Motif Without a Name

 

 

Xiao Wei, sometimes I think the life I lead is a lie

And there is nobody I can tell

Everywhere I go I am just another anonymous figure

Tell me, how did it get this way?

 

To be a man is a lonely road

That sometimes leads to no woman

No home, no hearth, no tribe, no faith

And what I once thought was righteous

 

No longer seems just or a cause of becoming

For in the end we are just a lifestyle

We are just a bombshell translated

Into someone contemporary, there’s no singular

 

We are the spirit of history reacting

A fate that can be so tender, so weak

Xiao Wei, in your strength I find homage

Even If I will never taste your food

 

I can run as fast as a rabbit through the forest

Having no destination to whom can I turn?

 

Author’s note:

I should be pleased if you follow me here:

We are most happen when

A Self-Help poem series

The giver receives
The selfish miser is miserable
It’s an easy thing to observe
Sacrifice for others and notice

If this enables you to think
More about the world
And less about yourself?
There are others less fortunate

Than you, the seed cannot
Know what will happen
Without water and sunlight
To focus on the self is to isolate

Oneself from the energy of life
Life is a relationship with itself
There are no actual boundaries
You create them, by distinction

By not sharing your life with others
Self isolation is one of the problems
Of individualistic societies, we pretend
We are strong, but people aren’t

By nature strong, we are tender
We were made for partnership, family
Clan, community, society, cooperatives
Fraternity, exhibition, theater, lovers

Nurturing others enables the energy
To circulate, like blood or light
Do not live a frozen life
Do not waste your time in selfishness

Or attempting to profit
For when we are alone
We are conditioned to think of scarcity
And when we are together we

Happen to muse about plenitude
So what does that mean?

on Being Other Centered

I scarce esteem the business of a name
Time and being, too closely knelt –
To be somebody is surely
A bondage, as a play, the debts

Of somebody else’s keeping
In some spaces, imprisonment
With other co-conspirators, sweet
I scarce esteem my time on the Earth

Less with my comrades
Few and far-between though they call –
Bring my past despair, those
Bands of spice, talks or reckoning

So I may take flight from these
Boundaries of sense-in-pain
For consciousness is thus sandwiched
Between Eternity and time, and others

I can do without time and Eternity
Enough to be at heart with beloveds.

Photo Courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/In-The-Pouring-Rain-403324988