Ode to Life

The bittersweet song of
now is all
there is, it is
the thin wire you walk
upon while the furious
whirlwinds of yesterday swirl
in a myriad shades
of steel grey, ballooning clouds
of gloomy rain, up beyond
the tallest skyscrapers,
up where the birds
do not
dare to venture.
Where the gaping
abyss and the staggering heavens
entwine. Where
the crooked prophecies
of tomorrow tower
through the wisp. Where,
from the rooftops, jump
the headless demons of possibility,
down to their doom. Walls
close in on
consciousness and
the hairlike wire becomes
your kingdom. Your
holy domain and your source
of sanity. Even as the
dense crush
of the
external universe wraps its robes
of darkness, the key
to freedom beats in each
living soul.
The music of breath
is the miracle
that gives light and joy
to mere flesh. The music of breath
is all there is.

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White Sea, Dark Sky

Sparrows have encroached my hollows.
Lions feast on my cells,
Vultures thrash around in my belly.
Snakes swallow my emotions.
Wars are being waged in my skull.
Constellations reveal themselves,
famines lay pale and sunken eyed.
Rainforests are blooming green.
Allah is a grain of sand. Jesus
is a raindrop. Buddhas are
shimmering waves.
Million limbed trees nestle my brain,
their roots slither through my veins.
My fingers crush the sun, and atoms of
gold burst forth, dripping and screaming.
Darkness engulfed me in a previous age. The sparrows now scatter
away into the sky, the horizon
is bright and blinding.
I am an ocean of light.

Aestheticus

Morphed onto the canvas, I was nothing.
Now I drip and rainbow
the white sky beneath your
paintbrush. The black
void consumed me. It held
me by the
throat.
Then, the great explosion
erupted around the vacuum
and the wheels
were spinning wild.
Revolutions came and went.
Pianos have catapulted me
softly into the air,
I am smashed by the beat
of the
hammering drum. I am
the first grainy galloping horse,
trapped in a film of
blackness.
I stab souls and guide
your chemicals towards dizzying
pinnacles of light.
Stars have transformed to make me.
Your pupils and eardums are my prize,
they are gateways
to the human heart,
my promise of eternal joy.
Memories wrap within them my nirvana.

Abandoner

He weaved his image from dark matter
and inhaled the night,
worshipping the cold moon shadowed
by the wings
of the sun.
I am a mountain, he wrote.
The lone towering rock ceases
to weep, his teardrops
have hardened and
cocooned his soul.
I must leave you all, he thought.
You are an accident
in flesh and bone.
My hairs are on the
floor and my imagination
is on fire.
The newspapers sang a tragedy
in small print the next day. Another
human shaped
void has emerged. I must find
a new shelter, he said.
Swollen eyes swam in oceans
of aching sorrow, the
chair was empty and the children
prayed. Will he return?
Rivers are free from ties
of blood. Gusts of wind have
no lonely grandfathers. The sun
is an orphan. The silent trees
heard a song pierce the
cold, hard silence.
I must walk on, he sang.

Old Beardflower

He emptied the cocoon of life,
and morphed into the wind,
leaving his shell on the floor with its
eyelids shut. The beginnings
of a smile were frozen on his lips.
Was he glad? Could he
have smiled past the barrier of death and
laughed into the afterlife? The birds
seemed to know.
The forked paths led his various
selves together towards this
linear journey away from form. We could
only wave goodbye and think
about the old days. The
gentle elder was no more – his grey
hair was still here. He
will fuse with the earth and eat
the sunlight when his time comes again.
We will be the grass and watch him, a stalwart
among flowers, feasting on the sun.

Sweeping the Soul Clean

The frowning clown heart shrinks
with green envy, the grand
cathedral of life is
peppered with leaping lions and trampled monkeys. Circuses beam
brightly, herds upon herds
of alpha and beta
beings disperse and assemble like clockwork.
Days melt into nights,
moments fall dripping into an ocean of time. Breakneck we
glide past our blurry friends, reaching out to some, slipping
away from most. Chapters are
being scripted as we
brood over ill fortune and
pages are being filled with the
flowers of wisdom.
Love sustains this chaotic mess,
the will to breathe defeats
the thorns of decay. The
walls we create and strengthen
everyday block out the light
and we starve in the
darkness, eyes
drinking glimpses of the frantic
circus changing colors through a warped keyhole.
When all it takes is a word,
a footstep toward the light
and away from the upside-down
world of bats and
hollow aches. A warm smile
from a bittersweet soul
brings the walls crumbling down.
The sun is here to stay.

The Meaningless Poem

Shimmering sea placid mirror, clairvoyant
crows, rustling trees, the dawn it all changed.
The snotgreen sea, the knots
untied deep within the belly, words
drowning inside the
trenches of the brain. Six a.m.
sun yet to come up, darkness stirred
and dissolved by a fresh universe being born.
The words are digested
and the past is
linked with the future,
staircasing one above the
other towards the light,
till the sun is in the palm
of my hand in one glorious moment.
This is how religion came
screaming out from the
womb of brightness. The child,
that grew to be shaped into a
ten headed monster.
It is all too perfect. We refuse to believe it.
The uproar is deafening
until doubt swallows
everything and it is darker than ever.
A mocking voice cackles away
and the witch-hunt begins.
They run away, the house of cards
is demolished, bringing down the
whole city. The amnesiac rings the
morning bell. It is time all of us
lived in harmony and peace.
Abandon god, the voice now whispers,
embrace life.