Notes About The Poem
“The minute I heard my first love story,
I started looking for you, not knowing
how blind that was.
Lovers don't finally meet somewhere.
They're in each other all along.”
? Mawlana Jalal-al-Din Rumi, The Illuminated Rumi
For Unseeking Seeker's poetry contest - Consciousness correction
Consciousness Correction
Yesterday,
when conscious slept,
anger was my shield,
fear my faithful sword.
When hatred contaminated my heart,
tears ached for tranquillity,
polluted in guilt from selfish greed.
Life can be a disaster waiting to occur,
leaving you in despair gasping for air,
suffocating your sighs with crippling changes,
due to disorientation in imagining reality.
I've always been in an internal war,
fighting the two voices in my head.
You can't kill someone who died before birth,
so not every battle is worth fighting for,
yet I was always in envy of peace.
I want to disappear sometimes,
bid a secret farewell to the shadows that pursue,
but I'm afraid of diving into the unknown.
Maybe I'm an imposter,
maybe I'm just a Gemini
everyday, I am different,
a multitude of personalities,
a creative charming chameleon.
In times of fragility and frustration,
I wish I was a secret to society,
but I don't want to be alone tonight,
so I'm soul searching for a love unspoken,
not cursed with deafening screams.
In solitude, overthinking is a poison,
so I turn to unfulfilled prophecies -
to bring me back to life.
I've always had an aversion for perversion,
become a nemesis to prejudice.
Spirits taught me to 'be my own universe.'
to fly to the sky, wave ego goodbye,
so my flaws make me shine more.
There is no shame in vulnerability.
No embarrassment in slaying pride.
In the angst of anxiety,
paralyzed by self-possessed sadness,
I set out finding sincerity,
my coincidental half -
but you have always been inside me.
When I finally opened my eyes,
I felt alive.
Lust is a mute assassin,
a terminal sickness.
Love is like a fever,
it leaves you speechless.
I used to idolise silence,
but now I'm a slave to consciousness.
Oh my sentient soul,
we are unrhymed verses,
our lives a living rough draft.
Decorate me with your ink,
complete me with your conclusion,
as you are the music playing on loop.
Let them say we are mad as we dance,
lost in lyrics only we can hear.
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