Her face blossomed smiling
in a pink rose’s hue,
a thousand words spoken
yet in no language I knew…
Had I encountered
that smile before her?
the heart’s eye says no
yet the mind’s never sure!
There are moments about
which words fail to speak,
they’re a poor trade for
a smile so elegant, unique.
There’s not yet a lady
so meaningful, so sweet…
heavenly forces at work
yet so subtle, discreet.
How nice it would be to spend springtime with you,
to walk together among trees wearing morning dew.
I’d wait outside your place…
for a glimpse of your face
while the sun teased open shy flowers.
A black tear runs down
the lip of the white teacup,
he chokes under the
lonesome morning’s air,
an air laden with regrets.
Bitterness, and the sweeping generalisations that spring forth from it can be understood as an unconscious response rooted in a person’s particular traumatic experience and a broader sense of powerlessness in life. The language of polarisation, of ‘us’ and ‘them’ is in reality a pitiful, inarticulate mode of convenient passive aggression. Still this means of channeling bitterness, this sense of inertia/impotence reveals something more profound about the human condition, fundamentally it reflects unconsciousness.
That is to say a soul that has never truly questioned itself, a person who makes a home in their sufferings and powerlessness, who is consoled by their condition, they cannot abstain from crushing others with their tongues, from killing the beautiful complexity of life which will always defy their categorisations, their essentialisations which they make in one fell swoop.
They are yet to actually engage in self-reflection, they have never become a question to themselves, merely existing…not yet born. One is truly born and (hence truly alive or conscious) in self-reflection, when one can properly refer to oneself, maturely, one’s actions, one’s past, one’s course in life, only then can you truly refer to others, and empathise with their unique, divergent experiences, without this we will are relegated to a bestial, cold mode of reference.
Train the eye of your heart
to tell goodness from evil apart.
Life’s great gulf becomes quite clear
in looking upon faces without fear.
For in an instant something in you will rise,
decidedly will the heart then trust or despise.
One must take upon oneself this mystical task
lest one fail to foreshadow the cries…
If I were to in my dream-like
By measure would hapless gloom
Were I to hurl a stone
into a lake,
a swan would take flight and the
As with love, when dawn is
One doubts its not, nor dare
Whether with her I part ways or
is up to the Shifter of life’s
There’s a mystery to the heart’s
beat & swell,
A flame lit therein one
In hushed supplication I ask
for a sign,
that implied blessing, for my lips on hers,
hers on mine.
This shallow, brightly lit postmodern world, promises so much, in fact it promises you everything, only to give you nothing….for everything is accessible, everything is permissible, everything is at your fingertips….
EXCEPT A MEANINGFUL LIFE. In the 21st century the prevailing spirit is one of estrangement, isolation and despair.