"utilized" poems
In an instance,
I felt a calmness sweep across my body.
My body free of any restriction.
Her being my release.
Sweet liberties
Utilized by the touch of lips.
A period punctuated by perched lips.
Released in ounces of color.
The way she loved.
My tongue swirled around hers.
Fingers wrapped around her waist.
Brown peach flavored skin.
My addiction a place for her to stay,
Her bag broken down; piece by piece.
A home away from home.
Until the day she left.
I consulted family, I reached out to friends.
They say that she's no good
They say leave her be.
Truth be told
My vacancy left colorless.
Bland.
My tree grown fruitless
Revealed to me in bitter hunger.
The realization of perception.
Nothing left to fill my hands.
This vacancy punishable by death.
A ****** filled by her alone.
My fingers around her waist.
Her love sticky, sweet.
Swirling around my tongue.
My eyes left low
Anticipating her return.
They say that she's no good
They say leave her be.
Truth be told
I haven't spoken to them since
Dec 5, 2018
Dec 5, 2018 at 6:40 PM UTC
*The revolution will not be televised.
The revolution will not be televised.
The revolution will not be televised.
The revolution will be live-*
The revelation will be streaming through your Windows
laptops and smartphones.
The revolution will be blogged
Tweeted, liked, shared, RE-blogged RE-tweeted
and Stumbled Upon in between
midnight ************ sessions
sandwiched between funny cat memes.
The resolution will be HD.
It's evolution will be high speed.
The whistles will be blown at with frequency.
The revolution will be commented on;
Scrutinized.
Vandalized.
Scandalized.
Stylized and advertized.
People will pay attention -
People will forget to mention
that some stand up, occupy, riot
and die.
The revolution will not be televised.
The revolution be streaming live
through the filter of your choice.
The facts will be democratized.
The democracy will be corporatized.
The corporations will personified.
People, objectified -
Spied on and villainized
The powers that be will will lie, deny, and try to justify.
The people will be disenfranchised.
Prisons will be privatized.
Death drones will be utilized.
No one will bat an eye.
Because revolution will be multiplied, over-simplified,
The violence, normalized.
Lives, sacrificed
to satiate the Golden Calf's appetite.
The revolution will not be televised
but Jerry Springer will...
Go figure.
Jun 30, 2013
Jun 30, 2013 at 12:45 AM UTC
Negativity is nothing more than lack of assurance and doubt
This is what this lesson in helping you to work out
It means take negativity and build into positivity
Think on Negativity being only a set back in how one feels
Usually, Negativity comes from Negativity given
It surrounds people that project Negativity because of circumstances that happened in one’s life
They are the one’s that always sees negativity, but never work in seeing life as positivity
You must look beyond your depressed thoughts, and suggest positivity
That negativity causes people to not succeed
Negativity becomes like a forbidden flood needing to reseed
A person is focusing on someone else’s feed
But negativity has no place face to face
In fact, it’s all a waste
The energy that one stresses on negativity, could be utilized on constructive positivity
Negativity is a barrier like a detour, but you are only staying in one place
No movement in a hopeful pace
If you say today, the response would be tomorrow
But what one is saying, they are drowning on sorrow
Negativity is mental, but one must move into motivational
Motivational is the action that will start you on your way
Negative people now should be your getaway
This is your lesson for today
Go and achieve in every way
Live on every day
Jul 17, 2020
Jul 17, 2020 at 6:04 AM UTC
Some people just can't handle driving
Everybody goes mad on this road at one point or another
The consideration is to keep the hatred within your own car
There are tools to be utilized
The escapism of music for one's health
The catharsis of muttering to oneself
Nobody should hold it against you
If you scream inside your car
They should understand
If you wanted to express yourself outwardly
You'd just flip them off
The abbreviated visual version
Of attempting to insert negativity into someone's life
It's healthy to be hurt
Your heart telling your mind that their hatred isn't normal
It is now on you to let sleeping dogs lie
And forgive those that trespass against us
Humor is my exit off the frigid freeway
Children in grown bodies
Their clothes are too big on them
Clearly confused about how to act
Taking every side road that catches their attention
That's funny enough for me
I've never flipped anybody off on the road
I learned from my father's story
She gave him every excuse to be angry
And he expressed that to her
The intended effect was reached
Her susceptible emotions were breached
Leaving a wise man to question his own actions
What was the point of that again?
That's why I try to keep an even keel
While sailing down the highway
There will always be people
Who honk at you for driving down the middle of the road
Remember to let those sleeping dogs lie
Or they'll be roadkill
And it's not nice to laugh at little people
But no one will know if it's from inside your car
And you can cozy up to the comfort created
By the signs on the road
Warning those people
They're driving in the wrong direction
Jun 21, 2017
Jun 21, 2017 at 12:40 PM UTC
Whenever I get on the NH1 Grand Trunk Road,
I feel the pride of it being the oldest highway,
Built even before the documentation period.
King Ashoka got it built in the 3rd century B.C.,
Emperor Sher Shah got it repaired in the 17'th,
The British Company utilized it in 1857 1st war.
It was then gotten repaired only a bit by them,
Repairing such a long highway isn't easy at all,
It runs from Kabul up to Kolkata and to Dhaka.
Jul 17, 2013
Jul 17, 2013 at 6:24 AM UTC
This is more than “block” or “hide posts.” No, this is permanent, this is calling it Quits, this is “we cannot be civil towards each other after all, we cannot bear to even potentially see each other on our newsfeeds.” Unfriend. We are not Friends. We are Over. Unfriend means “out of sight, out of mind.” Is it a feeling of relief at the finality of something that wasn’t working, or a sinking feeling that yet another relationship has gone down the tubes? Probably a sick combination of both – unfriend means you’ve both finally called a ***** a ***** Given Up. “…I am done trying to be friends with you,” written in the Final message. Is anything really Final? It’s hard to know. Human relationships are messy. We try to cut people off when they hurt us. Unfollow on tumblr, block phone numbers, delete them on skype, unfollow on twitter, but sometimes we run back to each other when we cool off, despite ourselves, we think, no, it can’t be The End, it can’t be Unfriend, we had things in common, we had something, surely it can’t be Over. Can't we try again? But “Every new beginning come from some other beginnings end” as a song goes, and some endings are necessary. What we don’t want to admit to ourselves is that not everyone is a Good or healthy person, no matter how many chances you give them. And maybe some relationships are doomed from the start, maybe it really was your fault and you are just “incredibly selfish,” maybe it was their fault, it was probably everyone’s fault somehow or another in the end. There is a drop down option on facebook called Unfriend and when it’s finally utilized, no one really feels good about it. All it means is that it’s time to move on, once again. Find someone new. There are other fish in the sea.
Oct 29, 2014
Oct 29, 2014 at 12:03 AM UTC
i disavow my allegiance to the flag,
& to the Commonwealth of the Bahamas.
for we are not one people,
we are not united,
we do not live in love,
& we are unfortunately serviced.
what does the future hold for my Bahama land?
with our resources not being utilized for the betterment of our people...
but being sold to non-Bahama land.
no profits being aimed to,
or sources being owned by
our Bahama man.
as i lift my head to the rising of the sun in this Bahama land,
i see no hope for the future, no hope in my Bahama land.
no one to speak up,
the youth are out of luck.
the elders show no interest,
we are doomed.
still,
we march on to the glory..
but what bright banners do we have to wave high?
the means of the leaders are of no significance,
& i can no longer bear the pain that i witness.
how will we excel
if we do not love,
& unite?
going forward,
will we stand together
for a common, loftier goal?
as i lift up my head to the rising sun in my Bahama land;
i see anguish,
i see fear &
leaders with no care.
all the things i see are broad.
...but may the road that my people trod
lead us to our God,
that will help us on this march to save our Bahama land.
Jun 21, 2018
Jun 21, 2018 at 8:49 PM UTC
Psychopath, questioned and played with, complex mind games with
Paper fortune tellers and crystal ***** utilized by con artists.
Chrome decorated room filled with trippy, grippy, grabby men
With blue cats swimming around their head. Coherent words do not exist to them.
Sucrose breaks you down, sweet creature, and thieves the antimatter in your empty scull.
Your favorite song no longer passes through your hollow ears.
Notes and the beats... A heartbeat. The thrum of a low piano key in a house supposed
To be isolated and abandoned. You are not alone here, child.
The demons summoned her because of the lettered board between a mattress
And box spring. The springs are broken from too much activity,
Don't jump on the soiled mattress. That's how you receive punishment.
But one without two does not match the storybook your mother read to you.
The nauseating tale of role,play and ********** Everyone knows the story, seen the Disney.
You can run, but you can't hide from the memories of horrible visions
Given to you by the gods. Hold on, child. You will grow to be a man one day
Despite the nightmare of being a wolf child who clawed his way out of his mothers womb.
Jolt and sweat, forgotten top bunk , and a concussion;
The dreams are back. The recurring realities of a twin long lost, but somehow inside.
Dream catchers don't make the callback list, can't act for the life of them, but
They are beautiful against the scenery.
A porcelain doll holds the demon that hacked my system and took controll of my history,
And once again, she takes my place, fooling everyone into thinking I am here
When, in reality, I am buried six feet under.
Blood dribbles from the letters chilled into my stone, I curl and let them add more letters into
My back to symbolize the life I led. The collection of poems I wrote about you are the ones they
Cut into the skin on my legs, permanent reminders of what I have felt.
"What have you felt?"
Dec 17, 2013
Dec 17, 2013 at 10:13 AM UTC
I was an idiot back then,
those trips to Rebekah's hovel.
though they did make me sentimental,
for the days when her dad had taught me guitar
for eight weeks when I was thirteen.
she told me of a suicide dream
that utilized her iron deficiency.
I told her I would tell her parents
if she started pushing it in motion,
that made her cry,
though in retrospect, I wanted her to die.
I was at that misery factory age
when your heart pumps nothing
but razorblades and jealousy,
and the death of some overly-depressed
girl would at least give me a story to
tell.
I was a pseudo-lover,
writing page upon page
of poetry for Sheila,
I used an alias for her:
"Nature's Criminal".
It felt appropriate.
what she did to my
emotions seemed rather
unnatural.
we would kiss on dark, dirt roads,
and duck when cars would passby.
she would always preface
our encounters with,
"remember this doesn't mean anything."
now, Rebekah only writes to tell
of artists signed to Saddle Creek.
she got married to some diabetic,
acne-marred, sex-fiend that
bares the burden of a pet peeve
that revolves around bananas.
now, I only see Sheila,
when some boy is ********** her,
when she feels beyond used.
in her parasitic apartment,
I always remind her
they don't mean anything.
Dec 22, 2010
Dec 22, 2010 at 8:35 AM UTC
a swinging gavel is coming down,
smashing the glass mirror,
that once showcased,
my stupidity.
it is blatantly clear now.
the mirror is no longer a necessity,
or an aiding constant,
that I never utilized,
to my benefit.
Jul 30, 2018
Jul 30, 2018 at 3:25 PM UTC
The frequencies produced by our thoughts resonate with different aspects of our physical environment. Liquids, solids, gases, and plasma. When you combine two elements they may, or not, produce a reaction. A measure that can assure that no reaction occurs is too contain it. In a lab, in order for the observer to see the contents of the container, glass is utilized. Only rarely in case of highly volatile substances is a tinted or otherwise opaque container used. Boundaries. They prevent any of the substances from altering their resting state. Randy and I are highly volatile together. I wonder what a gas and a plasma can create through their union. I wonder if they can achieve fusion.
Dec 9, 2022
Dec 9, 2022 at 6:45 AM UTC
I am Vesuvius.
Beloved and seemingly sturdy and strong and safe.
People mill around my base,
Planting their food and livelihood in my soil.
People trust my seemingly sturdy and strong and safe appearance,
Not even considering the danger within me,
Until I erupt.
The swirling, boiling magma and the intense pressure form a deadly combination.
Everyone around me, everyone I hold dear is gone.
Everyone who talked and played and worked and lived near me is gone.
Everyone who utilized my resources.
Everyone that trusted me is gone.
It is then that I realize something about myself.
Inside that seemingly sturdy and strong and safe exterior,
I am toxic.
Aug 29, 2014
Aug 29, 2014 at 2:08 AM UTC
this but a nightmare tale
for the adopted child
he'd not been treated with
a meekness so mild
raised by parents
who were sick of mind disposition
they abused him
without having any contrition
the boy utilized by deviant grown men
for ****** gratification
there was no human decency
in this fornication
their child's photos
shown to online perverts
who'd drool at the sight
of these lewd adverts
as a mere babe the lad
was groomed for paedophiles
of his parent's wickedness
they'd be placed on criminal files
no Christmas Dreams
only a lasting memory of buggery
the child was deprived
of innocence in his infancy
Dec 8, 2016
Dec 8, 2016 at 6:26 PM UTC
POEM 44 (Chandelier)
*123, swing
123, swing
123, swing
swing from the chandelier
fly like a bird
forget everything
until morning light’s heard
and nothing exists.*
*123, feel my love
123, feel my love
123, feel my love
let your tears dry on the air
there is no shame
in wanting tomorrow
to never exist;
to exit the past
and just hold on
let me be your full glass,
open your eyes... and*
*123, see me
123, see me
123, see me
hold out my hand
lets chandelier
until morning light’s heard.*
Aztec Warrior 8.26.15
https://youtu.be/2vjPBrBU-TM
*(Note: Inspired by the Sia song “Chandelier”. I utilized the ideas
and some of the words to express an answer of sorts to this song.
This is another song where the music mesmerizes me and has added
meaning cause I understand the ‘shame’ when the morning sun comes up.
This poem is also dedicated to a very special friend and to the deeply felt
hope that they are doing more than ‘just holding on’.)*
Sep 5, 2015
Sep 5, 2015 at 5:26 PM UTC
This land in midst of mazed vales and meadows,
Of lofty icy Himalayan peaks and forestry.
Unique are the means utilized by the power players,
Be it the Islamists or Hindus on either borders.
Claim of their right to rule this land of the free,
A people distinctly different from their ideals.
Compassion for us seems long forgotten,
As we are constantly crunched beneath boot heels.
Where forth must we look for our liberation?
Has our God also forgotten our stressful plight?
Feb 5, 2016
Feb 5, 2016 at 8:15 AM UTC
Does this make me look
Deeper, more intellectual
Perhaps I'm a Sylvia Plath
Poems emerging out of me due
To the pigsty of a brain I've obtained
Or even I'm Emily Dickinson
I'll lock these god forsaken poems up
Only to be discovered after
I have died.
Having once again the chance to
Become immortal, post mortem
All due to the poems I thought
Were ****
I'll just keep writing.
I won't write for the sake of calling
Myself a Writer
But because I can forever exist, to forever be.
All of the personal pronouns constantly
Utilized in these writings evoke a
Feeling of self-hatred out of
My own narcissism,
What else did Emily Dickinson accomplish
That was impressive, before dying?
Simply she died, writing with until her old wrinkled hands
gave out
the pen fell.
May 17, 2013
May 17, 2013 at 2:13 AM UTC
People always say that love will find its way;
that true love will come to those who wait,
but you should know that things aren't that simple.
You can't just assume that this is a fairytale
and that Prince Charming sweeps the Princess off her feet
or a total babe finds inner beauty in an abomination.
This is reality; not some fantasy where everybody wins,
So get ready for a heavy dosage of it.
I was brought up on the notion that true determination
will always win over the woman you desired,
but boy was I ever so wrong.
There are just some instances that you will fail.
Rejection is key in order to grow, so accept it.
You can't just wallow in depression
while you wait for someone to put the pieces back.
So, you win some, you lose some.
I personally can't tell you how many times I've failed
because to be honest, it's quite a lot,
whether it be by my hand or other forces,
but I can assure you this: I keep getting back up.
As for being broken, I can say that it truly *****
Been there twice and the recovery was not too fun either,
but there are those types of people who use this flaw
to the highest caliber in order to gain love;
a quick act of desperation to acquire this emotion.
Whoever falls for this ruse believes they can save the other,
but here's where it becomes sadistically hilarious:
that person doesn't want to be fixed or saved
because in the end, only you can really fix yourself.
Sure, someone can give you the tools necessary, but
it sure as hell doesn't mean they'll be utilized.
Finally, we get to the ****** of this adventure,
where society equates love to a game of chess,
Always trying to make the right move to win the other over,
to say the right things or make the correct actions
in order to win over the girl/boy's heart.
Who knows if you're staying true to yourself.
As long as you win that beating trophy, it's all that matters.
Get this, love isn't a simple ******* prize.
The growth and process of love is the real prize.
Love isn't just on some linear path.
It is ebb and flow; action reaction.
You cannot force it or becomes meaningless
and you cannot resist or it fades away.
Embrace it, but be humble when it reveals itself
and I'm quite certain you'll have nothing to worry.
In conclusion, this the battle of love
and yet, it only grows worse,
but if I have at least enlightened one person,
then I have succeeded in taking part
in the reclamation of what love used to be:
Simplicity.
Jan 16, 2014
Jan 16, 2014 at 4:33 AM UTC
He called her a **** at dinner
Told she could be thinner
Played the part of being an ***
Voicing opinions deemed crass
A waiter wandered up
Refilling a cup
Gave the girl a wink
But was more of a sporadic blink
Her date stood tall
And turned his fist into a ball
Told the waiter to **** right off
A comment muddled by a cough
Then, in an act of violence
Came a brief respite of silence
The waiter was struck in the jaw
Knocked on the floor captured in awe.
He was then beaten ‘til dead
Over inferences read
The woman screamed
At her date, the blood coated fiend
Police were brought in
The man simply grinned
Cuffs were attached
As the man’s might was matched
A month later
Due to the dead waiter
The man had his day in court
A bailiff acted as his escort
The man was sentenced to 15 years
The woman, in attendance, shed no tears
The man was taken
He appeared visibly shaken
Taken to a cell at Briar Field
A place all go to yield
He was beaten for days on end
By prisoners looking for time to spend
Searching for a sense of hope
Utilized in avoiding a knotted rope
The man found a friend
With a helping hand to lend
Then one day talking wasn’t enough
The man’s friend got rough
After a quick stich
The man was anointed a *****
Sitting for dinner he was called a ****
By his friend, who had become quite blunt
A guard came by and batted and eye
The friend asked if he wanted to die
Said this man was his slave
A poor butt-fucking knave
The guard retreated
Victory conceited
But the friend pressed on
Until the guards life was gone
Then walked back after the stunt
And called the man a fat old ****
Oct 12, 2014
Oct 12, 2014 at 8:20 PM UTC
Work Ethic
Work requires professionalism,
at all times in all set of conditions.
let an earned knowledge and skills,
an asset to be utilized as maximal.
no regrets even if reward is scare,
go ahead do it for the love of work.
People around need not to be told,
everyone knows who perform well.
real professional does not brag,
seldom claims for recognition.
open-minded to a paradigm shift,
never pessimistic but often optimistic
at anything of value and substance.
let others rationalize to find reasons,
act on the issues with sound mind
no jesting around just do things right.
Jan 11, 2018
Jan 11, 2018 at 3:53 AM UTC
When I was younger Nanu
Told me bhoot kahanies of
Treacherous masked nishi
That crept on four long legs
Wreaking havoc among
Peaceful village homes
I sleep with lights on always
Lest the silent boba crept in
In 2001, I discovered bhoot
Wear the mask of friends
With benign, serpentine voices
That sat inside mosques to put
Innocent men in prison and tell
Small children to fear the sky
I sleep with the TV on always
Lest the silent boba crept in
Bhooth walk between us
Tell us to fear each other
Until we cast off our names
Convinced that these are
Weapons waiting to be
Utilized against us.
Jul 1, 2017
Jul 1, 2017 at 4:44 AM UTC
Some past ago
Innocence carried my heart
And then one day you presented to me
The Impression of passion
It touched me
Changed me
Utilized my beating chest
And utterly broke me
I yearn still to embrace your body
The elegant contact of your lips on mine
To save you from the bitterness of snowy nights
But my mistakes bartered my undoing
That night
That cold, unforgiving winter night
Will forever haunt my dreams
As I try to find the past in my slumber
The extent of loves hand is weary and perplexing
But the willingness of a heart as mine will trade lives
For one
Last
Touch
By the divines, I am alone
Nov 22, 2013
Nov 22, 2013 at 11:50 PM UTC
While we are all just atom snowmen,
sometimes I have to be
the arsonist of your emotions.
To make the atomic bits, flick out, vibrate
in order to light this ether atmosphere,
see what you really are,
to give me that warm feeling inside.
Sometimes I have to be
the stone that breaks your window.
The irreversible souring your view,
of your perfect, affectionate, color.
I take a breath of your summer field
and forests and farms
and exhale it as winter, deadwood and cold air,
your horses all un-made,
into glue, cat food, and violin bows.
Sometimes I have to be
A spiked cocktail.
Sipped on in words
finding again better, that familiar sweetness
but finding yourself, not yourself, anymore.
All just because you left your love wanting
alone on the side of a bar
and I found it.
Sometimes I have to be
that step you don’t expect at night.
Of course I’ll act like an accident,
letting the idea slip through
a gas leak flooding the room
silently, imperceptibly, changing things,
I’m good enough you will never know it,
and it’s you who’ll spark it.
Sometimes I have to be
father of the utilized disease.
A cough gives it birth,
a bark and a hack makes it airborne
incorporates a bacteria culture into yours.
This DNA affixed of word nucleotides,
embedded in the head of a virus
which will, just sometimes, exponentially, continually,
manipulate.
Jan 19, 2016
Jan 19, 2016 at 9:45 AM UTC
I walked in silent isolation
My virtuous heart since birth
Now, stunned at the mass confusion
The world’s reaction to its worth
With faith I held out for a strand
of rope to break the fall
I knew time would now be fleeting
I reached out to one and all
Strangers, friends and family
Every church that I could find
I utilized the “viral” speech
And asked for help to lead the blind
I knew the mountain too high
My shovel would move slow
I needed strength in numbers
To resist the heavy blow
Buddy, Can You Spare A Dime?
Perhaps a pence or Two?
Buddy, Can You Spare some Time?
I’d do the same for you.
Buddy Can You Spare A Prayer?
This will surely do.
(No response. What could I do?
Your loud silence answered true.
You now avoid me, silly you.
You best thank God, it isn’t you.)
I still walk the path alone
My faith you have not crumbled.
I understand the attitude
We all are weak, we all have stumbled.
You feel that times are rough enough
For many, if not all
You gaze upon your own troubles
Too many to recall
You cannot fathom helping one
Whose pain you cannot feel
You must know it, see it,
Achieve joy inside
Otherwise, there is no deal.
Well, Buddy I must let you know
Now that the day is through
I spared a prayer for you today
That your heartaches will be few
And if you should ever need something
I pray that you will find
A response much greater than the one
You offered, friend of mine.
Buddy, Can You Spare A Dime?
Perhaps a pence or Two?
Buddy, Can You Spare some Time?
I’d do the same for you.
Buddy Can You Spare A Prayer?
This will surely do.
Your loud silence answered true.
You best thank God, it isn’t you.
Jan 6, 2011
Jan 6, 2011 at 2:26 PM UTC
What is it
within the realm of
my Self
that has the nerve
to question the divinity
of this current, fleeting moment?
Is it not the vessel of Life, itself,
that is used to navigate
these, the occluded
Seas of Death?
Could it not be
that a Mind and Body
are the very salvation
over which we so toil?
Would it not be an act of pure mercy
to have the capacity to look around
and to think, and create
while, all the time,
being pulled under
by the inevitable tide of change
we, in English, chose to call
"Death?"
That, in itself,
should inspire me to carry on
and to turn an eye
up from the ground, back from the past;
to within my self; this current moment;
and on, upward:
to the skies and, likewise,
the future.
What is it about my Mind
that so enjoys, or perhaps requires
some selfish sense of 'overlooking'
for the sake of ephemeral comfort?
Alas,
I know what word I would use,
but I dare yet not to use it;
for, t'is that a word, itself,
isn't the concept, itself;
and it's use would be to misdirect
from the nature of the experience,
and to mistranslate what I feel.
I realize the necessity
for names; for words:
we use them to facilitate communication.
I also understand their limit:
there is a great realm
beyond the transparent restraints
of our Languages.
I would identify the culprit
as either "Ego," or "Id."
But, better yet, I would argue
"both and neither."
Freud had some great ideas,
but I tend towards Jung-
I could sooner call it the Shadow,
or at least one aspect of it.
The Shadow is semi-subconscious.
It is an amalgam of fears and repression.
It can only hold so much pressure
before it erupts.
So,
I implore you
to study your Shadow.
It has great potential for change.
Failing to utilize it
is to be utilized by it.
Make it work for you
or you will work for it.
Use your Shadow
to your advantage,
or it will use you
to that of it's own.
Pick apart your Self;
put it back together.
Sometimes that's easier said than done,
but, with a proper mindset,
it'll come and leave
before you even know it.
It happens all the time.
Refuse the shackles
of thy Shadow;
break the chains
and share with the world
the fleeting feeling
of self-liberation.
That is,
if someone doesn't misinterpret what you've said;
looking through the Shadow,
everything looks darker.
Realize where you're going.
Realize what you're doing.
Heed what you feed,
external or internal.
Seek Balance.
Explore Ideas.
Gain Understanding
no matter how slow:
at all
is far better
than so many.
No one may escape these Seas;
but you can start some ripples
that will propagate ad infinitum.
Ask. Practice. Learn. Grow.
Jan 10, 2015
Jan 10, 2015 at 7:08 AM UTC
The heart beats rapidly
An anxious mind makes a note of all that which is possible in the present at the present moment of time
The heart still flutters as the mind keeps racing to find something
All sorts of different thoughts come across the mind.
Something in the present has become much more conspicuous by it’s own presence.
A thing from the present grabs all the attention and takes hold of the present in the present moment of time.
Everything in the present has come to standstill.
Something in the present has got the key to open the doors of the future, which otherwise remains uncertain.
The mind zeroes in on that something and settles on what to do next
The mind focuses completely on that something.
A glimpse of what is there in the future unsettles the mind; however, most probably it does not disturb the mind.
An uncertain future invites the present in the present moment of time.
Now is the right moment in time to explore all the possibilities with regards to future.
Over a period of time it is learnt that experience proves to be a backup, if not a substantial support.
Experience gained over a period of time can be used and utilized in the best possible manner when the need of the hour arises.
Still it’s the present moment of time that matters the most.
All you have learnt belongs to past
All that you want to do belongs to the present moment of time
Always keep this in mind
It’s important to keep your feet firmly on ground and then move towards ascertaining the future.
All the time, all the way it’s not necessary to ascertain the future.
The only time it becomes necessary is when something from the future finds a place in the present,
then the future gets connected to the present,
quite necessarily in the present moment of time.
Hence it’s necessary to ascertain the future.
It’s an opportunity that has come along the way,
definitely not in the form of a risk.
Make the best use of that opportunity
In doing so you will find that every opportunity has got something in hiding.
It’s that hidden secret in that opportunity which will reveal the future in the present
Till then keep going along with the present moment in time to explore more and more possibilities with regards to the opportunity in hand.
Nov 22, 2015
Nov 22, 2015 at 9:22 AM UTC