the mutual kind

give me beauty
but none of that pain
i don’t want no heartaches
i don’t want no stinging backaches
no points in life where
i’m breathing and clinging on the edge
or the notion of being stuck on a ledge
i don’t want all this
just sweet kisses from lips
the mutual kind that is
and yet if it is that
predictability…
what is beauty
if not endowed with
a little bit of
and a little bit of sweet honey kisses
from lips
the mutual kind that is…
passion in the marriage of
beauty and pain
the mutual kind that is
they make the best of lovers
the make life spill over
like the finest wine
the ones we make toasts with
around the table while we dine
laughter and tears
the mutual kind that is…
i want this.

give me beauty
and also
an allowance for pain
the mutual kind that is
i want this
i’m married to this.

feeling like the sunset

An orange/red Sunset viewed from Verbier, Swit...
Image via Wikipedia

This one was written to a tune. I’ll let the words speak for themselves for now. I just miss the feeling of the sunset.

feel the breeze
as the wind
catches your hair
on the warm sandy beach
sometimes memories stay

but like the sunset
spelling beauty
orange red
on the surface
of the blue ocean drifting
into the night

some things were meant to stay
some things were meant to go away
goodbyes are like the sunlight fading
but only a while
for the dawn
will embrace
your face…

was beauty always what it is?

was beauty always what it is now or how did it first exist?

a hollow hole is dug
a lone seed is place
and in dark brown soil
it is now buried

trails of shredded leaves
raked with holes
and a cocoon
hangs near

one inclined in
the valley of tears
inscribing words
on shreds of paper

it matters for one to know that beauty once shared its place with darkness.

Beauty from a distance

Beauty from a distance,
Like sunset to my eyes,
In them I ravel,
As my heart intently listens.

We are separated by a chasm
Like an isolated island to civilization,
I gather from memory,
This longing intention.

My words you have not heard,
My voice an empty void,
My face an imageless portrait,
One you haven’t yet traced.

Just my projected imagination,
Beauty from a distance,
And so,
To you too,
I cease to exist.

reality and imagination

The Earth's atmosphere refracts the sunlight, ...
Image via Wikipedia

We all have our misguided views of what we think is reality. Optimists looks only at the positives and tell you this is just a set back and things will get better soon. Pessimists tend to say, whose joking, there is no full proof plan and what if things never get better?

Both have their tendencies to create a reality based on extremes. But basing reality on extremes, one is bound to have holes in ones shallow conviction.

I think it’s better to be a realist. Capable of accepting that things can get better but not withholding the fact that any plan that is devised is full proof. We are all sometimes pawns or little people placed in a gigantic earth. We can wield strength, there is no doubt in that but just a slight alteration in the world, like disasters renders us weak and make us know that we are mortals after all.

Let us not just seek only blessing and denying that suffering will never befall us. For on this earth, we walk between these two tensions played in tandem. No one lives above these two realities played together. But even with that stated fact, there is point in depriving ourselves of anything good. The reality of pain and suffering and why they drive us to the wall is because we all desire something contrary. Sometimes the existence of these realities tell us that something is wrong.

But how ever you put it, reality is where both joy and pain is infused together. On the soils of earth, we don’t just walk on places that only project majestic beauty but also one that tells us that dark exteriors truthfully exist. To deny one is to live in a shell of our own making called imagination.

The Mystery of the Deep

Mystery fiction
Image by bricolage.108 via Flickr

Here is something to think about.

I look at a car, my computer, a cup or something we humans have made up, we are filled with the same information. We know what cars are made up. There are magazines that talk about that. Their rims, the latest engines and all that. I’m not much of an automobile buff, which is sad because that might undermine my masculinity, but yes, all the same information crops up. If you read enough, you’ll know enough. I mean we can’t do much to adorn them with our affection. This is where words come in, or rather our emotions infused with words that is. I mean, have you read a beautiful description of how a car is made up with it’s parts?

But channel this to something that borders to the lines of mystery, and what do you get? Beautiful words thread together in emotional wonder. Things like pain baffles us but people can come up with beautiful reflections when they try to describe their feelings. Love is also a mystery. So there are constant thoughts written to convey what it means. A person we have affection for also becomes the subject of our words laden in wonder.

It is something baffling at times when I reflect this. What we can describe and know for sure, with touch and sight, we have not many traces of beautiful reflection for. And what we find as mystery, and try to conjure meaningful description, that we can shower with thoughts that can lead to eternity.

Deep things are ladened in mystery. Deep things propel our minds to wonder. Deep things, we shall not run out of words that speak to explain their beauty and importance. For deep conjure mystery. Deep propel us to orbit space and know we never can fully embrace it’s vastness. Deep is like gazing the surface of the sea and knowing that in the depths lies still, a mystery our minds will never fill.