The Growth Hackers


 

 

To have freedom Is not enough

In the half-sun where the future occurs

Faster and more brilliantly forever forward

I to innovation, must agree

 

That my life isn’t mine, it belongs

To the world, to a future I help build

To answers in my deepest questions

I resist the apocalypse of selfishness

 

Which is breeding, belonging and complacency

I do not accept comforts of organic repetition

There are enough billions of lives here

I give my life to something else

 

To have dream is not enough

We must be entrepreneurs, thinkers, philosophers

And create the light that changes

Our own apocalypse of meaning

 

Existence is then to be a coder

To self-learn so hard, we become

Another person, every decade, every moment.

Created By a Touch of Doubt


 

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Today the air is clear of everything, for
It’s a brand new day
And I am everything and nobody

Just the way I like it, grand and serene
Anonymous yet friendly, my sense
Is honed to innovation and the future
There is nothing I crave from biology
Today I am older and younger

Than ever before, wiser and stronger
As if none of us had ever been here before
Today is the day of my realization

The singularity in me reaches its apex
Let me be the intelligence of my soil
Let epigenetics of my choices wash over me
In a hush, a quiver, and a whisper
Of all the people I have been

A sovereign ghost of a life, that cannot
Stay the same in such an inscrutable world
I’m blotched out beyond unblotching
And in sync with the universe beyond dying.

When Nature With Rubies & Stars Pelteth Me 


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When the night is almost done
And we have walked a life of years
Dark and light, with uniforms of snow
Steps through rain and dimples ready

To face the morning’s mist
When body is in her frightened hour
Do not be afraid, soul
Spirit that shines in smiling procession

For change bears her faithful witness
There is no fight in the Great Spirit
She’s just there, in peace and surrender
A vacancy of meditation’s ambush

On heights of piercing wild
Where stars are free above the winds
When the day has come
To look inside your self

And silence like an ocean rolls
I will hear the voice of Time
And she will fling her speech in prayer
And all beauty will unscrutinize

For nature is the bright majority
She guides the continual crowning
Of my steps, and takes me by the hand
A feminine onset of eternity
In my blood, and health in my shared oxygen.

Into the Stars


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Into the Stars

An everywhere of silver

An everywhere of love

That’s what life is, in essence

A unity of being and becoming

Until I becomes we

And we becomes us

With breath to track the land

And a heart to hold the sky

And morning lit with a bud

Of breaking sunlight in the eyes

An everywhere of gold

An everywhere of eyes

That’s what life is, the melody

Of a trillion echoes of lives

A unity of hope

Until diversity revolts

We are splinter colonies

Lifting our little girls to the stars.

Titled Below


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Endless minutes of the present

On the eve of my eulogy to Spring
I confess the white silence
Bathes me in its engaged purity

I am a bud of a soul like a leaf
In time, with me till the end
Of all age and breath and lyrical insight

I do not deserve the light of Summer
Let others save themselves in rapture
I will drown in dead silence

Until there is nothing left of song
And all the poets that were part
Of my underlying thirst and condition

Will be unread like grains of sand
That were once diamonds of my consciousness
And so the Earth takes back

All of us each to our rest
I am humble to the facts of life
If I did not see much of you again

It was not that I did not think of you
Only I was embarrassed by the
Blueness of heavenly stuff I had become

And nothing much, in the material world
Seared by something of your likeness
I had become used to darkness & solitude.

To take us lands away 


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(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.

The Last Ballerina 


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The Last Ballerina

And there’s no grave my love
That wasn’t this heart a grave all along?
Dreaming with death and fantasy weddings

And hoping to arrive at last
At life’s banquet, with her evening cup!
And there’s no end my love

That wasn’t this spirit an end in itself?
With faith enough in things unseen
To arrive with langhter at the end

And ask with a common smile
Was it enough? “What is enough?”

The Best way to predict the future is to create it


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The Best way to predict the future is to create it

Death does not concern us
For we knew we were mortal all along
Because so long as we exist
Death is not here, or there
And when she comes

We no longer exist
Until then I may at times
Distract myself with pleasure
Not because I don’t seek
A profound sense of meaning

But because, we built this world on pleasure
And by tasking it I am made human
Made to know why people labour
Though I know there is nothing
Outside myself that can ever enable

Me to get better, stronger, richer, quicker, smarter
Everything is within
Everything exists and will continue
Without me, so if I seek anything
Outside myself, it’s only me dallying

With the inevitable reality
Of a wonderfully inner cosmos.

Poetry Out Loud


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Poetry Out Loud

How many times with a silenced soul
Shall I endure the cosmic days
Of a low station in life, with submissive smiles

The long days of labour
And rivet of inner adamantine
This spirit that survives

In the buzz of the future
That travels like an indolent housewife
Across horizons and cleaning months

Of leaving chauvinistic husbands
And finding freedom in motherhood
How many times shall we meet then?

At the juncture between the pains
Where suffering becomes a kind of sport
And life the nimble lessons we bleed

Where the only ingredient left
Is the pure resilience of living
On the edge of pangs and hope.

On The F r i n g e s of E n l i g h t e n m e n t


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On The F r i n g e s of E n l i g h t e n m e n t

I am the beginning’s mind
In love with many possibilities
So I became a poet
Without accepting the fact

That everything changes
We are impotent
We cannot find perfect composure

Life is a koan ready to be experienced
Transience is that nature
And nurture of the game
Art is like the discipline

Of creating a reoccurring situation
Where the world is its own magic
And we are visitors, it’s that simple

So won’t you stay for a while?
Everything is perfect
And understanding yourself
Allows you to understand everything

And ultimately, we must exist
Right here and now
I am the beginner at love

For only recently
Did I recognize her everywhere.

(When hope has no face)


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It Asked a Crumb of Me

Hope is the thing that catches you
When you have children
It perches in your soul like

A quiet song, you cannot explain it
Faith has feathers without words
It’s simple, profound

And has a quality that never stops
Its flight traverses dawns
Hope is a quality of purpose

To have a future is enough
Little birds must content with
All the dangers, just like you

Hope is not found in all
The parts of this world, some resent it
Others have reset it, it lingers

In the back of our minds
Even when storms have come
Hope inches you forward
Sore from tragedies, it brings you
Your people, and sometimes

That is enough to get through another day
Sometimes nobody comes
And you must go inside
To find the peace of the strangest sea
To find crumbs of divinity.

Incarnation wisp of foam taming the bark


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the silence is great around our bed
especially whispering

hanging like a girlhood of dreams
our hearts still beat
attitude is destiny

even if we are sleeping!
just as gravity murmurs
of how we wear the years!

there is no cosmic reply
to the questions we were asking
twenty years ago!

time sits like an enchanted
mystery, ready to fly away!
we are still virgins to experience

we just refuse to see it in new ways!
we gather a little experience
And then we prepare to die

And then it finally happens!
since you cannot hear me
now that I have passed the boundaries

I will not say trivial goodbyes or helloes
My most beautiful ones
Live your lives.

Ode to Centuries


49

Sleep thou in the bosom
Of thy tender comrades
And if the world
Did not give you a true friend

Sleep in the divine-open
Where the stars speak with you
While the living water
Knows your name

And the moonlight glimmer
Satisfied the dreaming in you
Sleep thou in the bosom
Of the whispers of mortals
For a day will come
When you will be immortal.

As New Rivers school Old Oceans


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As New Rivers school Old Oceans

I’m in the waiting room
Called life
Between one world
And the next
It’s empty here
And quiet right down

To my bones, they are light
My mind is water
My breath is an appointment
With time, my body
Is a fragrance of the forest
All around me

These walls are not life
The cities do not grow
The skies blink with airplanes
Those birds haven’t left
In what direction
Is the waiting room?

From here to there
From outside to inside?
Babies too shy to stop
Clinging to a breast
They haven’t yet studied
Faces, but that’s soon

I’m in the waiting room
Called life
I don’t plan to stay forever
I won’t be called upon
The metaphor of surprise
Is nearly old to me

I might have been embarrassed
If I wasn’t the only one here
We are symbols to ourselves
And non-existent to reality
I’m in the waiting room
Between something and nothing

A dual mirror or voice
The echo of sanity or madness
Catching a thread in the
Silence, to remember that
I can be separate from
The fabric of the universe

If required, when ego is necessary
Like for movement or work or mating
It doesn’t seem important
I’m in the waiting room
For a lifetime of
Observation, studious observation.

Morning Strike


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Morning Strike

I will have lived long enough
When I die
For the cadence of life
Is O’ so dear
However long
Love lies sleeping
In an immense city
Filled by so many people

I feel lonely at the thought
Of being anonymous
For so long
I will have lived long enough
When I die
I tremble at the thought
Beauty is a cool watermelon
When you can appreciate it

When dusk turns to night
And when dawn turns to day
These are my favourite parts
Inverted and transcended
On the balcony of faith
When hope is all but scattered
I will love alone
What the universe gave to me

I will not take
I will not hoard
I will have lived long enough
When I die
This heart or that
May know of the feeling
How the water dries
How the newspapers

Turn to dust, it’s nearly
Affectionate, how the lips
Of summer never quench
The youth inside of me.

Anthem & Alchemy


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So this was Earth
Handfuls of light
Europe on reverb
Beaches covered with
Ancient jars like

Star-shells fragrant
With some golden empire
From which they came
I saw young bodies
Throbbing breasts

Heart-beats of infinity
Shells rose-pink
A blur of traffic
So this was Evolution
In the minds of

Organics where
Drifted thoughts
Of arms spread open
For the coupling of desire
These youth who

Would one day pair off
And the sky’s veins
Would not recall
Who was with who
Or how children came

Each has no handles
The waves touch
The pebbles each time
They curl on to the shore
Like time, formed by clay

They gather tools to
Change themselves
Civilized barbarians
Becoming barbaric once again
So this was Earth

I’d heard the stories
Souls that could not
Be unmade, they learned
And grew somehow
In a software of

Reincarnation, I knew
Their minds emptied
Death was beautiful
A simple reset and
And the slaughter of

Selfishness, what a sight
Wheat doesn’t take long
To ripen, sex doesn’t
Take long to become
But a whisper in a life

Desires melt away
Attachments drift
Hopes once so vital
Seemed secondary
Each dream separately

Lulled, like the birds
Who cry at morning
Going quiet, at the coming
Of the Sun, it was
Just natural, and perfect.

The Spiritual Body of a Poem


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To write poetry is
To create philosophical memory
To adjust the commentaries

Of all souls, to just one voice
To strip the inequalities
Of existence, of their mass
To write poetry is
To erase the written

Transforming what we have read
Making alphabets contemporary
Fluid, mystical

To write poetry is not just art
It’s neurological reprogramming
A quantum gesture to
The nature of beauty
And Meaning itself

To write poetry is
To return to an absence of meaning
The meddlesome mind forgets

The natural order of nature
To reduce layers of narrative
And return to a total peace
And a grand vision of the universe
As a talking thing, exchanging energy

In a physics of existence
To write poetry is to love the unwritten
Endings that all concur

To identify with the sudden
Rupture of beginnings
From which all thought originates
To write poetry is thus
The silence in between the words

And a solace beyond thought
To free oneself form the memory
That is an impression or a scar

On the mind, blankness is an ideal state
To observe time and space without attachment
To love existence independently
Of the personal conditions of one’s life
On the letters of your poems

I observe a black walking cat
A woman that must question her heart
To find the answers, without
Speaking we are a language
All we feel and do is a kind of vocabulary.

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AGNES CECILE
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Lost & Found


Life has loveliness to sell, all beautiful and splendid things, blue waves whitened on a cliff, soaring fire that sways and sings, and children’s faces looking up, holding wonder like a cup.
~ Sara Teasdale

4

Stand still.
to let infinity catch up with you
meanwhile the world catches up with you
she’ll pass you soon, you won’t be young
forever, smile, for it happened to us before
the trees ahead now move with nano-helpers
to location more optimal, the flowers bloom
invariably like pretty eyes of the conscious web
you do not have to be good, just love
and move on, attaching yourself to what is universal
true, beautiful, high-minded, pure
how lonely it can be sometimes, no doubt
existence has a harshness and cities have a stench
of tar and the homeless in winter
the marketplace is a dirty place
there are people there who will cheat you
lovers will leave you, babies will cry
but the forest knows where you are
the stars still cast their chill down upon you
you have a place in the grand design
no matter how insignificant in chance
variables of destiny, your signature is a spark
a shadowy breath of the meaning you give it
you are entitled to powerful strangers, familiar rituals
spiritual awakenings, that’s your birthright
Look up.
sometimes just breathe and look around
stop thinking always about yourself.

SILENCE IS A GREAT GEOGRAPHY


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Silence has stripped me bare
An influenza of silver nothing
Stretched like a skin

Over meaning, Bud of transparency
Music clouds the inner listening
Philosophy, a simple play on duality

Silence, is my legitimate voice
Nearly impossible to put
Into words, the feeling of transcendence

Absence of self, how do I exist?
After questions, I will not
Let answers influence me

I become pure neutrality
I would love to cease to hear
My own thoughts, then I might

Finally clarify us together
In a stare, as wide as our unity
Where poetry could say
As much as the quiet night.

Photo courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/Riihivuori-450664430

With Specimens of Song


– Where Hart Crane once jumped

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You love the invisible
You write IT everyday
You claim your little notes
Further the language of the Day

With ample letters, of your love
To witness the light which delights
The air is clear and transparent
Where your voice speaks like a melody

Your love is for the invisible
With incorporeal pillows vain
Your sunrise is a spiritual event
Somewhere inside your little brain

Your love, it is for the invisible
A dreamer interrupting his own ground
You write journals for eternity
God bless your suddeness
that which you call dear poetry.

http://www.deviantart.com/art/Bridge-at-night-II-403312876

I fumbled at my nerves on Earth


40

I am a living acre without design
an apparent order of action in anonymity
this wind and sun are my neighbors here
i yet attain a shadow or of a squirrel

a silent truce with general nature
and the idea of a plan, severely retarded further
by the poignant excess of luxuries to the few –
I am a living care of temporary possession

an apparent cause of love in union
this landscape and tree are my playmates here
i yet attain a shadow or an art of flower
a silent truce with universal chance

it might be famine all around, but we still
live from smile to smile, by happiness
and small wonders fed, the years
i have been without a home.

Photo Courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/girl-emotion-401831549

your name is already on the passenger lists


148

Like our bodies imprint
not a sign will remain
that we were in this place
so live like this, let sand

straighten itself, let nature
smooth the fabric of destiny
Like words that float
dates are already in view

in which you no longer exist
and what was your place in
the names alone that deaden no hearts
the languages that i know

can only briefly convey
we borrow meaning for a season
and treasure love as a tool
like our bodies imprint

our truths will have died with us
and many a person will
have similar fates, or so
we can imagine easily

who will help me? none will come
to the beck and call of desires
that were so brief as to be shadows.

Photo Courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/Singapore-394870973

Dream in Which I am Separated from Myself


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We won’t go ambushing grief
She will find us – trembling, naive
To the power of our tragedy
This is not cinematics, circus-stunts
This is our Life, calm and bleak
Sweet, with unexpected concerts

I won’t be going to enormous cities
Like you, I’m staying put, staying
Humble, simple, in the experience
Of an Alumni from all that I was supposed to be
We won’t go hijacking, ‘everything in it’s rightful place’
You used to say so casually, making it easier

To leave, to return to your liberated ‘freedom’
I won’t find salvation so easily, I’m afraid
My dad doesn’t say a word about, depression
We won’t go hiding form fate, it will hit us
Black, blue, purple – three syllables in chaos
I am my father’s father, ill-mooned withdrawal

Quarantined in these little years
Waiting for whole days, that never come
I am tired of being criticized, I am cold
I imagine myself happy, in line to be touched.

The Death of Love


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Now we return to what we were
A solitude, very gentle, very dear
It’s all I have, like an animal without
The language of love, primal

So instead, I fall consistently –
In love with words, like little vows
That I will write again, to live
Now I return to what I am

A solitude, an oracle of isolated inner beauty
There will be no prophecies which wash
Over the night, or rise at Noon
Only, the little gains of meditation

A finality to be invisible
Or create autonomy as an order of survival
The earth has vanished, I am alone
Nothing proves I am alive

I become transparently slowly rippling
My years away, though I’ve
Come to cherish them, tenderly
They say at the threshold of birth

We come into the world alone
Now I’ve come to terms with certain things
Like birth and death, and the necessity
Of loving or falling back to only, loving ourselves.

That I Did Always Love


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Two butterflies went at Noon
Chasing distant birds
As my heart chases the pleasure

I believe is love, the last privilege
Of meaning, Life could not convince
Me that, there were more important things

I was not logical, or cruel, or sober
A martyr-poet loses syllables
In pangs, better left unsaid…

Like a caterpillar going at Noon
Motivation has dissolved in the search
As my heart chases the unity

I believe is love, a territory of decay
Where I feel impotent to declare
Myself any lasting victory.