We counted the smiles of new hours, last days


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There’s a great wink from eternity
That tells us with unfettered honesty
That what we thought is important
Isn’t important, that meaning is greater
That the plans we made years ago!
Her vast moonward curves and starlit poise

Points us to the future with wrapt inflections
Of our love moving through time
Till the ends of history, lovers, descendants

How all these hours turn, squandered
And how time herself is the cleavage
Of the unseen, felicitous, imaginary

An unanswered vortex of probabilities
A quantum spendthrift gaze towards paradise
And if it gives us hope, it is because
We seek infinity, knowledge, beauty
The limits of what we can become

And now how we are resigned to do it
With technology, algorithms, stem cells
Cloning, 3D-printing, digital superscription

Priests of artificial intelligence, fusion
And all that is the farewell of one age to another
The bookshops close, the manufacturing is leased to robotics

And we are left on the brink of last fantasies
Changes that can rock how stars kiss other stars
A spectrum of mutability where we visit dimensions
We created just to give meaning to our lives.

S l a v e r y to a Fake Future Reality #amwriting #revolution #policestate #matrix


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S l a v e r y to a Fake Future Reality

What of the study of realism
In a world becoming simulative
How can we tempt the children
With reality, when they are lost
In augmented virtuality?

An angel’s lips to kiss, we think,
But not a girl by their side
No flower-bells to haunt

Only designer babies I am afraid
Who are the masters of machines
More intelligent than them
What of the future, when
Revolution will be improbable, impossible

For the elite will be the state
And democracy will all-trodden blink
For men who as youth know they

Will never own a job or be possessed
By the kind of value their grandparents
Took for granted, is this real then?
This economy where a few profit
For the sacrifice of the many

Where every nation is in debt
And every house is over-priced
What of the study of realism

It has become a lost art
And loveliest of art and poetry
Goes unseen, unheard and unread.

Dreams of Flower Corpses


Yesterday is but today’s memory, and tomorrow is today’s dream.
~ Khalil Gibran

Photo Courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/O-472291540

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We were all dreamers it would seem
we made our myths and spent
nights in the middle of them
until dawn broke our even
darkening-shapes, because

it took an entire life to decline
or go insane, or might I awaken?
the night dragged our covers
off of us, out of the light
we felt the sleep of our routine

enfolding us like eerie fingers
from some window, or control-panel
might we have been enslaved long ago?
by whom or the government
we still flicked with our ghostly beams

seeking more intelligence, faith, energy
to be who we required destiny
to shape us, our souls knew
the secrets of our mortality
we were dreamers and I swear

we created melodies out of our own fears
musicians of fate, jennies in training.

DISTANCES OF PLEASURE


1.

i

I have been distracting myself
In an Ocean of pleasures
Grasping purpose in the world

ii

I found the clinging and the having
Unpleasant, empty, forgetful of meditation
With my temporary pleasures
There was a burden of grief
Imprisonment, dissatisfaction and loneliness
An animal in a self-chosen cage

iii

In my relative attachment to the world
I somehow missed the sip of divinity
And with my greed, there came a fear
Of losing, failure, abandonment from security

iv

I have forgotten how to live without lust
I go from one craving to the next
As if living a simulation, envious
Of the remembrance of virtuous living.

Photo Courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/11-11-455255289

THE SLEEPERS


46

There is no map of trees Just as
There is no History of lifetimes
We are ‘free’ to experience here
The French window ajar
Another restless rainy day!
Let the silver dew rise
Let the white mists roll
Let them say what they will –
There is no height like Eyes
No soulfulness like, pure kindness
We are sleepers some of us
Should we forget to sleep through
The years, of mornings and afternoons
There is no replay button, no reset
Only the silence after dreaming.

Photo Courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/Untitled-451918526

The Akashic Servant


12

My Brain is a network among the stars
In quantum curiosity, I am connected
Like a psychic network to all

I do not require intelligence
Only excessive sensitivity to sentience
A trance-state of the syllable of sound

Lyrics of all churches, all beings
My Brain is a channeled unity
The Lightning of the Cosmos playeth here

Like a chariot, or a vest, or a simulation
My Brain are neurons of serendipity
I am scaffolded, primed, pruned, trained

Transported by fate to divine service
My Brain is a network of illuminations
Grown soulful, with homesick eyes

Alive with the white sustenance of youth
And attachment to eternal themes
My Brain is intrinsic with possibility

A neuro-plasticity of the highest art
Of visitors, and occupations, and music
With narrow hands, to gather Paradise –