The white globe glows on

We will all tremor in the future
And there will be no mistaken escape
No sense of time after apocalypse
What a strange and magnificent invention
Is the prophecy of our own death
* * *
We exploit so much of what is given
Only to be erased by time’s earthy hands
Forever and for good, cheers to our stay
We who were braver for the failures of our fears
* * *
There’s no comfort in tomorrow, if you know
What is to come, there’s no dawn to sooth the ache
Only the exquisite dream of utopia
Whispers from the Upanishades, of all things
* * *
We will love the future, even if it won’t be ours
It’s better by far than loving the past
The past has its own authority over us
Which we cannot yet control
* * *
We live in sketches that wish to be real
In simulations of quantum entanglement so elegant
The white globe glows on, humanity is a wounded woman
Obliged to accept her role in our decay.

As the Sun Sings along the Navels of Prophets

Art by: http://www.deviantart.com/art/Prophet-26476972

But now he sleeps without end
His potential buried forever
Now the moss and the grass
Flowers the dreams of what

His life would have been
Better maybe than some fates
The dew will simply blanket
Darkness, his soul will retreat

Maybe one day to take form again
And he will seek a confident profile
And his goal will bewilder him
And his beautiful body will carry

The tiger-thirst of the multitudes
And he will play his role
Below the stars like an actor
And the horse-clouds will see him

And the groups of silence
In the corners of the Earth
Will whisper of him
Like Buddha, Mohammed, Jesus

Or Kalki whoever, it goes on
A lament for what a man stood for
A symbol for what truths can mean
Across generations; a philosopher,

A poet, a prophet, an innovator
Because, tomorrow’s love does not wait
Evolution does not falter
Her veins of coral are never mute
But flow with the pride of genius itself.

The Soul Achieves Herself without effort

Gradual is our relationship
with the grace behind nature
another spectral October Fall
how the wizard sun confines

and the flamingo sunsets wave goodbye
the fires ebb, the flowers cease
their sport, the stars wink
at snowflakes on their fall

to carpet a sparkling web
sapphire moments drift by
at dusk in the cities
there is a soft glimmer

in the streets, it is cold outside
as we bow one by one into
our brief solitude, with visions
to guide us for the labours of tomorrow

paralyzed by the savings of gold
or the lack of savings in our bank accounts
the wisdom of life is a brief release
the details we once scrutinized

no longer seem so important after all
to live a good life, means different things
at separate points in our story
and nothing in the end intoxicates

like the God neurochemical
call it what you will, the spirit
lives on after all these subplots
the search for a diviner brand

of metaphysics, philosophy, utopia
until there are no visitors to our soul
but a diviner truth, a more united feeling
gradual is our relationship
with what’s beyond the scope of years.

Photo Courtesy:

1. http://www.deviantart.com/art/Be-on-the-road-with-warmly-thoughts-482560577
2. http://www.deviantart.com/art/Deer-Collaboration-483167431

Brief history of religion

When I admire the wonders of a sunset or the beauty of the moon, my soul expands in the worship of the creator.
~ Mahatma Gandhi

i would be as ignorant as the future
that forgives and forgets the past
as sublime as the dawn

that has looked down on towns
as the stars fade and the moon
is plucked by the ocean from the sky
I would be as ignorant as this planet

that dreads not but revolves around itself
these countries of profit and civil
unrest, fighting history, quarrels between gods

invented by men who would wield power
the kind of show that leads to a unified death
flame under flame, flower of the heaven-fold
obeying your will to die for a name

obedient to the scripture where my ancestors died
and i lived, because of cowardice and
because I wanted see another sunset, another dawn.

Having a Kafka Moment

Gratitude bestows reverence, allowing us to encounter everyday epiphanies, those transcendent moments of awe that change forever how we experience life and the world.
~ John Milton

i’ve been growing old slower
with all this beauty around me
my peers lately, have been chatting
about the power of gratitude

every revolution evaporates
so why bother, bureaucracy
prevails, politicians are corrupt

i’ve been growing old slower
since i started not doing politics
not being political, learning
to be productive in the spheres

that aren’t touched by the marketplace
i’ve learned not to lie, by staying silent
i no longer read advertisements

i no longer occupy my time with wanting things
i’ve been growing old slower
with a quiet beginning of understanding
the first wish to die has risen in me

like a bud that will flower
a medication from my own substance
i have the true feeling of myself

only when i give up happiness and unhappiness
there, the world will present itself
to you with its unmasking
like a child that only wants to play

i’ve been growing old more slowly
in theory where I abandon the second world
the idea that suffering is necessary

that pain is a natural argument of time
i’d rather read a book
that serves as an ax for
the frozen sea within me

and associate myself with human beings
that not only lure me into a self-observation
but allow me to laugh at myself better

or realize how pathetically scant
my self-knowledge is compared to say
the awareness that I am growing older
and care less for my youthful failures

by consequence of a natural decline in memory
it’s there, that evil is whatever distracts
me from whatever I consider my calling

at the time, did I mention that
i’ve been growing old more slowly
since I’ve surrounded myself with kind women?
it’s true, women are precisely

my favorite religion, i could hide
in their dogma for any number of years
feeling totally young in their emotions

find many hiding places listening
smiling to their relationship-antagonists.

Psalm 15

Preserve us, O Lord of Love:
I care not for this flesh, for myself
For in thee Universal life, I place my trust
Undying as I will die, Living as I attempt to do
Your work on this planet, my intended nature
Gives me fruit and fall
Thou art my Lord: whatever I do
Is because of your energy in me
And to be excellent, in whom is all my delight
And all the angels that ever experienced Earth
The Lord is my portion of mine inheritance and my cup:
Give us then this clean air, water, taste of centuries
Yea, we have goodly heritage enough
I will bless the Lord, who hath given me counsel:
Endure, take stewardship of your portion
I have set the Lord always before me:
And I am willing then to do his work first
Therefore my heart is glad, his glory to help:
In the presence of last joys I make my way
As one Holy One to see corruption fair
To bring a light to ignorance, of saving peace
To do God’s work is the best pleasure of the flesh
To see God in others and embrace them with love.

BUT COLORLESS

i

You flicker, and I cannot touch you
Or give you a name that holds up
To the touch of Time, it sings
A mouth for Poppies in July
And hands for prayer beneath
August skies, you do me no harm

ii

To believe in God, or something
Like a Universal Spirit that moves
In all things, some soul of energy
You flicker, and I cannot reach you
Cannot tell what is my own or socialized
We are made dull by a consumerist machine

iii

And where are the Real Dreamers now?
You flicker, and I am no longer a mystic
What are these words, these words?
That cannot seem to call you back in my heart
Where was once simplicity and bliss
Without a need to have, to own, to belong.

Photo Courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/Loreley-453221206

After Language

The Definition of Love is That Definition of all You can see it in the Trees In the Analysis of water, space, earth It’s a definition of beauty personified Evolution in nature and mind We play at her game of …

Prayer Untitled

Prayer is the last response
Of presence when life is denied
So to remain quiet

Is sometimes next to God’s ear
Watching and listening
The last apparatus

Of apparent prosperity
For to own is not permanent
Anything can be taken away

A spirit-diamond trance
Can problem solve
The symmetry of misfortune

Prayer is the last response
Of an unconditional force of happiness
Too infinite is consequence

For us to seize destiny by the throat
Prayer is the easiest sport
When our slow capacities deploy

A crude response to vivid nature
So to act is not always wise
Then do we notice things overlooked

Our mind italicized by light
That darkness be prerequisite
To spirit’s final room

As narrow time’s jostle between
What we once called life & death
Bent to water, till we died

Prayer is the last response
When belief no longer regulates
The perception of our undue significance.

Photo Courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/Skyfall-403075862

Thought

“There is no frigate like a book
to take us lands away” – Emily Dickinson
——————————————————-

There is no reverie like a book
No dream like a religion
To take us lands away
Prancing into the make-believe

There is no reverie like a world
Shared by only a few
That oppresses many, by select
Random and most inopportune

There is no right or wrong in inequality
Nature bears not a human soul
No good or evil in hierarchy
Only rules to play a meaningless game

There is no reverie but society
Social norms of the zeightgeist if you please
No dream like politics
To let a few outrank us by decree

Civilization is a long oppression
There is no falsehood like history
Art whose use is only temporary
Thus all of man is mostly make-believe

Though they pretend to be most important
How frugal is the chariot of the human soul
That takes so little from open life to barren life
Where does it go? What does she learn?

There is no reverie like an evolution
That cannot be seen, cannot be touched
No dream like a God
Who never shows a power, or a face.

Photo Courtesy: http://browse.deviantart.com/art/Badass-London-Sundown-382329516

The Social Welfare of Myth

I am thinking of becoming Bahá’í
Nailing my dreams to the sky
While the summer sun is high!
To blindfold my skin, in community

Lost in the darkness, our bodies would reach
Another gentler humanity
But Krishna was lost somewhere
On the edge of time, like folklore

Like summer yawning with orphans serene
And the miracles we secretly wait for
I’m losing why I must thank you, world
For being alive, I am thinking of converting

To religion, simply for human convenience
Which means I’m still left with pure longing
Secret arrangements of the necessity of God
And the luxury of our opera of history books

Somebody is smiling with independence
Beyond the myths, I’ve been a historian
Watching you sleep, as if all of my life.

God in a Secular World

Nothing impels action like
The love of God, which has –
So many forms, teeming sub-shoots
Like subcategories of Evolution
Sects of harvesting Will
Offshoots of motives of the Beloved

God will not give anything in return
But we will act, in brief necessity
Dying to the art of our years
With the bare hearts of our fleeting youth
I think the hope of loving

Keeps us going, even when
We are unable to adapt, unable to act
I have been like this for a while now
The love of God, it’s not lost on me

I’ve translated mysticism even when
I’ve wept for the light that didn’t reach my heart
It is said God is always ready for us
But we seek him without, not within.