Best Philosophymay Poems
"Why then, O brawling love, O loving hate,
O anything of nothing first create!
O heavy lightness, serious vanity,
Misshapen chaos of well-seeming forms,
Feather of lead, bright smoke, cold fire, sick health,
Still-waking sleep, that is not what it is!"
William Shakespeare
A true story of love's controlled chaos
Appearing invisible in the eyes of mind
Yet, such magical taste the soul experiences!
This constant change, shapeless provisions
A cold fire floating on skin.
Love has the power to lead a spirit to eternity,
Love can also cause the greatest disaster.
Timeless moments, listening to silence
Knowing how to build each stone to cover
Broken distances,
But your sun and your moon are both silver
As the paradox of love evokes the uniqueness
Of each soul.
Feelings floating like open secrets
In a world that you own and you lose,
Choosing to walk the paths of a bittersweet temptation.
The road may wind up to Heaven, may drive you to Hell,
But the point of departure always is the same.
This little giant is coming with a definite possibility
Of losing the war in your own court.
Knowledge whispered in hushed tones,
he listened in silence and concentration all honed,
he now whispers to others-who may or may not listen the drone.
When all emotions fail, resort to what you should know.
Facts.
Reality is the only weapon one can use to escape the bitter-sweet pain the human heart
will trap itself into.
Bindingly complex cages that imprison what little is left from the sanity of a psychotic
mind may only be unlocked through truth.
By raising yourself above the lies that surround you in every direction, the darkness
which can and will possess your mind may be abolished.
Perception is but a misconception without science and tests to prove its worth of belief.
Even if you think what you are doing is the only tactic to a solution, be wise and accept
that what you perceive to be correct may just be an ideology that your mind has
incorrectly hypothesized.
If you're going to be wrong, be open-minded enough to find the reasoning and logic that
you first missed or else you lack a vital characteristic that portrays the intellect of
the human mind.
He's been with us forever.
I don't know how many years.
Some even think that he's clever.
But he wont get any cheers.
He has an uncanny knack
of telling people what to do..
Don't you believe he has your back.
Because he'll turn it back on you.
.
He hides in the shadows
and likes to pray on the weak.
He'll always go to the gallows.
If your there you might get a peek.
You'll see him deep in the eyes
of those who know that it's too late.
He relishes the screams and cries
when the reaper tells them of their fate.
Some have driven him back
and say they'll never surrender.
But if it's courage they lack
their lives just may end there.
Evil men will try to use him
to get something from someone else.
He just laughs out loud at there sin.
Then he'll make them wet themselves.
.
If your ever attacked by another.
Don't let him make you hesitate.
Anger calls him a brother.
He is the father of hate.
.
If you ever see intimidation
you know that he will appear.
You may know him by a different name
but his real name is fear.
Disgust and contempt.
Wrath and loathing.
Conflict seems our fate.
I think I may call this hate.
Desperation for freedom.
Stress without relief.
Shake to the point of tears.
I think I may call this fear.
Smiles and hugs.
Joy at your thought.
You were sent from above.
I think I may call this love.
Bright and bubbly.
Spring in your step.
Don't care about the ugliness.
I think I may call this happiness.
Oh, come
Ye fallowed souls
That burneth in the wake
Of the embers and coals
That spitteth from the mouth
Of the hellions lips that forever quake
Bringing chaos to the pure handed
And suspicion to the inanimate
That deceased under the demanding
And liveth under the crying lake
Poor, poor souls
Have not a voice
To declare against false forces
Or a single drop
Of criticism to point
To the most unethical cause
Of the darkness in afterlife
Beseech not
Thy evermore dreams
To create a breath
For although it may seem
That they may someday bring color
And spear our death
To the forever ending stream
Of down falling glory
Keep thyself in hand
For thy feet can take you
Up the hill
And down the sweeping channel
That shall forever inspire
The ruthless heart
Of everlasting fire.
Pain is not commensurate,
There is just no way to measure it.
One may feel it ,know it, seemingly drown in it.
It can be annoying or in the way.
It may be physical and laced with fears,
May last a time and a day...
in the heart and soul or between the ears.
There is just no way to measure it.
To the lonely, pain may even be a friend,
A treasure beyond measure,
To be lovingly offered for good in the end.
Joy. Joy is not commensurate,
There is just no way to measure it.
...Or ..is there .. ?
Inspired by the following "Definition of JOY" according to my Pastor friend.
"Joy is not the absence of pain,.. it is the presence of God."
Losing, not always the opposite of winning;
many times it may even be a requirement
for sweet triumph to be genuinely fulfilling.
The awesome odds may range and rage from coast to coast;
the darkest skies will soon be clear, just persevere;
for now you lose the few, but soon you'll win the most.
I assure you most certainly that I am not a mad scientist.
But I do have the juices flowing for creative writing.
My thoughts may sound like scientific equations,
but again, I assure you. They're not.
I speak when I'm thinking and I think when I speak.
My mouth may be moving, just be sure not to blink.
I'll lunge through you're brain cells and set flag at your
soul.
Claiming my mark, leaving my scent.
But these are only thoughts.
So deep, they'll wander around for years in your heart.
And after a while, you don't even realize what time your
creative juices started to flow.
You think you've become mad with some feverish twist,
to prove to yourself that you're not crazy.
Just remember--You cannot lie to your inner self.
I assure you, I've tried.
Fashions may flow,
repute may ebb
but style survives
in discerning eyes
07.06.2009
To my enemies
It may well be that I am wrong
To watch time pass
Ahead of me
It may well be that I’m not strong -
Not as strong as
You thought I’d be
It may well be!
My sinful mind
Does not play long
With words like these
It may well be, I can’t deny -
For my denial
Builds your peace…
Going Behind A Carrot
A carrot before us
as money house and car.
We go behind it
on the lust on all to have
We loose our days and months
and our health and youth by that carrot
Our sense and wisdom go behind the seller
to have a bit of carrot to have
It is sweet to that second or minute
but so bitter to peace
We may sell devils to cruels
that may ruin many lives in this earth
We may live in luxuries and comforts
we will have to repay for all
Forget that carrot and forget that devil
Think your soul and other souls as you
There is the way and there is the gate
to enjoy a limitless glee and peace
SAKTHI S RAVICHANDRAN
In a glass of wine there is truth.
Inhibitions lift and the heart can speak.
This gift can make words soar..…
It can make the truth easy on the tongue.
Two glasses of wine can sway logic.
Colors it can often blur and bend.
Tears are more easily spilled…
And memories are apt to overwhelm.
Three glasses of wine may be unwise.
The tongue has no love of censure
Words spoken are often regretted.
In wine there may be truth…and regret.
There is my lollypop
There is my lollypop calling me
to taste and enjoy in eating
It is colourful and attractive to my eyes and
it gives me a feel of sweetness
Though it is not from a hygenic place and
it may be from the hands of a sick
My mind and tongue calls it to have to taste
Itmay be my ignorance of six years but
what sixties are doing
Their lolypops may differ and
their taste may differ
Can they exclude them from their desires
Though they know that their desires are not good
Desires and passions are ruling us from That day
to this hour
Layman or Prince
Whoever may be he was a doll in the hands of his desires
Monk or a familyman ,
His vanishing desires are their masters in this world
Up to His last call
W e will move to his desires
There are words and songs that have remained unsaid and unsung for a time. If
I have to say and sing them it has got to be now for tomorrow may be too late.
They are born out of my life’s varied experiences. I love, I hate, I curse, I
daydream, I philosophize, I lust, I rejoice, I hurt, I pray…
Many of them are imaginary, products of some rumblings in my restless and
turbulent mind. But just as many are real-life experiences, some so painful and
traumatic that the process of writing them down was sheer agony, while some
are light and happy ones they came quite so easily.
They may be out of rhyme, twisted like branches reaching out for the light. And, I
suspect, there may be a million other ways of expressing them with far better
results. But it doesn’t really matter.
Words are meaningless until they are said and heard and a song ceases to be a
song until it is finally sung.
I say and sing because I feel. I feel because I am.