Would you be the clouds? Or would you be the sea? And I – the heights that breathe. Would you be the waves? I – the ocean bed A thousand leagues between.
The past 10 weeks have been interesting because I signed up for an online course offered by the Kelly Writer’s House at University of Pennsylvania. Modern and Contemporary American Poetry is a Massive Open Online Course facilitated by the Coursera platform that boasts a participation of some 30,000 plus students from around the world. The Kelly Writer’s House is well ...
If I am not my thoughts, I have no use for your ideologies, I have no reverence for deity, No discrimination of class, caste, or social strata. If I am not my body, I have no use for your medicines, I have no reverence for healers, No desperate need to cling to what has no hold of me.
Listen: http://www.thesixtyone.com/s/6YNwAJCyR0G/ Been around a couple of times I feel like I’ve been here before And it seems to me our worst mistakes Were made before we learnt to show it Oh, how I feel the world pulled from beneath my feet Oh, I suppose I could have learnt from your mistakes Been around a couple of days For you ...
Imagine that you are able to see the effects of a single action that you make as it unfolds across the Universe: Dominos trailing tangents; you’ve caused more than affects you throughout your life – and you always will. We’re not told to think like that because we would then be indifferent and do anything we wanted to – caution ...
Thousands of thousands came, Leaving as they were, Empty wallets on the floor. These bubbles do not float, They walk but not walk, They speak but not speak, For their very foundation is weak, As it relies on their strength, And their strength is their ignorance - bliss – but not Bliss. And who are these bubbles, They are you, ...
I’ve got a chance to perform live at the CoCA Invasion! art festival going on this week at the Warehouse Project. Do come check it out, I’ll be performing between 6 and 8pm from the 15th to 19th. FB event page: https://www.facebook.com/events/165054856931375/
A mound of sticks, stones and earthly matter, Surrounding you, a breath of hubris, so pungent – inflammable. Down to earth you have never been, you never willed. You were no sanyasi. You were thrown in to the sea.
Attar’s Seven Valleys of Love, as translated by C.S. Nott The Valley of the Quest “When you enter the first valley, the Valley of the Quest, a hundred difficulties will assail you; you will undergo a hundred trials. There, the Parrot of heaven is no more than a fly. You will have to spend several years there, you will ...
Self-realization dawns to some at an early age. I suppose they are the lucky ones, able to get their act together and focus on what they need to get through. I don’t think I fall under that category. Adolescence was not the easiest phase for me. I can’t look back at myself as a kid and relate to anything really. I feel ...
Trance? Entrance: Entrée, appetiser, or full-on out-of-body experience? To consume the Self, flesh and bone, is it carnivalesque or carnivore? I can’t eat more, any more than a herbivore, omnivoraciously dissatisfied with the dull taste of life, till the sharp rust of death greets tongue. Quiver! Whimper. Simpler, still, just be.
I have watched you string memories in Mermaid’s beads that I have adorned with eyes of amethyst, sapphire, emerald and ruby, topaz, torqouise. I have watched them string memories where fingers traced only the circumference. Still one so translucent, its colour unnamed - I will call it Moonstone. Naam, naam.
Poetry P’lau Notes The sculptor Tissa De Alwis, offers us a definition of poetry: “Eloquence, elegance, and economy!” So we’ll try to be wittily succinct and inexpensive! This Poetry Raglet Hyshyama Hamin suggests we invite discussion on “how others view people who love or write poetry – the misconceptions around it. The marginalization of poetry in the broader lyrical sense and the needs for ...
Don’t come to me when your heart is beating up your head. Don’t come to me when the river meets its end. They say the sea refuses no river, But this ocean has no more room, Brimful with tears yet to be shed. You opened the door and packed my bags for me. Yet you seemed to miss the baggage ...
