The mundane stillness, how paralysing in her absence. Her voice, a strange old myth, devoid from truth as the years of silence rejoiced. A victory for the parliament of strangers, where faceless men and women rule. They sit inside their glacial palace where liquid blood no longer flows. Years ago, in their obscure chambers they voted to conquer the light. Legends, told by wise old men who were children in the days of the sun. Spoke of lovers kissing by the river beds. Painter’s, with endless colours on their brush. This is the empire of no light. Whose borders are vast and its people are conditioned to thwart love. I, a singular man, write from my shadows of dissent. Hoping one day these proses will galvanise the enslaved and from the night’s ice, abolished love will ascend.
I cannot speak for the world, when the question is asked, whether love has meaning, or any form of relevance, in the current age. I speak for myself, I am my own appointed correspondent. So what I will disclose, is far from a universal truth I speak from the debris of experience. There is no such thing as earthly love. . We, human beings, across civilisations, through inaugurations of presidents and kings, have been misguided. Misguided into falling victim to the notion, that love isn’t a myth That somehow, and somewhere, there is an ideal match to our soul. What is compatibility? But a prolonged form of positive interaction. And infatuation? Ah this ripe old word Infatuation is what this earth breeds in abundance It's what this earth has masqueraded as love. You may ask why? Why have we been deceived? And I am obliged to present you with an answer. This earth is incapable of producing lasting love, and love in its purest form is eternal, ladies and gentleman. We feel it in this decadent world, in mere sprinkles We have never been caressed, by its mature and enlightened touch For we are unworthy of such divinity. Our hearts are too mortal, to accommodate its infinite purity. I do not blame mankind, for allowing the theatre to continue its act To our knowledge, the show is rehearsed And the actors, will inevitably change their voice. As soon as the music, bows down, The curtains, will reveal reality, in its truest form. And infatuation, will reappear once again, to a standing ovation As its mask is held gallantly by its side.
stars are like people
they seem so beautiful from afar
we spend our nights
mesmerised by their existence
in awe of their magical aura
that fascinates us
yet what we cannot see
is their ultimate destruction
that eventually destroys
in their path
so beware of these starry beings
they are illusions
that mimic beauty
sprinkled with eternal
His character was injurious, yet she refused to loathe him She enjoyed the feeling of pain, accustomed to the self-pity it brings Tamed by the puppet master, who played her on a string Her veins became contaminated, with hate towards men Every single one of them, apart from him The same man who played her on a string The same man who proclaimed, "no strings attached" Strings became tied, he became detached All he hears now, are the echoes of sirens, and the droplets of rain The echoes of sirens subside, the abundance of droplets fade Now the birds persuade one another, to rise and awake Chirping in the distance, as the darkness escapes The impossibility of sleep, as your mind is constantly processing words An internal voice remains conscious, whist your body adjourns He was afraid of the light, so he darkened the room Writing poetry to ease the mind, the battle resumed A constant war between two tribes, the heart and the mind Fighting for territory of the kingdom, to decide who controls the man He relieved his shame, by laying with different women Yet the emptiness which plagued his heart, became ever more present There's a difference between infatuation and love Infatuation with lust is short-lived, whilst one eternally loves Writers often want to amend a woman Either their partners or lovers, or even themselves Most romances never last, because the candle loses its spark Eternal love, is when you see light in the dark
I have roamed this earth's plain,
amongst every ancient rock, and minuscule grain of sand Yet I have not found the courage, to leave you behind In a box where the heart, no longer searches for you. You remain this singular piece, of indescribable treasure With your own forsaken history, and hysteric shine. Over time, I, acquired pristine gems, which no man has ever had, the fortune to find Yet, you, in all of your jagged flaws Are the piece that is enshrined in my thoughts. It may be that I unearthed you, when my heart was still warm Flowing with the desire, which sends men to the stars. My celestial colonies now, are protected by these words That allow me to communicate with you, verse by verse. Your skin caresses my lips at night, my eyes firmly closed I envision your breasts, on that December eve The taste of bloodied wine on your breath. I must no longer be welcome, inside of your thoughts Exiled from the realms of your mind So I’ve dedicated an island inside of my soul, which I hope your’s will one day find. This island is occupied, by my love for you And each day it sends out a bottled note Out into the universe’s ocean, where infinite bottles, they float. If you, my one piece of indescribable treasure, are never to be seen ever again I will write about you, in endless words As the treasure, that gave rise to the pen.
I captured her silhouette,
in the early hours of dawn
As the starkness portrayed her innocence
Intrigued by the thought,
of what was occurring in her dreams
I sat mutely,
in the corner of observance
Her timid breath could not be heard,
and every once in a while
I placed my head,
close to her bosom
There’s a notion that when mankind sleeps,
we’re at the most unconscious stage of our nature
But on this autumn morning
I witnessed her dry and pained groans,
as the torment encapsulated her
Reality was too dimensional,
for her to vent her anger and shame
So her dreams became her way of therapy,
to deal with her sources of strain
I made a brotherly pact with my soul,
to doctor her emotional wounds
Slicing a fraction of my sacred heart,
to stitch the part of hers which never regrew
As the light blue colours of earth,
appeared from the broken grey of dawn
I got a glimpse of her cream smile,
heard her shallow and angelic yawns
And I knew that she was reborn.
The poets, they write about the love they have tasted on their tongues
And the paintings of women they have fawned over, time and time again
They write about the intimate anatomy of these sculptures
As though they have been sent from distant moons
To endeavour in earth’s cravings for pleasure
The writings are either bitter or sweet, with no in betweens
As I think of past love’s
I’m reminded of their scents and the innermost intricate feelings
I become a passenger of my own memories
In the present
I think about love’s that are in their embryonic processes
Women whom I have no conceptualised futures with
I feel as though our destines are aligned
And that the power of this growing universe
Is propelling us towards something revolutionary to our souls
I feel this power growing in me
As though somewhere, sometime I once knew this tender face
And that I spent a lifetime in her arms
I feel as though I woke up each day to a thousand of her smiles
And made love to her in a thousand different ways
I feel as if she is the part of me whom my soul has spent a millennia trying to find
And that she compliments my heart like the shadows compliment the night
Now in truth, these conceptions could crumble
Like the empire’s of old
But I refuse to bow down
I wish to allow her to blossom like a flower in the early days of spring
I wish to allow her the freedom to breathe as she sees fit
For I will never constrict her, in any way
Love cannot be a bondage, with any given rules or ties
I will love her as as her heart complies
For we have forgotten how to serve our women in a gratuitous way
We have forgotten how to honour them and treat them
As though they have been sent from distant and divine moons
For only when we, as men, respect our women as though our own blood was at stake
Will this earth find its perished peace
For only then will our children inherit these traits
For only then will love conquer all
And to the very last days
I learned to love
As if I were a spy
Hiding in the background of city lights
She would taste the sweetness of the grape
In her flowery wine
But I, the body had escaped from her tongue
For I cannot be the juice which she drinks
I am the layer
Which was once protecting the grape
From which the juice was squeezed
For she is now my distant moon
And I am her endless wave
Close to the shore where my love, departs
I feel the velocity breaking down with each flow
As each wind
Carries me through the ocean of surrender
For I no longer remember
Where or how my journey began
Through this abundant ocean which holds my sins
I am forever flowing
Knowing that I will never find
The source of my existence
Each night I look up at that distant moon
From my icy waters
I close my eyes
And I envision myself
Flowing along its soft spine
I close my eyes
And I envision myself
As the layer of grape
That escaped from that distant vineyard
Making my way into the juice which nourishes her lips
From the state of limbo,
in which you have found yourself in.
You stand on this delicate border,
between war and peace.
Where young men,
who stand on the bridge between young age and maturity,
fall to their knees.
Bleeding from wounds which are inflicted by their own brothers,
masquerading as sworn enemies.
For I cannot accept the notion,
that we are born noxious.
An infant child,
sees only magnolia light,
when they are surrounded by a darkened world.
They are blind to the fragmentation’s,
which have split earth’s people.
I hereby attest that the destructive force,
which guides this somber and erratic plain,
is perplexed by the nature of its own force.
which I cannot name,
nor describe in words.
Is combatting a struggle within itself.
It may not be able to see the light,
but from time to time,
it gets a small taste of the rays of paradise,
from which it once came.
When human beings are conflicted with bouts of jeopardy,
their hearts become tense,
and their blood ravages and overflows,
as the ships of chaos navigate their way,
through an ocean of devout anarchy.
Yet these human beings know,
that within every noir eclipse,
is a sun that is waiting,
to caress magnolia flowers with its tender touch.
These suns do not shine into infinity,
and even when their golden arms,
touch the body of the magnolia plant,
they do so in divine intervals,
and not through the entirety of time.
So this force,
that I shall not name,
may be seeking its own golden arms.
Arms which it has lost.
Arms which yearn to once again unite,
with the force which graces us with magnolia light.