left in storage
and due in time for her soul to binge
in emptiness and despair to shove,
while her soul-mate stayed behind to love
the eerie dismay of our lady’s eyes,
which he knew even in disguise;
they hurt, they feared, they gently skewed
but now they bid him an adieu,
for the world she’s from exists with things,
these ugly, invisible things called “strings.”
May 22, 2016
May 22, 2016 at 10:33 PM UTC
I’ve been bleeding
black and blue bubbles
through extruded cartridges.
Leaving doilies soiled
on your dressed tables
without placing a touch.
Trying to donate gifts
from my darkening life
to a priceless recipient.
Pushing your peace away
with each bubble blown
onto ink-smeared surfaces.
My mental misfires
cause my life line
to tangle and retreat.
I’ve tormented my threshold
with a shattered appendage
that over extended its reach.
As I twist tourniquets,
I represent one unconditioned
for appreciating being love in truth.
Please, reset my uneven mending
and apply an encouraged healing
by molding me in wrappings of you.
Nov 24, 2012
Nov 24, 2012 at 3:56 PM UTC
Consciously curating the thoughts that stream through
offering a space in mind , working the mind
not just a block of damp cheese soaking up the leftover gruel but a fine fine piece of raw chocolate sweetened a tad by maple syrup and dotted with raspberries
that's me allright.
No matter the folly
It's time to rise and shine
Self consciousness really doesn't suit me
I know I got a few bruises but and I'd rather be amused than some kind of fanatic muse to a ***** artist any day
Humor is the hotline to Unconditioned Love Centers .
Snapping and projecting at other people is really lame self-defense because i'm picking fights with these tactics,
exaggerating anthills with this mindset
and digging graves using two left shoes with this clouded vision
from which
ultimately
I'll have to climb out of
because I'm not dead and no one was attacking me in the first place.
Why is it so difficult to be honest with myself when I'm faced with an error in my judgement or an unhealthy way of life is beguiling me to stay on tap?
Ignorance of Inner life, Inner worlds and Inner vision.
Got me trippin at ego's palace , high on self-pity
Drunk and dizzy on sickly sweet aggression.
It's a scandal that these spaces of inner lands are vastly ignored as children and youth, blindly wondering the world confused
with a rhythm that is skewed
because I know more about the gossip of the evening news
when really, this is where the treasure is, this is
where the wisdom rests
this is where the magic lives!
All inside my beating chest, burrowed back beneath my eyes
somewhere where the 5 senses would be throughly surprised
accessed through quiet stillness or ecstatic joy
known to many as chills along the spine or the tingles of goose bump whispers
access to dimensions unfathomed
all waiting
for the space to become
realized , actualized and known.
I've realized, i'm a seasoned traveller through these Inner pathways and I've been holding myself back for fear I'm not beautiful enough
but
You know, if I hang around and wait for all you lot to catch up or for myself to suddenly be "like everyone else"
I'll never make it back with the goods in time
because
there is something more fun than enjoying depression
it's called not enjoying depression!
Dec 17, 2014
Dec 17, 2014 at 9:17 AM UTC
Found in the fog of a destroyed city
Spinning with ramble and tassels
Clouded covers of amethyst hues
Old stories are never to old to tell
The words we spoke across shores
Under the tree is a home we belong
We forgive as the rains pin on tins
Swallowed in shallow momentums
Did I get it wrong as I saw the light?
Unconditioned and astray, all alone
Is it ever too late to unwreck the ship?
For these waters bonds us together
Apr 5, 2016
Apr 5, 2016 at 10:54 AM UTC
Love is a special, two way street,
On which one day some may place their feet.
To truly love someone you must understand,
Change from them you can never demand.
Jun 27, 2014
Jun 27, 2014 at 10:08 AM UTC
Unconditioned to channeling the inner parody,
Actualizing the adaption of an animal apt for apathy, actively act in atrophy.
The vessel a fractured vapid faculty,
Of exactly the amount of human trapped in how not to be.
Lock and key, the property you deem your thoughts; a metropolis of atrocities.
Listen, don't listen, push and pull the pensive pistons,
Re-position, your decisions, until you got what you'd envisioned.
Nov 6, 2017
Nov 6, 2017 at 7:38 PM UTC
father
a being
needed for expenses
mother
a being
granted for love
son
a being
carry family cross
daughter
a being
depute missing role
pet
a being
display unconditioned love
postman
a being
deliver the future
servant
a being
nourish our ego
Jan 6, 2016
Jan 6, 2016 at 2:05 AM UTC
in the limitless manifestations of
His bountiless mercy is the gift of two precious, precious, women
in my life;
Safiyyah, my mama and
Rahmah, my grandma.
there is nothing more i could ask from Him,
when He completes every moment of my life
with the blessing of these two ladies.
Safiyyah, the pure one, Rahmah, the kind, merciful one.
and He acquaints me the understanding of a love,
utterly unconditioned
sacrificial
and true
of the purest within the innermost
manifest within their smiles.
the Prophet, peace be upon him, said;
"Paradise is at the two feet of your mother."
Nov 18, 2016
Nov 18, 2016 at 3:31 AM UTC
If I wait to finish my
chores,
to finish my food
all the tiny
notifiers to my superego,
my id
would wither
music, writing, commiserating,
and commiserating
eight-fold path that could
fit in my pocket
I can play
Make children with songs
that have been inside me
half a lifetime
when I picked up an axe
14 year old me
Shyer in most ways
but bolder
in interesting ways
I walked the path
humming 4 noble truths
in between theses
erratic days
I lived a myriad of lives
I fear it’s all
swirling to be the same
Circles within samsara
used to last for
months now I’m stuck for
years
and I no longer
wish to become
unconditioned
Nov 21, 2021
Nov 21, 2021 at 8:49 AM UTC
Sound pierces silence in the dead of night.
She awakens to prowl the path of destruction.
Screaming fills the air as the hearts of man sink into despair.
Feeding quietly on their souls the beast stares off - oblivion soon to follow
No one knows what's ahead - cowering in darkness they know death will soon fill their nostrils.
A stampede through their home causes shrieking and pandemonium.
There is no happy ending but hope lies in the unknown of extinction.
An unconditioned stimulus controls the innate reward pathway of her sick mind!
HABITUATION!
I'll never forget - though she will, truth lies in the size of the response which slowly fades into the dark.
Mar 7, 2018
Mar 7, 2018 at 7:29 PM UTC
the pleasing rhythm of
your life entrains my heart
gives it loft
to sail above myself that
it may die and I become alive
this is nostos
gesture to Home
greater than
this is Illich’s dying from
Death
unconditioned
unconditional
conditioned by Love
your eurythmia sails me
over the seas of
my limits
and beyond the mountains of
my intents
a realization of the loft in my soulbones
reaching up as
Love reaches down
the two meet at the
phoenix star a
supernova from our
supernova
c. 2017 Roberta Compton Rainwater
Nov 12, 2017
Nov 12, 2017 at 2:19 PM UTC