Since I was young
I am on the run
Now, more old,
I am still running,
so I am told
I ran away from that,
that ran towards me
Upon reflection, I can see
how I was getting lost
in loneliness and fear
and rejecting even that,
that was dear
Running is my freedom
from the prison of my fate,
and the buried past
which keeps a live debate
and reminds of something
which stayed behind
Now I speed along malaligned
Running is my surname
Loss and pain, a restless brain,
a song in minor
with a sad refrain
Sometimes a tear in private
often I am running with disquiet
A constant fear to be too late
Imagine dreams thus escape?
The death of me is any wait
Therefore, night and day
I follow and obey
Running is my way,
bluffing also is okay
I run even though
my running days are done
some say it looks like tumbling now
’cause all my pose is gone
The further that I disappear
the happier I be, — I think
But, there are teardrops in my ink
as happiness runs too,
from the one who runs
Running, — my escape
towards a destination called ‘Away’
Tumbling, a persuasive way
to stay and not forsake
*Picture credit: The Emoji Movie
Life is about sitting on an egg, — partially.
When you’re sitting on top of an egg,
– and be honest, I think we are all trying to hatch something, –
and nothing happens for too long,
there is something wrong with the egg you’re sitting on.
Nothing is wrong with you, — of course not.
You did your time and probably more than was necessary.
No bird sits on an egg longer than they intrinsically know they have to, and neither should we.
If you want to bring something about:
change your circumstance, change your beingness.
If nothing happens,
get off and find another egg.
If you water a seed or seedling and it doesn’t grow,
you don’t continue indefinitely, do you?
There must be a benefit; else, what are you doing it for?
Maybe herein lies the problem:
We are the egg and the hen.
Between being both we get side-tracked.
We hen around when we should also egg around.
And both hen and egg have a best before date too.
Or, perhaps our egg got swapped while we were inattentive or in cloud-cuckoo-land. We might be sitting on a dinosaur egg that takes epochs to hatch,
and we only have a human lifetime.
Another more sinister reason could be that there is no egg for us. A hiccup in nature, an oversight, or perhaps a deliberate message of:
“You are wasting your time here, you should be somewhere else, sorry (hu)man, internal error, – reboot.”
I don’t think sitting on an egg is that much fun,
especially when the dream of what that egg was supposed to become has lost its verve.
In the process of incubation and brooding, you have probably also attracted a severe bout of eggshaustion.
Rest is advised but time is limited because it is now already ‘time minus one egg’.
Time and eggs clearly have some agreement.
Maybe ten time units are one egg unit, or who knows?
And, you are entering into major guesswork as to how many time and egg units are available to you.
At this stage of disillusionment with reality and eggs, you might want to run away to an island and just hangout and relax.
When that escape starts feeling like another egg, is it now the right egg? There’s nobody really around that could answer that question. Eggvisors are few and far between, if not entirely mythical. And, other islanders egging it out don’t strike you as the right reference model.
It is not inconceivable that at this moment you might decide,
“WTF, I’ll just grab an egg that looks nice and sit on it and see.”
The point is that when that first egg doesn’t hatch
and we finally decide to move on to another egg,
unless some inbuilt direction finder kicks in
and sets our compass pointing north again in our life,
we could become abandoned eggs or hens without a head.
Now, the second (nth) time around,
we have to apply extra amped-up effort and employ every ounce of skill and wisdom to bring our life together and make sense of it,
— and not accept a watered-down make-believe or a shortlived fake brochure version, —
so we can find that satisfaction which is inherent when our right egg hatches.
like watered down milk…
– indifferently choreographed between white and grey
– tasting like soup with too much thickener and too little salt scooped from a burned pot
– conducted by a metronome seesaw clock stuck on one hour for half the day,
and then suddenly nothing happens, again, and it’s evening
of night aeons and darkness’s conquests and shadowy ghosts infesting my mind
– preserving its light in a heart-locket necklace in memoriam
– where Nothing sticks like clueless glitter lost on my forehead
– when angels were sought and found only in thought but never caught
– of skulls and crossbones destabilising sanity with orchestral irrationality
of X-rays beaming through my skeleton ignoring my transient flesh in their own celebration of reflection…
– where demons dismember my heart and grill the tendrils of my feelings
– of ego-tripping maniacs grinding me to dust with their mortar and pestle rhetoric
– when my ashes become the spice of the devil’s lust,
– when ‘burn his soul’ is chanted by the karmic choir at the tortured gates of reincarnation,
and the cosmic eraser is bigger than any of my dreams
A day where…
Angst is the fire and defiance the air…
– blood is the drug knocked back with a double shot of death
– the soil that I stand on cries louder than hell pronged on a pitchfork
– I am misplaced like a bee on the sea
– I am like a butterfly squashed in the cooler grill of an abandoned racing car
that none of us asked to be part of…
because it perforates and slices with its shrapnel,
it blinds and dumbs the mind with chaos,
it breaks every ethic and moral and belief,
fatally demanding life and remuneration through recurring vengeance,
this day of the feasting vultures of dismay
I lay out there drifting weightlessly somewhere in empty space surrounded by the darkness of the universe Floating on nothing Lost in nothing I and my thoughts Unimaginably alone, — solely Unsad, content, clueless Too distant even to the nearest star Immersed in timelessness About 1:53 am in the feel The past an ashen memory No smoldering feelings I see my future winding through an echoing passage tiled with absorbing pictures turned into movies They distract consistently I am confronted with a view at the end A lookout point into future space, unlike anything I could ever conceive Visible is an indeterminately gigantic, colorful, spoked wheel of dimensions At the hub, where all dimensions meet: the bright center of fertility The source of anything, known also as nothing Close together here unfathomably far apart further out It is all so clear now: In order to keep on floating, I must stay lost and I must stay in a state of not-knowingness That is pure freedom, unbound from existence My only way back to source From this virgin source of nothing I can follow any spoke leading to any dimension Each dimension is another universe Probably entirely unimaginable from our reality As I engage thus I become un-lost in my new knowingness Now I am bound again I don't drift towards a new future I am the new future ...soon to become the newest past and be lost and clueless once more Drifting, floating, clueless, lost in nothing Towards a new future
Pastel on cardboard created by Norwegian Expressionist artist Edvard Munch 1895: was sold for nearly US$120 million, at Sotheby’s, in 2012.
I wail and scream. I howl
I bleed and I implore
Desperate cries distort my lips
Torn into a grimace
fearful open the visage
Clueless and lost I am
Anguish is upon my soul
Dark wrinkles now remain
where tears in streams
once hoped in vain
A devilish nightmare
horrible and mean,
from inside my ulcerating stomach
and my flailing heart,
forced its shadow onto my scene
Warning me, ‘beware’
A thousand cellars deep in agony,
dank with acid, bile, and irony
I bang my head and bite my nails
My soul from sorrow is impaled
and my spirit poison has inhaled
wishing for the comfort in the grave
Eyes in white rage ajar
now burned out,
once upon a time two sunny stars
My fists are clenched,
spiked with ragged bony hands
stabbing aimlessly at burned out plans
I once knew another side of this fence
helpless windmills are my arms
Harsh and vile the words accusingly escape
Hear me whoever and whatever you may be:
You are fearsome, belligerent, debilitating,
uncompromising, ruthless and emetic
I am on a vertex uncontrollably forlorn
Sickeningly, rhymeless, unpoetic
Pushed too far, beyond repair I’m harmed
Disappointed, disillusioned, hurting bad
Events heaped upon me that made me crying sad
Life’s definition –
amongst buried papers, dogmas, egos
and coated in red tape:
An endless suffering caravan of greed and hate
Controlled by law enforced by society
I scream some more
It is too late
Piety, sobriety, and deity, notorious dubiety
I scream again, I scream
I tell the universe I’m sore
Sick of all the hell, right to the core
Liberate me, bring about a change
Never will I accept some fate
Turnaround my life
I still believe it can be done somehow
But scream I must
Before I settle into dust
and blow away,
Scream, scream, scream in pain
I couldn’t sleep for thoughts of you Morning, feelings, cold and dew Everything was just so fine Clueless, lost that was my crime Nothing in my dark lit up Thoughts of you kept coming but the loneliness kept holding tight This opponent was my lifelong fight Seldom happiness would have a say All the vivid colors turned to gray Forsaken in my ice age day by day A cul-de-sac, a dead end stop I would rant and rave until I dropped Nothing changed, it wasn’t meant to be Even my dreams and wishes couldn’t set me free Some force was negating, maliciously intent a life of accomplishment and content I bargained till my beard turned white the other one just laughed at this my plight You could have cashed your soul for fun and lived a life of sin and some he even mentioned that my soul was worth a bit he’d talk to Karma even Hades could be skipped Then he left for he had other things to do I should call him if I'd feel I’m through In between he came around telling me I wasn’t sound I should think about a deal Rap it up and put a seal What’s the point when nothing works and your days are filled with hurt Life’s too short to live in pain All agree that is a shame and there’s no one here to blame But who was he who tempted so What energy did make him grow I made him up that much I know therefore why can’t I let him go Worry, fear, and disillusionment helped in his establishment Sunshine, love, and laughter will destroy his term as master To beat him at his game and bring happiness again my entire life I searched for you questioning exhausted if you could be true often clueless, lost, I lived through years of rue and spent much time talking to the stars with tears hoping that someone might open up their ears My angels came a running, just before it was too late They called the wind to blow a storm and change my fate You greeted me and we knew before a word was spoken that we had scars from many places we were broken Even now I do recall the times alone when my thoughts run away from home and I dig in places dark and drown forgetting all the joy you've brought and everything I ever sought There was no crime and no disorder Clueless, lost, I crossed the border Deep I sank into some feelings fleeing from my heart and being till you came along and stroked me with your song Finally, my life is mine to shine There never was a crime.