My world with full of illusion,
Feel me with a potable description,
All is a result of excitement and reaction,
It goes beyond limit of creation,
Where it undergoes a short lived oscillation,
A shift of energy with no attenuation,
All based on thoughts and its conservation.
Is it all about nature and its selection?
Should it be a place for natural habitation?
I prefer to follow the story in succession,
Never ever care about adaptation,
I willfully chose a sign of no completion,
And accepted its preconceived version,
I get a jackpot of virtual validation,
It has a cutoff duration,
But still get all outlets as per my passion,
A world of never ending fusion,
Complex thoughts and there intersection,
I want a never ending devotion,
Where I am left with confusion,
Is it a satisfaction or an everlasting addiction?
Mysterious world with full of confusion,
Every body follows their own intuition,
Where truth faces hard confrontation,
The lie has got established authorisation,
A race to achieve everlasting position,
But it is a script of short duration.,
Never question the truth and its incarnation,
Oppose lies with all possible coordination,
Avoid every form of violence and its immitation,
Direct all your abilities for a purification,
Never go against this amazing creation,
Nonviolence must be a universal religion,
Send violence to a permanent vacation,
Do the necessities in blank situation,
Then you acheive a glory of no attenuation,
And soul becomes eligible for salvation.
we make tomorrow
from what we learnt yesterday…
looking for a cure
Harry J Horsman © 2020
A new home feels slightly pregnant
with possibility
yet empty of sacred reality
Not yet any echoing memories
of bumps on stairs,
late night scraping chairs
stuffed with familiar intimates.
Organic warmth sacrificed with each move,
attenuation of well aged relationships
with a new view,
a cleaner character of silence,
more unscrubbed inscrutable
than mere absence of familiar sounds
and sights
and savored smells left behind.
Each move a commencement
toward a renewing sense of home
and reincarnation
of ego-culture within eco-climate
identity
nondually co-arising
toward a deeper
dug in
sacred place.
Why are we ticklish?
Nerves, basically.
Nerves in your
hands,
nerves in your feet.
Sensory attenuation
tells your brain
which
actions require
attention from it.
This measure is
there
to give your brain
help.
-and it's also the
reason
you can't tickle
yourself.
A tickle won't hurt.
It's nothing like
pain.
It's not quite a
warning.
It's not quite the
same.
So why do we feel
it?
Isn't it weird?
There must be a
reason
that tickling is
here!
Maybe because
you can't do it
alone,
and since it's not
warning
that danger is
prone,
it could be a
message
advice we should
live
making contact with
others,
there's nothing like
it!
I ogled through the open Atelier,
And chance into a spacious grotto,
Wanting to carry out an exploration of voodoo kingdom,
I made a pact with my kinetic limbs,
On they ride and halt at interval
Introducing to the eccentric phantasmagoria sheen;
The jaunty strokes dance on sheet nondescript,
A splash here fund a dash there, presenting views
Of nucleus of venerable attenuation of skeletons,
Damp dark commingle with laser flavour colours in a bout,
The power in waves transformed curves alive,
In practice of the occult, evergreen vision on screens;
The spirit-fay on the bark of Iroko,
Entangling themselves in limn haphazard liquid manner,
Chorusing in their parasitic wail:
You won't go until you bless me.
The wizard tore deep into the belly of denizen,
And offer sacks of intestine, pancreas and spleen,
Liver and heart on thorns of kernels,
Including a farrago of feeze, symbolism of shaggy
figures,
The ragged cupboard of labourer’s model,
Hole infested trusted rusted metals bind tight with
arteries,
And rope of twirling circles,
Tin filled up to shed.
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