It is you…

-To my dearest-est Friend on her Birthday-

I know

An oeuvre of a divine author
And an artisan of ingenious opuses

 
I know

 A resolute sky, unwilling to pour down…
And a reviving spring, reluctant to fall back…

 

I listen to

A melodious solo of a moonlit night…
And a zephyr of captivating nature.

 
Yet, it’s not this, it’s not that…
It’s just beyond the scope of attributes.
Isn’t it that you??
Yea, it is you.
For, each creation is creator itself
And He the Creator is simply beyond the scope of attributes.

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                                        (Thanks to Loyed for the click)

Hey Despina, Reign your life and bring forth prosperity to its populace. .. May life return you always (it’s not always possible, though 😛 ) happiness.

Be liberal in sharing your love, let it surpass eons. 😉 and thus your life as well.

Blessings of the day!!

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Ode to God – [Despina Karvounis (Guest poet)]

 

When surrealism ceases to exist, and

Crippling emotions are holding a mind captive,

All arguments being exhausted,

A void opens grand, ready to swallow me and me alone,

A tiny atom in the vastness of the Universe rotating fast,

In a vertigo of crowded solitude, on my own axis,

I am, I stand alone.

 

My struggle has been with you, oh God.

Seas of despair already filled and deserts are

Holding secrets yet, of truths proclaimed.

I spread my soul into an embrace striving to hold

Everyone and everything close, your creation

Is my quest, filling my heart with awe and reverence.

My void is starting to take form,

My swaying in the abyss, a purpose.

 

It is not until I reach in, within, that I find you.

I strive to become as you in order to understand

Your wisdom, I submit my pride and stubbornness,

A solid ground unfolds underneath my feet,

My wings transform into laboring hands, yet

The vastness in my Universe remains filled with all

Things made by word, clay, breath, and love all you.

 

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“It is not until I reach, within, that I find you.” Certainly, this is the perfect message on this celebration of rising, to be shared with.  Rise… Rise to within. 

“Can you see anything?”

…. he had put saliva on his eyes and laid his hands on him, he asked him, “Can you see anything?” 

And the man looked up and said, “I can see chicken and they look like roasted and well served dishes on the dining table along with whisky for the Easter Sunday.” 


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He asked the chicken, “Can you see anything?”

And the chicken looked up and said, “I can see men and they look like wolves, walking with fresh flesh in their mouths.”

Then he laid his hands again on their eyes. No he didn’t. He left them there on the middle of the road.

Dedicating to that wonderfool fool who wished me “Happy Good Friday”. Well, it supposed to be sad not happy you know. Never mind. Just kidding.

Love in white

They were playing a drama right in front of my sight and I couldn’t resist except being a spectator of it. The so-called lovers in it exchanged red roses and symbolically the red hearts as well.

Image(Google Image )

Somehow, it was quite boring. I stood up and shouted without knowing what I was yelling:

“Hey, hell with your red roses and hearts. I would love to see LOVE IN WHITE than it’s in red. Any hope?”

“Who’s that numbskull?”   Happy that I got an immediate response from the audiance. 😉

Whom do you want to love?

Whom do you want to love?” Me, the eccentric waif asked a lovely flower.

“If there’s a beetle who returns to me even after knowing, there won’t be even an ounce of nectar left in that flower after it’s being brutally exploited by him.” 

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In the journey forward, I met a beetle and repeated the same question: Whom do you want to love?”

“If there’s a flower who still longs for me even after it was viciously exploited by me.”

Thanks to a nightingale

– To Dearest Despina

 It was just an ambitious bird once. Then, gradually, it was transformed into a migratory bird; perhaps the anarchy within moulded it thus.

By the way, difficult was it to identify that: was it the wind that accompanied the bird or the bird that accompanied the wind? Anyhow, there sustained a magical catalyst between the two.

Wherever the bird landed, it felt those places as if it was just a bedlam. So it constantly went on flying without settling down anywhere. At the same time, the bird was baffled up with certain thoughts: ‘my running away was my own impotency to cop up with the current milieu? My chattering was nothing but a hollow philosophy to justify my own comfort zone?’

The other birds blamed it and uttered judgments on that migratory bird: “it’s just a reckless piece of …..  you know. Aloof…. More specifically, irresponsible it is.”

But, the bird didn’t listen to it. It just went on flying. It was gloomy, though.

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Meanwhile, the journey progressed through the known and the unknown skies. Still, the horizon was never met since it stood so close only in those blank words, “You can GO BEYOND HORIZONS”

Time went by…. One day, the migratory bird bumped into a nightingale in its journey. Exceptionally distinct it was, from the rest. In truth, the nightingale had something to tell to that migratory bird; as like a mystic bird it started to sing all of a sudden:

“I know you… I know your chaos too.
Just like an unknown symphony it all pulls you here
And it pulls you there till time will fulfill its own wonder.
But, you need to be your very own…
Nothing else could ever be what you should become.

Flap your wings till you feel you are floating
Sing your songs till you realise you yourself turned into a song.

Fly happy and stay beautiful.”

When the alluring orange rays kiss its face, the migratory bird was completely unaware of whether it was a sunrise or it was a sunset … But, it was aware of just one thing; the undeniable fact that it was happy and calm then.

(Borrowed some thought from Despina and it’s the same that inspired me to write this.)

FB

1. FB (for many at least) is nothing but a fisherman’s hope that the very next moment i’ll get a big fish.

2. It is the breast that gifted by a genorous mind to breastfeed man’s fantacies.

Dedicated to the young who asked me a definition for the FB. Well, I didn’t get something different on that time.

A brothel within

Dear self, indulge yourself. I’ve built a brothel within, only for u. 

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Google image

Hey self, repent now. Somewhere out there, someone has built a church, only for you. 

Thus go in peace back to your brothel again and repeat these words 5 times a day that “I love my religion. I love my religion.”