......

I heard someone say a devastating phrase ‘we are not equal, we are only equal beneath the ground’. What happened? Where is the root of the tree that made us think that its branches do not stem from the same tree, of oneness. People have mistaken this word ‘oneness’ into ‘sameness’. But it is not, oneness embraces the connection we each have with our surroundings, as we distinctly experience it differently. We need to see that poverty is a manifestation of our own internal unbalance, and that the wars we see are conducted by our own brothers, sisters, sons, loved ones who feel it patriotic to act against another since that is their occupation. They too have mouths to feed and the society that ‘cares’ about them is breaking them into vicious creatures with no drop of empathy when killing a family. Bloodshed, hunger, are all reflections of each person in this planet, our own stories, thoughts, beliefs manifesting. The sense of community in every society, which is a blatant façade, masks an internal cry which most do not feel the need to be aware of.  The way we, as a whole with obvious differences, have succumbed to petty labels of divisible nature, is sad. WE are more than that, more precious and amazing than what this world has made us think we are. To step into that awareness of how we have been deluded, and also deluded ourselves, is a great feel, not easy of course to embrace and unravel, because we love to feel that sense of belonging our communities give. We need to question though, if we deserve a sense of belonging that is not deep rooted, and that does not embrace our complete potential, but always constructs us into models of what they expect us to be. We have to rise above such limited existence. I do though, inner-stand that we have different cultures, backgrounds, but that should not be the only plane to which we choose to perceive this world. The love we truly are is that which a word cannot fathom, even the mind itself. 

hold me, like the last drag of your cigarette in your lungs, just inhale me like your last breath.. pixels of your face formed like a ray in my iris, bright, reflecting grace, as you slowly drank my blood as passion. Indulge in the lucid dreams it gives you..sniff me like the white devil.. i want to be your high.

The LifeLine

Her white beads, little pearls of hope she sees in the salt that she scatters

Her red beads, blood stained crystals of those that guide-be her

Her hair, think strings that source her to the Beloved

Ten magical wands make her hands, mapping  brown streams of healing

‘The bones speak, they have little mouths of truth, they release flesh from the body and free the spirit, they speak’.. she says this to a skin-made bag.. given to her by her grandmother.

She is now gasping, growling, bending to her own being

She is reaching out for thin air,  grabbing nothing, still gasping.. ‘they whisper to me you’.. now telling her uncle

She now holds water like she is one with it.

Red and white beads flying with the air of her locks

She now holds water like she is one with it.

‘cleanse him, cleanse him’!!!!

That cloth with ritualistic dances rhythms the connection with her tribe

She feels them surrounding her, their bare feet on the ground, holding her still, 'be, child'

But it’s only their spirits present

The cloth covers all her fears with a comfort she feels in her core.. it’s a sort of love.. a deep love that never leaves her.

‘shelter me from my fears great mother, I’m afraid’

‘My eyes burn with dreams’.. she notices.. but she loves the alternative existence they brew

Its peaceful, it heals her while it heals him, her uncle now saying incantations she fails to know why she understands  like the mother tongue she speaks

05/09/11

The God of passion

I knew of a place where I was the god of passion

Dripping desire from my fingertips in which the apathetic nation suckled

Having eyes of auburn nature, I was the fire in every heart

Ignited by flesh instead of spirit chants

I was a fountain, clothed with deity pigments of white silk around my brass body

Clouds were my messengers, engulfing sight into inspiration of those with the courage to look unto me and embrace my sun like face

‘Cut me loose from your breasts’, they all prayed... yet they were breathed from pebbles of purity that i fused with my own soul

Self-sacrifice is what I decided as my fate

Yet mortals of flesh clothing never worshipped my immortal glance to gain beauty-full inspiration, cleansed from a sort of fear, not completely

I wished to be seen as the only river in the drought of their lives

To be the only tree that gave them fruit to eat

Yet, they praised my brother, compassion, never dwelling under his protection

They loved his name as it gave re-birth to wilting souls

But none dwelled in him

This is why he broke himself into rays of hope, faith

For he was too much for such a timid race like theirs

They still fear me, saying 'glance so strong, we can never hold, be the light, but never bright'

Tears are still my oil, they keep my molded body shining, tears of those that worship me

I, in a world surrounded by solid matter that fantasized of becoming long fragments of energy

Dipped in all potential possibleness 

Was still, a god of passion