Some are not given to massive flows of words.
They manage with meditations and musings.
Most of their thoughts never become words.
They are often boring and far less amusing.
They have no grandiose drive to be great.
They value the ability to be unique, to create.
They don't rush in where angels fear to tread.
Their hearts are full, but few are their words.
Most mental processing never produce words.
Their facials may not appear to be stunning.
Their inwards are singing harmonius words.
Give them time; you will hear them humming.
Give them time to unveiled inspirational words.
Give them time, and their lips will be singing.
Give them time and like a rose, they will blossom.
Give them time, and they just might be awesome.
INTUITIVE ENCAPSULATIONS
indefinite
spaces
surmised
the
travelled
paths
inwards
&outwardly
shaped
figures
&
ciphered
coincidentals
in
philogious
wonder
scripted
with
inspired
pointers
invariably
linked
treading inwards indicates an
embrace of valour
knowing one is held ——
a journey strewn with jagged edges
unknown detours
once on a straight narrow path
turnarounds disappear
jungles untamed appear
lame sometimes becomes our resolve
though forging beyond crags or rags
one cannot sag or lag _____
perseverance becomes no severance
seventh heaven with salvation usurps
starvation
luminosity at end of slog holds steady
in solitude we need make no haste
knowingness, as Heart’s compass
keep us safe
hazards or hurdles cannot curdle
an inward journey ~
Spirit of destined fate never late
turns burnished key into Home to be
w i t h i n is
M A J E S T Y
When there is a lot to handle in life,
And catastrophes going on inside my mind..
I turn inwards, seeking for a sign.
The mountain of failures piled high
Like a castle, look me dead in the eye.
Could’ve beens and should’ve beens;
Written all over them like splattered ink on walls.
I retrospect and reflect on them.
Not pushing them away,
Merely trying to hold them in place.
The failures that once intimidated me,
Tell me tales of bravery and resilience.
They narrate the story of a battle well fought;
The scars etched in my heart;
Portray the image of a warrior,
Who never surrendered.
It is on days like this;
That I bleed ink.
The veins cut open,
Like a wound waiting to heal.
The only difference is that,
They bleed ink.
I bleed ink because it is the only way I thrive.
I put up a fight with my caricature of words,
That one cannot easily survive.
I bleed ink because it makes me feel alive.
CREATIVE MAGNITUDES
free
of
interventions
supersede
response
initial
fragments
lead
inwards
sensual
dialectical
transience
submissively
overcomes
understanding
potential
chaos
with
dynamic
unison
in
perceptual
focus
Observing silence isn’t easy when it’s quiet,
When the spectating stops.
When life sucks your soul back in,
and your mind has regained its license,
and it whispers memories so sweetly.
So its hands are delicate
and the realisation presses itself inwards
and the wipers clear again
and it checks the mirrors
And the wipers clear again
and it swerves off once more for the night,
phone in one hand,
drink in the other.
The dent in your mind never leaves,
but the brain amalgamated to cover it up and grow and absorb.
The flesh will always sink back in.
Hauling gravel.
A bath filled with seaweed.
Burbles near the stars.
While seeking.
Mental illness is one.
Grappling hooks turned inwards.
Very grave like a bowl of coffee grounds.
Smells ground.
As I grab a speech bubble which can translate anything.
It doesn’t pop.
All I say is-
Gloop.
And the mental illness stoops lower.
It’s in second place, while I’m in third, and guess what? My least favorite movie is first.
Gypsum drags in the inwards
Welcoming solace in embrace
My mouth parched
Still searching
For the warm dew
Of gentle thighs
Empirical knowledge
Heralds the familiar refrain
Engulfment echoes
in what follows
Failing intently the pressing
Of conviction
Thoughts bare fruit here
Heavy from ponder
Never falling to be heard
Where senses take leave
To hoard in greed
Sabbaticals of feral kisses
We will dine tonight
On ourselves
Me, Myself and I
Stuffing further what's left
Into this comfy cocoon where
Time consumes our lingering
Transforming purpose
Yet, not transformed
Leaving the solvency
Of existence to hold breath
My chrysalis weaves itself
From dreams caught adrift
Binding barren pages
Yearning for their author
A Soul bereft of form
Metamorphosis in progress
Waiting.....
An eternity and still.....
Bound tightly to await
For Serendipity to unfurl
Her gifted Genesis
To touch my Soul
Urgent intentions will not be virtuous enough;
To mention, of the better, which path is it paved from?
Hell purges etchings of where your silhouette set drops.
Like Cloisonné flattened edgeways, beauty finds a brush.
You can do what's right as long as it can still be done,
But from where the comfort derives weighs more than the sun.
Strip your palms and find the bones, actions can't change the blood.
Rid the dawn of the fight you hope, where passions won;
Self-designation tropes mimic, even lack thereof.
We do all that we can do, but whose posture becomes
the fare, collateral damage we forget to fund?
Inwards piecing shape to form what cannot be undone,
whether from what you see or say, grievance follows us
Contort wilds towards tending the tame, normal but not;
We are not of what we are, but of what we become.
So however we see ourselves; Image falsely knots.
We can't know of tomorrow but that's where we are from.
No slits watching, the lumps draw near
Reforming slowly, the Peak becomes clear
Forming fingers, then twitchy toes
Returning quickly, from Smith's Repose
Streaky strips of pus aligned
On a cage organically mined
Stars above a starless glove
Where fingers coil to give a shove
Lumps leap down from the Seat
Toes and fingers, strike and meet
Wilting flowers with every catch
Further, further, 'til it feels a latch
Writhing round the handle's shape
It has no strength as a mangled cape
Searching inwards, with no eyes
"A SiNgLe pRoBlEm HoLdS mAnY LiEs"
Like how the plant changed temperaments
The carcass embraces the elements
Hugging the hatch, its metal form
A searing goo begins to swarm.
Her body was always kind to me,
our garden - a sunny bath
for a luxuriant
peach tree.
On special days,
we would sit naked under its shade
to share
just one of its blushed,
luscious fruits,
it was our ritual.
As one, our tongues would drink
each other's thirst.
Moreover,
where the erotic crease of the fruit
dimpled inwards, our curling tongues
washed velvety skin.
A salacious consuming followed,
a nectarous bacchanal,
a drenching,
that we,
eager and laughing,
smeared over one another.
Her body was always kind to me,
even on moonless nights
her peach saturated my senses,
while magenta folds
flowered,
and a primal darkness
hung my mouth to her lips.
Turning inwards
reflects outwards;
Becoming outwards
changes being;
And being changed
is Being.
comparison steals
the laughter from tomorrow -
shadow's reprimand
strangles joy of tender blooms
by coveting other fields
the spark of the self
wanes beside a brighter flame
lit in other hearths
creativity withers,
its bold wings torn by envy
what dawn promised
fades in light of noonday sun
inception undone
let what has started become
before the light of day stuns
self-worth is kindled
when the gaze is faced inwards
not outward in want
yearning for sufficiency
self-sown seeds of contentment
fountains join the streams
winds entwine clouds in the sky
rivers meet the seas
all of nature sings as one
in bright, shiny summer's day
rain fell with riddles
chalk dust tumbled from my hands
I loved the schoolyard —
learned questions I had not asked—
left un-quenched thirst in my mouth
seashell in my hand
I pressed it hard to my ear
I heard sea strumming —
calling me like it knew me
until tide drew my voyage
clocks ran without me
their teeth grinding daylight down
turning gold to dust —
the clocks ignored me this time
grinding unfazed without me
shadows curled inwards
I traced darkness in my pulse
then folded the chart —
the stars no longer led me
to go gently into night
“The Path towards REMEMBERING is not for the weak. It is priceless. Move inwards, without faltering & know that you are held.” Poet
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
journey within is strewn with jagged edges
and jewels
both can lead to detours
walking a straight and narrow path one
traverses own jungle untamed
lame sometimes becomes our resolve
not to forge ahead beyond crags or rags
is not an option once undertaking begins
screams may merge with songs or dreams
cream alongside starvation or salvation
a luminous beckoning lighthouse at end of tedium slogs hold us steady
often makes us heady
in solitude with faith we need make no haste
knowingness with Heart’s compass surely
keeps us safe
neither hazard or hurdle makes us curdle
Soul the master of destined fate never late
to turn cherished key into jewelled Home
within is majestic prize to win
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