Go on, my heart

Sometimes little or no reason
Do I need igniting fires
And unleashing them on you
And You
And really any stranger
Whose karma crosses paths
with mine
In need of burning.

And it's the pain of thinking
Way too much
Of aging and of dying
And all the things Absurd
And frightening alone.
A subject much too vast
Which too much space is taking
Inhabiting my heart.

My poor heart.
This tenant of my body
And house to all my feelings
Has not a single Thought.
It lives. And lives. And soars
And then One day
Exists no more.
It beats no longer in my
body
But in the vastness of the
sky
Celestially preoccupied.

No more it beats
Or is contained,
constricted, soft or tender
Or hardened by my slow
unfolding burdens
of the past.

It makes you think, you know.
But now I'd rather feel,
Not missing any beat.
Go on, my heart.
You steal the show.

A laughter such as this

A laughter such as this,
Such as the one I hear and see
to look in that direction,
Would steal a smile off any other face,
Mine included.
A laughter such as this
Is inherent to the human nature,
Inherent to my nature!
Oh! I so crave a laughter such as this!
Much like an indication
Of the blissful happiness of a
carefree spirit.
It lies dormant,
Yet in its potentiality
I can manifest it at any time.
I only need create the space,
So that a laughter such as this
Does not pass me by once more.
Oh, it did for way too long!

Locked up

I wonder what you feel
When you avoid the present
To live in some
unbeknownst future.
I wonder how it feels
To avoid what you would feel like
otherwise,
What you would feel in the Now.

Is it anxiety? Or fear? Love?
Vulnerability?
Where have they all gone
To make room for your
fantasy of the future,
In which hidden corner of your
worried mind
Have you hidden such great treasure?

We make friends with our enemies,
Or so we secretly wish,
For we look up to them.
Or so we think.
And we keep our unwanted feelings locked away,
while developing no real predisposition towards
them.
Ay, how lonely might they feel!
Perhaps if we understood the loneliness
We would be more prone
to befriend ourselves...

Belonging to the past

Flashbacks hurt my soul once more,
Surprisingly so, once more.
Never thought I would come back
To something as cruel as that,
Never thought I would review it
No surveillance, never knew it.
Why, it hurts so much right now
Many years down the line,
Why, it hurts my soul to know
That humane was never there
On these cruel people's minds.
It was never on their minds
How they could dehumanise
Another human trying
To become much more
Another human crying,
To be left alone.

A human, yes, who maybe had lost her plot
But had found an inner light
Which never had shined so bright.

And yes, I was distracted,
Unhinged, demented, crazed
But brutal was
to hold me down
with chains
made out
of human hands,
who seized me and constrained me
Even when a human was talking back to them
In words...

Sacred are words,
But tainted were the fleshy chains,
Tainted and dark
And of the Underworld.
Which sought constraints
Of my body
But oh, my soul was being hurt instead,
Broken, already feeling lost,
Bleeding, already having bled.

A broken spirit was I then,
And one would have to wonder,
Did I ever fully come back
Patched up,
Or still am walking limping,
Still trying to escape a force
invisibly impinging
on my core?
A force which belongs to the past,
But that lives on,
In my heart?

A shock of awareness

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...

Fire in my loins

Someone long ago,
told me my neurons had fallen down into my ovaries.
As a way of offending me.
I wish I had said it then
instead of thinking it now,
I wish I had said he was right.
I think with my loins.
I feel right down into my pelvis.
I move through the world
held by the intelligence of what
my feminine parts
carry since birth.
Expressing what my groin feels,
I make for a better world.
I do not wish to have brains,
I wish instead for fire in my loins.

We are all Refugees

We are all Refugees
Running away from some aspect
or other,
Of ourselves.
Fleeing the hunger of our Soul.
And we keep running in circles,
Running from ourselves,
And running into others
Who are forever the invaders,
Forever trying to steal from us
What we cannot sell to them.

Hard done by others,
Victimised, bullied,
oppressed, ostracised.
We now project onto the Other
-The Refugee. The immigrant-
All that we cannot longer
hold into the light of our
Being.
We now become the victim
and the perpetrator,
Having to fight for ourselves
With ourselves,
The only weapon left
For mass destruction.
For there is fear in ourselves
And fear can quickly turn
into bullets
Which we will endlessly fire
away
Towards the enemy
From the enemy we harbour inside.

'Please look yourself in the mirror
If you are to stone your self.'
Says the millenarian voice
From within the Shadow itself;
This dingy place filled with
all the things we have
delegated it with.
And right There, in the darkness,
Flashes a light ever so bright.