Tag Archives: Time

Coming of Age

Standard

Dust-storm Selfie

 

The curls, Mother,
they get more troubled each day.
The black quietly fades into stranger grey.

A whisper evades….

Prayer as a melody:
a wordless melody of the aching heart,
escapes into infinite pastures of the gods.

The throes of longing were always,
tugging.
That Glory of White, dazzling,
as water crystals in the summer sun;
Whoever said it’d ever be easy!?
Whoever did, a fool in vain was one!

Celestial Transitions

Standard
Celestial Transitions

In the sunlight, there is noise: an unharmonic noise of a turbulence above me, as I am deep into layers, buried beneath pressures that seems to defend me. They defend me as walls, which I am not sure if are choking me further or helping me break the ruthlessness of the storm.

In the dark, there is silence. There is silence of Nothing, a nothing reaching out to me in hope to be seen & felt as something.

In white light dimming drowsily beneath sheets of smoky silk, I am following footprints from a life before.

The light steals me from a self-knowing best achieved in a tranquility of perceived ignorance. In the pain on this ignorance, I may have known myself better. But we have to wait now, for another day to pass; we have to wait a half-life or so, more.

The Nothing

Standard

Nothing is all I have:

I do not know if that is enough.

Nothing is what seems to satisfy this mind.

Nothing fulfills me like Nothing itself,

and yet I long for more.

Disillusioned with the illusion of Time;

Not a complaint, ’tis only a glimpse

of my honest sharing.

I lose my patience to be forbearing,

then seek it back only in waiting,

for my sweet, promised hearing.

This Form, loses form

In anticipation of a demise,

Only God could ever know

of this aching sacrifice.

I must sedate the demons inhabiting this frame.

I know the rules too, yet fail to interpret

How to shift courses of an unwinding game:

Nothing to quieten thus; and Nothing to tame.

She was bestowed a valuable, the value unknown.

Now I toss it in the river, the river from her dream:

Was the river me? Or am I a sprouting stream?

The precious belongs to the beautiful,

To the other than I; she is not mine to keep.

We share dreams no more, even in my deepest of sleep!