Line of inquiry:
The dream seems real since we don a form,
borrowed from elements of that domain,
but if we simply chose not to conform,
we wake up when desires to rest are lain.
________________________________________________
Life, seen sweet and scented is just a dream
Schemes planned prior, cruel Fate may rearrange.
The ground we stay on is not solid as it may seem
Everything is fickle and fleeting, subject to change.
We build concrete structures in stone and steel
Thinking their strength will never give way
But they may totter under Time’s spinning wheel
And collapse into rubble, ruin and ultimate decay.
Conform to the dictates of one’s Conscience.
Stoke the embers of light glimmering inside.
In everything seek, God’s benign guidance,
Not to drift like hollow husk over the tide.
What seems solid and stable are things of fragility
So, never get duped by the illusion of solidity.
Inside the outside of everything
Colors conform to retreat
I seek not what is lost or gained
I only seek the truth or fiction
Inside the Outside of all
I stumble against the wall of remorse
And in the distance of morning or nightide
I see the truth as gospel or not
Colors bleed into morning or night
Like the dharma of dawn reborn
I see the raven flying or hanging
On a rope-ladder to the moon and back
I am dead but hopeful of life
In all the usual places or not
I am dead and only now
glimpse the truth
This is by far the most empty i can ever recall myself feeling.
To feel
Awe yes just to feel.
A forgotten luxury
Changing patterns but not the sequence
Wondering why there are so many rejects
It is you
AMERICA
A land known to be free.
Built on bloodshed and thievery a taste "the American dream" gleams
Give us your broken your hungry your poor.
So America can say we opened the door.
What a joke both parties will forever be
Cheating the nation yet a president's suit remains clean.
No wrinkles or kinks.
To speak up- you'll get linked.
To propaganda,
To the unruly, the ones who don't conform to bull
I'll never lay quiet and remain still.
Open up your head
Let's see what your brain can do
I was broken I was a shadow
No one will ever make me feel that low
That’s all now internalised
Damaged and impersonalised
My mind takes me back to childhood
Even deep into adulthood
Silence is my friend
A comfort I have to defend
Trust isn’t automatically given
Just because they died doesn’t mean forgiven
I’m happy on my own
I don’t really feel alone
I choose the people in my life
Avoiding disagreement and strife
Hiding and isolating
I don’t find it violating
Covid lockdown was like a dream
Isolation not too extreme
People of authority make me fearful
They have a habit of giving an earful
One body movement makes me freeze
Like I’m a child that has displeased
So now my present
Maybe unpleasant
May not conform to society
Fills me with anxiety
But I am the only one who can break myself
My screwed thought process can damage oneself
My manic demeanour
Maybe scars from an abuser
But he will never break me again
I think about his passing now and then
There is a whole other story about that
For now however I’m only in combat
With myself
when will it stop:
people getting blamed-
for what they did not cause-
all, because the narrative told them so.
when will it stop:
getting told to feel ashamed-
for events my forefathers did not cause-
all, because the narrative told them so.
when will it stop:
delusions hiding behind the invisible truth
And ignorance parading as fact-
all, because the narrative told them so.
when will it stop:
people blindly following a cause-
all, because the narrative told them so
when will it stop:
people being belittled
because their opinion is the opposite
to the opinion of the day-
all, because the narrative told them so.
when will it stop:
something from
the past is cancel or censored because
Because it doesn't conform to today's ideals-
all, because the narrative told them so.
when will it stop:
the double standards,
one rule for one and another for everyone else.
all, because the narrative told them so.
when will it stop:
people being told to conform,
just blindly follow the narrative.
all, because the narrative told them so.
the divide is widening,
and it needs to stop.
NOW!!!
I ran through it.
My arms are ribbons twirling around.
There is always a spot available.
On a bench which is made up of livelihoods like mine.
But there’s something so nice about sitting down.
When there is nowhere else to sit.
This is the most splintering kind of panicking.
This bench is made of old wood.
So it’s one of those woodsy types of places to sit.
And everyone does sometimes.
It’s the most ruined, run down panicked feeling.
The last person who sat here?
I think he was a music teacher.
I can tell by the music he left in my head.
On this bench which seems to conform to my body like a couch cushion.
I think he stopped following me.
So I can fall asleep in the woods.
Wouldn’t it be weird if I kept running?
I thought so too.
YOU’RE NO FRIEND OF MINE
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Oh scale! You’re no friend of mine
a constant reminder of the weight I desire
You whisper secrets in my unwilling ear,
of all that's lacking, a never-ending quest for perfection.
Your numbers dance upon your face so bright,
a dizzying maze of digits that confound and confuse.
I resist your grasp, your hold so tight,
for in your depths, I see only an endless fight.
I see a battle to conform, to fit the mold,
to sacrifice my soul, my heart, my internal gold.
Oh, scale you’re no friend of mine, I cry,
for you’re cold and calculating with your digital truth.
You ignore the beauty of imperfection, the charm of flaws,
the uniqueness that makes my spirit unique.
You see only the surface, not my heart,
a shallow reflection of my beauty within.
Oh, scale! You’re no friend of mine.
SINISTER
Why prove it?
Prove that you’re significant to the a purpose that has no
sensibility,
In a world where we conform to that which surrounds us.
Does it make sense?
With this we ponder each day,
That your right is the only right and that the only validation needed
is yourself,
The opinion of others doesn’t matter,
Self-absorbed is the only thing I see,
Maybe, Maybe not, but this is what I can conclude from this.
Deeper I seek to find an answer to this madness.
How can we confirm what is evil from hate?
The greed for superiority with failure of morale
Can you ever really hide from Human Evil?
It never really goes away,
They are born in arrogance,
And will become egotistical it’s a must.
To play this game,
Where we never win,
This game of pain,
This game of torture and misery.
What can we really do about it?
But to let it be…
Karma wins..
Maybe not now ,
But eventually it always does.
Chins up and best of luck…
The world looks different through everybody's eyes
If you don't conform to expectations you must wear a disguise
But what if we removed our armor to reveal who we truly are
Could people find beauty in what they thought were scars?
Opening our minds and hearts can create more space
To hold other's lived experience with a warm embrace
So while we'll never be able to see through someone else's eyes
We can soften our gaze to give them comfort to take off their disguise
I lived through the '60s, when peace and love were in the air. The scene had this incredible feeling, but it didn't last, like the government had it killed. Yet there were leftovers, and we rode the nightlife times. Then more diversions and more ups and downs, and those plastic fantastic lovers! I remember learning from sages and from fools, taking the rap for the deals gone bad, caught between the past and the future. Until I realized that I was in charge and I had what
it takes! Then reality has to conform to you. For life can't be second-guessed; it knows even if you don't. Take your turn, don't hesitate, for one must strike with pure resolve. One night, I looked up, and the stars looked back, saying, Soon you too will shine! Where is that hope that strikes in a person's face? The look in the eye that says, these are my stories, all the unforgettable ones, those lifetime highlights we hold dearly in our hearts. Contemplating whether we shall see them again someday, maybe in another dimension. And those times will look bright, so too will the faces of the youth, lucky enough to find some of that peaceful energy, and with love, on a sultry summer day!
Though I can't attend your wedding party yet,
My respect and admiration for you are great.
Invited, I let my inspiration flow like a vast lake,
I'll write this dedication on paper and then send.
I won't hide anything from you as usual,
A land of feelings, a sea of verses casual.
Let me dedicate a poem to your ambition,
As if it were a party of mine, to mention.
What you sow, that’s what you’ll reap,
Children learn all they can from home.
It doesn't matter that clothes are expensive or cheap,
The matter is what values you are bequeathing from.
We are both hail from the same village,
A valuable, respected pair in the community.
Dauther makes clothes, if she sees her mother,
With a father, the son will conform to unity.
Your deeds resonate in the hearts of people,
You are the descendant of the land you come from.
May the young ones' household be strong and stable,
May God bless it and bring prosperity to them.
If you catch the scent of grandchildren in the future,
That’s when true happiness will come your way.
If anyone asks who wrote this poem of nature,
Say the author is Aibek, my friend, by the way.
A subtle stir is born in my mind, a dance of thoughts rising,
Like foam finding its place in the azure sky, seeking unwritten answers among the stars,
Yet fearing the earth that pulls dreams towards itself, a merciless magnet of freedom.
We dream in endless chapters, pages full of hopes and fears,
Where the end is a distant echo that haunts us silently,
Catching us in a struggle between two forces: normalcy demanding submission,
And defiance urging us to rise, to be more than our shadows.
Should we conform to the world's demands, living in quiet anonymity?
Or surrender to the sweetness of dreams, losing ourselves in them like martyrs,
Dying for a cause that only our soul knows?
The sun, a hurried witness, wants to see the story whispered by the moon,
About the boy who, with a gentle motion, makes the poles of the metronome of destiny sway,
Balancing between what is and what might be, between darkness and light,
Between desire and surrender, lost in the endless flow of consciousness,
Seeking balance between the dreams that call us and the reality that pulls us back,
Dancing endlessly in a universe of melancholy, a play of the soul through time and space.
Nature distorts humans
to conform to its pattern, in shape and form.
Stretching, bending, squeezing
the human form to somehow fit in,
as an odd Chameleon,
hiding out of place
distorted and misshapen,
bashfully conforming in camouflage.
I’m all about being free
to make decisions for my body;
I may not partake or need it currently,
but I get to choose what’s right for me;
Yes on four and yes on three;
I’m not going to say it gently
to conform to ANY part of society;
I may not be the one to instigate loudly,
but I can become a wildfire when need be;
Yes on four and yes on three;
I’m baffled by all the dialog lately,
to say you know best offends me greatly;
I may belong to a different ideology
but we must be free to disagree;
Yes on four and yes on three.
Your vanity is insanity.
And it is a painful sight to see.
Whilst looking through the looking glass.
How did your life become so crass?
Why did we all become so vain?
Reflections in a windowpane.
Remember when that no one cared?
Now everybody seems so scared.
With thoughts that hurt the way we feel.
Like peeling back an orange peel.
And as the surgeon sharps his knife.
Now these procedures are so rife.
Why do you want to look the same?
Lip fillers are in part to blame.
Conform to look a certain way.
Procedures that are so risqué.
Whilst looking for the right procedure.
Whilst scrolling through your social media.
Not comfortable in our own skin.
Just looking like a mannequin.
Our beauty now it runs skin deep.
Procedures done, yes, on the cheap.
Procedures done more harm than good.
We are beautiful, not made of wood.
Obsessed about the way we look.
When really no one gives a ****.
Our beauty, yes, it runs skin deep.
And while we get our beauty sleep.
We'll dream about there was a time.
This beauties yours and so not mine.
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