sun and moon

oh my longing for love
likens to that of how the
sun wishes to meet the
moon once again
how the shadows of
the deepest caverns
long to once again be
yielded to the light
as the dark becomes
enlightened and
the sun and moon
eclipse that what i
know is naught
feeling is devoid of truth
and this love to be felt
from the source
personified in a monad
of false self is
what i seek and yet not
as the goal and path
are united by this source of love

a painting does not convey the poetry

I stare at the wall
I stare beyond the wall
Beyond everything
My mind is the focal point
She sits, poking at her phone
Its bluish light illuminating her face with a faint glow
We say nothing
The room lies perfectly still
We are frozen like sculptures
Our minds explode with emotion
Anguish, fear, rage, despair
This is a scene of poetry.
These words are only a painting.
A painting does not convey the poetry.

 

The inspiration for this poem came from a friend of mine who told me that his philosophy in life was to see everything as poetry. Even an intense argument with your girlfriend is poetry. So last year, after or in the midst of a heated argument with my then girlfriend, i kept this in mind. And all i could think to do was to write a poem about it. So i did.

Self

Lines of soul
Piles of self strewn across the floor
What do they mean?
A gateway to passion and wisdom
But a false idol!
And from the feet of the false idol in supplication we draw the blood of sub-existence
This is self
Broken. Empty. Nothing.
Like a beautiful lie–the vehicle of truth.
Bliss and truth rest in the effulgent over-being of all-ness
You knew it all along:
The idol was a signpost pointing the way to nourishment
And instead you tried to drink its blood