On earth we reason, and strive; and lie..Connive
And posture, are elated and cry, we build
up
edifices and would blot out the sun?
Then
Pass as mere shadows..' Doing our deeds untill
We all must die; everyone.' Yet not to life"
for it exists past
Time, in the mind of God! Now where is your
divine.?
Awakening humanity.' Struggling within the breadth and depth of possibility's revelling in those possibility's and also an
Obstinancy.' Blood-soaked actions stoking their reality wanderers all' Lost leaders exploring so much iniquity bursts of good; with some intensity! Travelling in orbits so
Habitually. Builders of edifices in great vanity' until redemption through the veil of flesh; to humanity.' By God
Good Father and intervetionally, in records; and at places
Known historically.' We can follow direction to equanimity'
To Love of all by His path to unity.. No competing teachings.. Some of religiousity.? combine of all factors
Universally, other volumes speak of gaining peace by violence? and volitillity.' In divisivness and opressivity."
By opting children into marriage or co'habitation.. There
Is also taught' forced subjection and much rapicity.!
In a silent world, where dreams are woven like an unseen tapestry,
Artists draw with untamed longing edifices of light reaching towards the heavens,
In the twilight of consciousness where thoughts ignite like smoldering flames,
Sculpting in the silence of time unseen cathedrals of change.
Politics weaves its illusions like a spider’s web in forgotten corners,
But artists transform reality into poetry, time, and eternity,
Poetry becomes an ethereal pursuit piercing through the fog of silence,
In a world where truth is discovered in color and vibrating sound.
In the quiet of creation, where each note is a smoldering flame of dream,
Artists live change with every step, with every stroke of the brush,
Building bridges from dream and fantasy between hearts divided by time,
Politics lags behind, weary, trying to grasp the ceaseless vision.
Like stars in the night, guides shining in the darkness of forgetfulness,
Artists are spirits in unending flight, seeking pure truths,
Igniting sparks of light in the souls of those who watch with longing,
Knowing that true change comes from hearts burning with pure passion.
Part - I
O bright star! Where have thou gone?
For thy beams are needed again,
To warm thy followers’ lives forlorn.
Few robbed breads thou baked, most sans gain.
Till thy rise, it was densely dark,
Large folks were made rotten by cliques,
Thou shown them seamless spark,
Instilling fire in once meek cheeks.
Ramparts of Varna thou steadfastly confronted,
Blisters on humanity thou laboriously removed,
Wounds of thy fearful society thee operated,
Thee enshrined golden verses healed and proved.
Dismantled demonic edifices resurrecting everywhere,
Buffoonery gets accolades nowadays. Won’t thee be there?
Thy place is the North Star that world has verified,
Bhau prays thee help thy breed get timely 'Modi'fied.
The value of books
Late afternoon, the sun has left the terrace and is in the back throwing up dust before reluctantly slinking west and sinking
into the sea beyond the seas.
The townscape is charming red-roofed dwellings among the many trees that are deep green this time of the year.
Near the sea are two big edifices, One has luxury flats on top for the people called the “jet-set” It is where scrawny women live
on lettuce a day and Valium.
Next to that house, a white elephant, a skeletal hotel that
was abandoned when the would-be owner went broke.
In the calm bay two small cargo ships of uncertain age riding
the anchorage waiting for the morning, it baffles me how these old ship makes money, two bags of rice here and a barrel of wine there; perhaps they fish and live healthily
but I do hope they have books, if not the lacuna of empty time must be heavy on the mind.
When I was a seaman, I read hundreds of books to pass the time
some rubbed off so the time became useful, like automatic learning.
Cat's eyes glow in concrete
their wings are orange and green
best seen in low light conditions.
Organ pipes are often integral
with large holy edifices,
yet they foot-pedal like any unicycle;
some can be surgically removed.
Man must drink to live,
but by law
women get the first glass of wine.
People who mix together
become odd,
a world of odd things
spins on the tip of a needle,
a fine point
that is said to thread a seamless sameness;
these symbolic needle-workings
are also too diaphanous to be seen
by the naked skin.
uplift
my heart
dispel
distress
cast off
despair
begone
music tingle
my spine
emotions
realign
half dreaming
...dulcet
slow
gently awake
'twixt night
& reality
still
in no man's
land
now engaged
open
ascending
higher&
higher
presto
spinning
round&
around
escalate
&wait
a repeat
unfolds
phrase
by
phrase
skates
then
slides
stirring
into
action
continuous
exhilaration
echos
on repeat
from
edifices
of sound
strings
that sing
harmonized
into one
played
breathtakingly
fast
dispel
my disquieting
thoughts
Tales of white and green
With black tinge in between
Edifices in quadrangle
Surrounding a green garden
And her name was Divine,
She was my cradle for many years
She was gorgeous, fair and fine
Home of bitter-sweet memories
Oh! Divine, so beautiful
Your beauty invigorated my soul
It is hurtful to say goodbye
But I must leave you after all
September 6, 2022
Mountains with vibrant floras
Led down to fruit laden orchards
In the verdant vales below.
I heard her then, a syrupy song
Of tender love and feats of old.
I stood beneath an apple tree
As her song wafted on the breeze,
Sliding in and around the fruit trees,
Scattering aromatic fragrance around.
Serendipitously I came onto a small farm.
A small river wended its tortuous way.
A small bridge took me to several patches
Where vegetation grew. I could live there forever.
All around I enjoyed the serenity
That I had craved for but rarely found.
Swiftly night descended as the moon
Rose from beyond the low hills.
How I enjoyed the evening farm food
Where I was invited and then
A good night sleep in their spare bedroom.
But morn came, and grudgingly had to leave.
Back into the heart of the city,
Large edifices, black with age.
Everywhere the smell of stale food, burning oil,
And a hint of smoked marijuana.
O to be rich and escape forever
To my lovely vale, now so far away.
Pleasantly radiant, tranquil weather
blue skies & gently benevolent wind
a shimmering gift from Mother Nature
(a smoldering summer lurking in the distance)
Compulsively tracking an unquantifiable self:
steps, exercise minutes, calories, symptoms, etc.
stoical statistics dutifully logged into tired devices
(a futile endeavor to control life)
Cacophonous news oozing from the Malverse
menacing memes ricochet around the planet
updates of a horrid war threatening to devour the world
(a looming nuclear apocalypse)
Occupying space in old unedifying edifices gathering dark energy
running out the accelerating clock as civilization nears its breaking point
desperately seeking diversion while doling out doggerel
(a quest to imbue a desolate existence with meaning)
How long before it all falls apart?
Mind if I tell you, honestly, I’m not
Proud of the church I represented for so long
As I have watched magnificent edifices
Go up with towering spires and high-flung crosses
My thinking has modified over the years …
And I cannot explain my consternation
With the mega-church movement of jet planes
And celebrity, and power trips for the few
Who are unwilling to receive the immigrant
Or, notice the homeless dying on church steps
While fighting over foolish doctrines and
Supporting those who foment insurrection
Hypocrites! Hypocrites we, who forget Jesus
And I … I am powerless to make a difference
Finding that speaking the truth only incites
The “righteous” against those who think like me.
written October 31, 2021
Harness the sun on a tropic isle,
A shaded nook to dwell.
Perhaps, a book or two as well,
Pay no heed to grey lands of woe,
For what its worth,
When rain pours,
Pelting edifices doused and damp,
Pay no heed when toes wriggle
The soft sand of a golden beach.
Pay no heed where cars honk horn
And wheels speed by
Spraying passers-by,
On dreary wet days,
When children play with mud and clay
And mothers fret in disarray,
On cold wet winters day.
When I'm old and a little grey,
Like the lands far away,
My naked feet will tread a beach,
Splash a salty sea,
Tremble in a loving breeze,
Give scant thought
To the old north land,
Blissful and content
To be so far away.
In millions of ways, oh life,
You have, emphatically, declared to me
That
A mortal being I was
But
I, stubbornly, defied your declaration
Thus
Many highways of hope did I build
And
Many edifices of dreams have I erected
During
My passing through your planes of existence
As if I were immortal,
Although
My heart, its mortal nature, knew very well
From the beginning!
© Demetrios Trifiatis
16 September 2021
Although nothing is wrong when we spend our time alone, dreaming,
but when we are done dreaming, or when we awake thinking, we must
become aware that there can be no dream-fulfilling unless there is
team-building. Together united, we can build the most beautiful edifices
and the tallest strappers, saying "Hi" to the clouds in the skies.
But alone, self-endulged, self-absorbed, self-deluded, and selfishly motivated,
we are destined to become like sand on the sea shores, washed away by
by the high tides. We may soar like the eagle, be swifter than the chetah,
wiser than the ader, more enduring than the tortoss; but in a relay, we will dream alone if we cannot pass the paton. So let us dream on my friend, but may we never forget to 'team on'.
082821PS
uplift
my heart
dispel
distress
cast off
despair
begone
music tingle
my spine
emotions
realign
half dreaming
...dulcet
slow
gently awake
'twixt night
& reality
still
in no man's
land
now engaged
open
ascending
higher&
higher
presto
spinning
round&
around
escalate
&wait
a repeat
unfolds
phrase
by
phrase
skates
then
slides
stirring
into
action
continuous
exhilaration
echos
on repeat
from
edifices
of sound
strings
that sing
harmonized
into one
played
breathtakingly
fast
dispel
my disquieting
thoughts
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