I found myself pondering over and over and over my coffee,
quietly then inwardly,
Black from all its bitter taste,
And excited by aberrant words written on the surface of
that hard coffee table
on which I was resting my elbows,
Elbows tired from holding my head in
such a bored posture.
Where am I going?
Most cliched,
But let me ask you
Have you ever felt that way?
Yes you have,
And You and I as everyone else in here
Has at some stage or another, in their busy narrow lives
Asked that very question, really,
And released it to the skies
Praying for an urgent answer.
Did you shiver, let me ask you
Did you try to make it stop?
Or did wisdom shocked you deeper
Knowingly showing its truth.
Did you lie down with the soil,
Digging for the fertile seed
planted there in your psyche...
That creative womb which speaking,
bears the children of the world,
Urging them to go in there,
To that very root of all
And deliver lavishly,
the shock of much awareness.
That makes for things sharp in sight
So that you don't yet again
blind yourself most daringly
by the dazzling light of gifts,
of this major Untapped source,
running deep into the stream
of a mind creating riches,
River of creative impulses.
Nourishing the soul,
We feed it wholesome food,
cleansing it of all our inner poisons...
Polluting fumes such as concocted reasons
as to why we don't contribute
to the world that goes in seasons
just like us.
Coupled with this,
disparaging inner talk
uttered out loud to the hearing apparatus of our illogic urges,
Suffocating the imaginative methods
By dampening down the flame
the flame, the flame,
It is that flame that keeps them cooking!
If it is not enough to think our idea,
If it is not enough to give it birth
in our mind and not acceptable
abandoning our baby hungry,
While postponing expressing it
out loud into the outer world,
Then why do we shun innovative ideas
Poured over tea or coffee with our breakfast meal?
Perhaps because they need more brewing,
Even yeast dough needs constant feeding.
It comes in cycles.
Sometimes it's dormant, then
reawakens
And no need, really, to readjust it
to fit the vision
of a scrutinising eye.
But do create and recognise your gifts most soulfully
For you are not alone
And the world needs more of you and coffee
To come alive.
Don't just keep it tucked in cosily
In the corner of your myopic eye,
Who hasn't seen this light,
Whatever this 'it' means to you.
Alchemise your creative rambles,
Transmute your strong toxic postponing,
Come out. Come in.
Dig deep, dive in,
Someone is awaiting here.
Wherever makes us come alive...
