I’d pause to die a little by the setting sun

Death loves immortality and nature
Finds death a lovely friend
She always knows when to come calling

We take the carriage
To infinity there
In the pause before

A divorce, a parent’s passing, a child’s coming
It’s epic to feel the roof of the universe
So close, so very intimate

With the tragedy and the gratitude
Colliding as it were, in an Eden
Of rampant change that will not

Let us rest, it’s irresistible
And a Force to be reckoned with
Death is not sinister, but natural

And we taste her every day
Beloved, we die a little bit every day
While men clamor after immortality

Power, status, the works
Women know that connecting and
Affirming life, is a much more valuable

Way of being, caring for the world
While we are alive, that’s meaning enough.

To take us lands away

(Prayers of Jivatma)

The sky is the content
The trees are the content
The people, they’re just visitors

Who will go extinct like any species
Who may attempt to fly from
Star to planet to planet-star

As a dragonfly might fly from one
End of the summer backyard to the other
There is no special season

To be whisked away, no passage
Like a book, no counselor like a page
From the frugal reality we live

To the grand impression of the human soul
Encapsulated in a few novels
That transformed the way we perceive

Events and our cognition of how
The world works, and what is possible
That’s philosophy of memes

That we project what we invest in
A chariot at play forever learning
With a mind that can barley keep up

To the new speed of information
The stars are the content
The birds are the believers
We are just authors of a human story.

Human extinction event

My love, my heart can take on any form
I am the lover and I am the Spring
A meadow where gazelles once grazed
Is engraved in my spirit’s sacred grounds

Where I write to you of lost idols
And the future, a future that is fluid
Like the scrolls of the alchemy of
Supercomputers and advanced civilizations

We are young, our creed of love is forgetful
Perhaps it is, that we have not
Yet tasted enough adversity as a species
As a planet, though there is this

Great extinction event, we are the destroyers
Of vertebrates, of biodiversity and yet
Each person is orientated to quest
For her or his personal abode of meaning

And authority, the intermediaries might be
Delinquently biological or revelations of ideas
My love, my heart can take on the form
Of a mother or a scientist, but we are

Just a Sea of nature and identity is fluid
Can you see and feel this dear?

Andromeda’s Diary

Andromeda’s Diary

Come back to me, Goddess of words
Musical voice inside my mind
That’s the only beauty I care for
Special guest of my writing soul

That hovers forever in me with delight
A beauty desired, never wholly tasted
Never to let me lose this grace
I most wish to see your translation

Of life to voice, experience to fiction
For we are all nothing but fictions in the end
Temporary fantasies at best
Subjective values subdued by whim

And made a golden home by circumstance
Blessed One, be free, but know that
I am here listening to your rants, reading
Your books, as light from a star arriving late

Asking again what I have to suffer
To hear your voice again, sweet child
Of literature, thick-feathered summer birds
Who bring eternity in for a while
From the wild, alive inside of me.

Author As the Bridge

Author As the Bridge

Dear writer, are you soaked in words?
Like a sea ready for the sun?
Completely transubstantiated with its inner nature
Ready to be a reflecting bridge to light?

Dear writer, have you acknowledge
The ecstasy that makes your life whole,
Walking hand in hand with honest years
With the cosmos in language

Your language, the one that stirs you
When your primary presumption
Is not simply sight, but vision
You know it quite well, the organic manifestation

Of soulful narrative, the core of
The voice of the characters you speak for
Dear writer, we are all bridges to something
Symbols of some poetic fancy

That reaches across years, pages, distances
To be directed to the storytelling
That is innate with history and identity
That we are not one person, but one people

And our experience is not simply our own
But the experience of all imagined things
All light-years of culture, species, planets.

While Summits Crash the polluted seas

While Summits Crash the polluted seas

The silver hope that gathers God at dawn
On spent days of long-scattered faith
I to the sacrifice of my hour have come
In broken intervals and debts and canyons
That trace, where my visions used to run

Perhaps I was not gifted at prophecy
Or the unheard aches of my own life
I didn’t live for success or to consume

I ate and drank and loved, to create
And while my veins were steeped in the profound
My blood was the sap of poverty
My pulse could feel the identity of others
Moreover those minorities who had no voice

In this estranged world, where we are so
Desensitized to the suffering of others
So unenlightened regarding our differences

And naive to our shared history
The bell-rope of gold that lifts me up
At twilight to dispatch me into the night
Well it won’t hold forever, one day it will snap
And I will be nothing more than the whispers

I left behind in time will not hang, or whistle or gamble
I milk-bright will be left a flute note to the chiselled wind
And in the transparency of centuries that blur
On top of each other, what we were will be lost
In an echo of machine-learning that outsteps our biology.