For Words (Ars Poetica)

Words are worthless.

Graves waiting to be filled.

Shadows of matter

In a world we did not build.

Soft-spoken poets suffer

For they’re afraid of sorrow

Outspoken poets suffer

For they’re afraid of tomorrow.

Sorrow from bothering

The sickness of the departing;

The future is a new present

In which lost souls are reuniting.

The poet who surrenders

To the soft hand of time

Understands the tie

And awaits for it to unwind.

Before he says goodbye,

He hopes to have traveled at least

The distance between two hearts

So that his mind can rest in peace.

Then,

Even his shadow will dance.

Occupied

Your mind is occupied like a plane’s washroom

Absorbing all the dust and bugs like a vacuum

Got no space or time for some fresh air

Turn off the hum, undress your mind bare.

What ticket you got? We share the same fare.

Don’t you hate the stewardess’ fake care?

We could do better, oh, look at that cloud!

It looks like my dream! What’s yours? Oh, watch out!

Some guy just passed by, spilled your water all over

Hold on, I got napkins, don’t lose your composure

No need to be angry, be Zen, here’s a pamphlet

About Buddhism and how to regain your soul’s balance

Be happy, life’s beautiful, oh look at those birds!

I wish I had wings, don’t you? But of course!

When I was a kid I dreamt about flying

Now I’m a car dealer and I really like driving

You’re flying right now, silly, I’ll buy you a coffee

Look around you, folks sleeping, and one guy is coughing

But you look like you got a colourful dream

Let’s break the window and grab hold of the steam

After that we could work our way up

Grab onto that cloud and quack like a duck

After that maybe head down to the river

Flow on the stream of consciousness, be its mirror

The plane will be landing in Babylon soon

Make sure to have your seatbelts on, you baboons

Oh, this still on? Ha ha, I was joking

Don’t worry folks, enjoy your days croaking.

But I’m not a frog! I’m duck, I can quack!

Oh, shut up, you can’t, you’re falling off track!

Psst, don’t worry. Don’t listen to them.

Your path has been cleared, while they walk, you can run.

Signposts

Guide

Aspire to be what you admire to see.

Tired

Poetry, alone, is my synthesis

I miss not feeling restlessness

All my words are worthless

Experience consumes me

Followed by a comma

Where death’s mystery laughs

While someone cries on my shoulder.

My thoughts are never sober

Inflated by an ego

Breaking into the mind

Only to get a fine.

I feel blind.

No essence survives here

Nothing makes sense

Not even sense itself.

Because I’m disconnected

My eyes are skeptics.

My mind is biased.

Help me, I’m tired…

I just want to sleep,

But I’m confined to eternal insomnia.

Until my useless joy saves me again.

I wonder who gave me this pen.

I’ll pretend I made it up.

That I had some super luck

And that everything surrounding me

Is just an anomaly

Just like me.

But isn’t that funny?

Of course, because you reflect your own reality

Perceptions perceptions.

Clever misdirections.

Only one absolute truth.

It doesn’t care if you have proof.

But shall I rest in restlessness?

Does it matter? I do feel blessed

But I feel too sick of it all…

That’s why I ask if it’s all my fault.

Motifation

If you are reading this, it means you are alive. How's that for a privilege? If you're gonna say, no, it's not a privilege, life is shit, then you're unconscious and insane. You have the chance to explore. Explore your mind, explore your soul, explore the wonders of the world. Explore emotions, explore dreams, explore mountains, explore oceans. Explore forests, explore cities, explore cultures, explore religions. Life is magnificent, it is the ego that creates the illusion of ugliness.
So if you are reading this, do yourself a favour. Acknowledge the fact that you're alive, appreciate it and go do some awesome shit.

Natural Medicine

Breaking through, breaking out.

Boxes, covers, labels.

Phonetically organized chaos.

Insane society.

A pencil…

Could it overcome a drone?

Could it draw rainbows above the cursed villages?

Could it draw auras above the heads of the innocent?

But there’s no need. The rainbows and the auras are already there.

It’s just that this collective consciousness chose not to perceive them.

And yet, something tells me to stick to it.

To fix it.

To heal it.

But first, it must become aware of its illness.

How can you tell a madman he’s mad?

An Orchid's Light By The Stairs

He followed her to the last floor, where she fell silent.

“I suppose I’ve changed my tune.”

She turned around.

“Fine.”

How much longer will she last?

He kept following her.

They got to the railway station.

“It’s cold.”

He promised he’d always keep a place for her.

“My heart is warm.”

He wandered on the tracks, looking for the train.

She took a step back.

“Would you like me to wait inside?” he asked, smiling.

And suddenly he disappeared.

She felt as though her will had been dislocated.

His voice was in the back of her head.

“You do it for others. Won’t you do it for me?”

“I don’t see how I can. It’s not that I don’t pity you. But one has to do it one’s own way.”

“Perhaps it is so. I’m not desperate.  But I want you.”

Where would it take her?

Distance didn’t matter. It was always a journey of ever-lasting growth for the soul.

Expansion of awareness.

She saw an orchid growing out of the concrete right beside the stairs.

“How simple it would be to just pick it up and throw it on the tracks.”

She didn’t know what to do.

Neither did he.

Nonetheless, the train would come soon.

It was getting cold.

She was combing her hair. It helped her to concentrate.

How much longer will she last?

“Fine.”

But it was too late. The train was coming. She could hear it.

“Come on!”

But he stayed hidden.

Only with a snap of the fingers, he could make the train stop dead in its tracks.

But he waited.

What if he allowed it to come?

Would she throw the orchid on the tracks?

Only actions will tell.

“What are you doing?”

He punched the wall and broke his fist. No pain, no gain.

With his bleeding hand he kneeled down and looked at the flower. A tear fell on its soft petal.

Suddenly, a blinding light burst out of the orchid. He didn’t understand it. She was sitting on a bench, watching this strange occurrence unfold.

“You’re mad.”

He smiled.

“Yes. But look at this.”

Suddenly she saw it. Something so strange and pure that it made her cry.

So he snapped his fingers.

The flapping of a bird’s wings could be heard from where she was sitting.

She looked around but couldn’t sight the bird.

“Still wondering where it is?”

Staring at the ground, seeing her own shadow dance like a river, she finally understood.

None of it made sense. Yet, at least.

But it didn’t matter anymore.

Suddenly, they were swimming in light.

What happened to the train?

“What train?”

The Overcoming Softness

The gaze which stares at the world

So curious and bedazzled by the stillness of nature

And horrified by man’s careless footsteps

Over the mowed lawn,

Petrified by the indifference with which one treats his fellow man

Yet puts man on a pedestal,

Floats steadily on the ocean of truth,

Unmoved in essence, yet squeezing tears of innocence

Against the cold wind.

The rejuvenating rain makes it blink, in a frenzy of pleasure

Dreaming of more rain

Thanking the sky

Watching the reflection of divinity foreshadow its ascent.

The Pilot

Stop worrying,

The glass of poison is already broken.

But you can pick up the pieces and rebuild it

With your own vision.

Free will means creation.

Eudaimonia.

No walls, but we create them.

A flame burns, but we stomp on it.

Yet the Phoenix rises.

After its descent to hell, it rebels and yells

Echoing to the pungent darkness

Revealing.

The curtain pulled.

Burnt.

The phoenix rising from its ashes.

Innocence crying, asking

“Again?”

Moving on,

Suffering.

Thus we turn to gold.

Movement unlimited, shaking of uncertainty, but shaking it off.

Our last tear falls upon our calm smile.

We remember and we depart.

Sailing to new heights.

Yet coming back to face the fight.

Why?

The question rises out of nothing, as does the answer.

Unspeakable, yet faster

Faster, we go towards the light

Our mind dies.

Our soul flies.

And we end up right where we started.

Growing infinitely, yet united with the pilot.