We believe now is real
The future beyond
The past is sealed
We are alive and we are dead
It has no meaning to what is said
The present darkness will not gather
Yesterday and tomorrow will not shatter
When time begins there is no before
When time will end there is no after
The truth inside is what you find
When you leave the illusion behind
Though I love intelligence, candor is recompence
Smart is an art, but love comes from above
Kiss over compliment, neither will pay the rent
Nor inflation, adulation, inclination, or shove
Now in combination lie's true adoration
Choosing wisely should be life's aspiration
Eschew impropriety, display some sobriety
And wisely choose the better thereof
The physical world around me is constantly changing,
sometimes for the good and sometimes for the bad.
I keep saying,
leave things alone until I die.
Then make all the changes you want,
because I will not be in the middle of the changes.
The tech world is moving faster than lightning,
what was new yesterday is old today.
Some say,
the physical world around me is an illusion.
How can I prove this to be right or wrong?
It is something to think about.
In this changing physical world around me,
I need to be like a young tree and bend in the wind of life.
Is life but an illusion,
While walking on the earth?
Is the path we walk a garden
imagined from one's birth?
Alive, busy and breathing,
With so much work to do...
Soon passing to eternity,
Vapors vanquished in the
Sunrise,
Passed away like morning dew.
.................................................................................................................................................................................
Life a genesis, oh
A path toward vacancy
Trim down a modulation of lube apathy
Dirt arm's craving toward end! neither
The thorn was there , oh
Mesmerized by puppies tearing neck for the muddy popcorns
I myself giggle with lacrimal fallacy
Bone to bone, crate to crate
Waving with thermal fate
Rinsing heavily with northern gray, oh...
cuckoo bystander
hippies hound
desecrate passing
shrewdly badmouth
siegfried bobcat
wake european
spirits enlisting
the globally
fortuitousness by
reading rhythmic
confrontation dutifully
fluster fission
spat and
unite your
sourness unlearned
(Weekly Magnetic Poetry Challenge • September 7–13, 2026)
If illusion is something you have in your head and reality what you have around yourself
Did you ask yourself what did you see in your reality to have that illusion in your head?
Was it through the bed time stories you heard in your young age
Or was it wattpad fantasies in your teenage where you still engage
Did those images in your head create the illusion or something in your reality too
Would sitting in rain blur the line between reality and illusion so you could see through
Is illusion for you really money fame and luxury
Or is it in the collection of things loosing which make you worry
I am amazed if illusion was something shown to you by others
Would you be scared by the mud on your hand in your childhood as your biggest illusion
I wish the perfection we seek today wasn't present everywhere
So that the stupid illusions we have in our head would consume us to have it as reality somewhere
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. - Unseeking Seeker
This ungainly body of flesh and bone
disintegrating slowly year by year . . .
it’s not my physique that I wish to own
once I let go and see new life appear
This shell I wear composed of elements
covers organs, and it must be fed.
It’s not the bearer of my sentiments,
and surely I’ll not miss it when I’m dead.
Unencumbered by this outer shell,
I could be the free translucent me.
I’d float; I’d soar; I’d go where angels dwell.
Embraced by light and love I long to be.
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.
Never meet your heroes, lest they fail your expectation
Resulting in the crest that's fallen down from that elation
Experienced upon neglecting self-examination
Overlooking what it took to gain this elevation
The dream seems real when we don the form
Borrowed from elements of the domain
But if we simply chose not to conform
We wake up when desires to rest are lain.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Illusions of Solidity
In the shadows of stardust
When night slips through my fingers
Like seconds
The heart spills its secrets
In mirages
Trying to capture
The ephemeral laughter
Of moonlight
Wrestling with rainbows
In the language of memoir
A broad reach into the blanched bones
Of lavender daylight.
A psalm springs from my soul
To gather bits of memoir
When phantasms long
To swallow sunlight
And unrelenting spots of ebony
Pine to sully the new petals of dawn
With sagging wrinkles,
Withering fatigue.
I touch the lightning face
Of the morning’s firstborn star
Drawn into the hollows
Where I thirst
For the integrity of sunlight and thunder
To brush against the zephyr’s density,
Untarnished pearls of empathy,
And leave the remnants of ebony-colored fogs,
Their slight-of-hand, my legacy of dreams,
To twirl into aurora’s arms.
He refused to conform~ that rebel
Stayed in trouble which was terrible
Now in old age pays the wage
Lives in regret, inside now his stage
God paid the price he won't land pell-mell.
Physical reality feels heavy, permanent and real,
but is actually a temporary form, like a dream;
the dreams feels real because our mind made it,
from the physical world- it is a trick in believing.
But if we chose to not conform we wake up,
the moment we stop clinging and striving;
and let go of attachments and ego desires,
the illusion fades- wake up from the dream.
Wake up to a deeper, more spiritual reality,
a reality where wants and needs are quiet;
we realize this temporary existence is a phase,
desires and attachments are powerful anchors.
Only in awakening and letting go of ego,
can we let go of the material junk in life;
life is an illusion, a misleading image,
it deceives like a magician's sleight of hand.
Flowing river, pooling puddles, sloppy drip.
Hold me warm
until I’m nothing but water.
Caress me, and I will give life to your earth.
Seeping blood into your veins
and rejuvenating your soul.
Then leave.
Because one day I will wake
without you beside me,
and the world will be so cold.
My rains will hail,
my lakes will freeze.
I will be ice
just to survive.
My winter will kill the life sowed.
I am only hard for so long,
until Spring springs,
as she does.
Her sweet charm
breaks me, soothing me back.
I will be a flowing river again.
It began as tone—
no origin,
no end—
a chord mistaken for a world made whole.
A held vibration gathered into shape;
harmonics thickened into edges felt,
and silence filled with structures made of sound.
A pattern looping through a field of noise,
hoping repetition made it true.
Desire tuned the body into pitch,
insisted on a key, a fixed resolve,
refusing dissonance its right to pass.
But slowly, the will releases intervals;
resolutions drift without a home, and rhythm slips its measure into air.
Overtones collapse to quieter threads;
no struck glass shivering into light,
no instrument remains to house the sound.
No echo left to gather into form
only the unheard,
unstruck,
unheld
a silence
prior to all music,
where nothing ever
needed
to be shaped.
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