Long Deluded Poems
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All thought egoic, manifest by desire
Beginning with an identity urge
To expand, identity thus conspires
Spiralling in grooves, of narrow thought surge
Feeling separate from source, we diverge
Hypnotic illusions, attention mires
The clear light of truth, then begins to blur
All thought egoic, manifest by desire
Blissful consciousness, was our state prior
Before our deluded ego upsurge
Spark becoming flame, now raging fire
Beginning with an identity urge
Ego thought fed, it begins to infer
Floundering about, reflections admires
Silencing resonance, own thought prefers
To expand, identity thus conspires
Thinking a gift divine, we did acquire
Boon then bane; ego delusion a scourge
Bewildering illusions, thus does sire
Spiralling in grooves, of narrow thought surge
Liberation at hand, when we do merge
Choosing resonation with hearts love choir
Our childlike presence then does re-emerge
Save the love vibration, nothing inspires
All thought egoic
14-January-2021
My dark soul of damnation deserves decay
as I drown in the abyss from deceitful debauchery
with the help of my decadent deluded mind
and the staged dastardly deeds of defiance from choices made
when my heart filled with delusion turned demon needing to damage
from my demonic dare of digging deeper into a self-created darkness
driven by the diabolical devastation of evil from disbelief
when love became discontented from a disappointing disaster
and my own mental disarray of disliked disorder
I hold my soul in disgraceful disgusting disdain
from my heart becoming demonized by dishonesty
12/8/21
Buddhists don’t talk of original sin
The way Christians do,
But they both talk about the same thing;
That in the beginning there was light
And the Word, and the missing of the mark.
For Buddhists this “sin” is basic ignorance,
The ignoring of who and what we are.
For Buddhists experience is divided
Into two basic categories;
Enlightened, or Nirvana, and
Deluded, or Samsara.
Nirvana is peace.
Samsara is suffering.
The experience of each are thus polar opposites,
But the simple original sin,
The fundamental deviance,
Is that Samsara arose from the desire
To improve Nirvana, our original nature.
So Samsara is Nirvana plus desire,
The desire to personalize it,
Put our mark of identity on what was
Already always perfect.
To extend the cross cultural metaphor
You could say we wanted to give it
The mark of the beast.
And that’s how we lost the light.
(8/16/26)
Once in a blue moon, in the circuit of the cryptic sky appears the transcendental fusion,
when the acquiescence of the sky emerges to display two heavenly bodies most exotic phases of union.
On those, mesmerizing venerated nights, the new moon and the wolf moon in juxtaposition,
supercede the perceived notion of eclipses; when the earth's shadow devours the pearly moon, its unparalleled companion!
Contrary to the credence, they recline and mingle, into one in secret paranormal amalgamation!
At that spectacular moment, the blood of the luna oozes, turns scarlet,
and the venerated Full Moon turns into Blood Moon in unison:
when the earth's umbra covers the moon in its arms, passionately to hide pains of her bunion!
They have clandestine agreement, beyond the mortal comprehension to fathom their cabalistic union!
Although, once in a blue moon, even the cynical corporals,
turn fortunate to witness the epochal communion!
Deluded and hypnotised, they come out with their finite, shallow persuasions!
Even waning, the luna in all her immaculate purity, maneuvers the blue planet, her matchless companion
in various alluring phases, in exuberant magnificent manifestations!
Those rarest phases in rotation connotes their cryptic indulgences in culmination!
The momentum of the earth-moon collision forms curious rarefied condensation,
causes in its beloved's bosom, the tidal ridges, the ebb and flow, a unique phenomenon!
When the luna grows from New Moon to Waxing Crescent, whispering the earth to cast its beams for illumination
in diverse evolving phases from Crescent, First Quarter Waxing Gibbous, Full Moon, Waning Gibbous, Last Quarter, Waning Crescent to the New Moon,
both the celestial- bodies embrace each other
in variant robes of orientations!
Their hide and seek, merging enigma, provokes the lunatics for musing bardic explorations;
as once in a blue moon merges the peerless pens to extol,
the unfathomed metamorphosis of earth-luna's metaphysical communion!
All Rights Reserved © Silpika Kalita
At the wharf I donned the Wellington boots
Of the fisher deceased, to trace my roots
And see and feel what it was like at sea
For my uncle a fishing devotee.
The clammy boots were three sizes too large.
I kidded myself that I could take charge,
And fill the boots with fishers' gait and guts
Aware the concept was deluded, nuts.
I felt the lure of expectation loom
As the trawler 'Gen' breached to break dawn's gloom
I embraced the hope of a bumper haul
Of keeper fish, not tiddlers, way too small.
I felt the surge of waves tug at the boots,
Like tentacles dragging against the roots
Which held my soles fast on the slimy deck.
The sea incessant for another wreck.
I felt fish guts, innards, blood and gore,
Slather on boots as fish were brought ashore,
And unloaded in bins brimful with ice.
At days end, bootlegging was hard but nice.
Perilous addiction hell bent completion deluded cohesion.
Negative infusion feathered motion, spiraling down like a crispy weathered October leaf.
Faded grasp like the winter sun in vision the same but a difference so vast
The echo of mankind never seldom to my ear, peace of mind never at cheer
Bellows and bellows of screaming lucid thought crippled by the same resort.
Wonky leg like a wonky chair bruised battered weakened and loose escaping like vaporing air.
The ripple of contained liquid just slight but a mystery to the mass I am inclined
Coned, padded, shut away, forgotten, a pressed particle of cigarette ash in a dormant
Hallway corner,
Noticed by a moment of dust filled beams of light, exhilarating in such short time
Gone again like black from night the acute jest of life, smashed glass left and unoccupied
The heart so cold like bitter urine in survival mode soggy chip squashed under foot nobody cares
Nobody’s good. Lost in a cold shockwave of pain thrown to shore different than any other
Too alien to mention too slain to fear a wondrous maze of capital esteem stagnant in movement
Pointless art all curved and pointless oh where I am and oh where do I start.
Can I awake can I resound is this reality or is it just another calamity. Insanity gone beyond
No track to unravel stability of the foundational start, just a implosion of art.
Battling for well
over seven years now,
Yet there's still
no change in sight,
Hoping to raise
awareness of the battles,
Myself and so
many other families fight
We're slowly drowning
in a failing system,
Fighting the same
needless war every day,
Just a typical
normal day at school,
As we enforce
education the "traditional way",
Usually kept separated
whenever they do go,
But they advocate
it's the best way,
No wonder it's
such a relentless battle,
Getting them to
attend even one day.
They're forever accused
of just being difficult,
Confined to a
learning or behavior zone,
With no possibility
of making any friends,
Being isolated at
break times all alone.
It's become pointless
even attending plan meetings,
They're just empty
promises of alternative care,
They destroy all
our trust or hope,
Realising their words
are only hot air.
How many more
children will be failed,
How bad do
things need to get,
Before it's accepted
this way isn't working,
Only prevents additional
support needs being met,
This hasn't exactly
come as a surprise,
Infact it's only
grown worse over time,
Why is it
the parents getting fined?
We're not the
ones committng a crime.
Because they don't
need to be fixed,
Or think who
they are is wrong,
All children should
be embraced, not excluded,
Where everyone can
feel like they belong.
To say it's
"in their best interests",
Makes me think
you must be deluded,
It's time that
all children were embraced,
Instead of being
ignored, overlooked and excluded.
Vincent Willhelm van Gogh
a difficult talent to truly know
unwise love choices-Eugenie Kee&Sien
made him stick to brush not pen
Finance support from brother Theo
loosed his giftings to flow
in dark landscapes&still life
too bad, without a wife
From Ecole de Beau Arts a matric
In Antwerp he creates his pics
Then to Paris to mix with the best
lived an artist life with great zest
Upon the death of Pa Theodorus
Vincent does portraits&busts
as his love life to Margot ails
so also his pointillism fails
He then met Agostina Segatori
& a brief affair the world did see
An interest in all things Japanaise
then to Arles were the sun does blaze
The artists colony was not a success
Vincent cut off an -ear-but I digress
progressively VG became deluded
'a mad redhead,'the locals said
Genius & delusion marries as one
but a recognisable usp is done
with broad brush& wavy line
a reputation to outlast his time
In Arles he is hospitalised
&unique art realised-
then with a gun suicides
on canvas though his genius resides
20.4
“Where is the unfolding of karma?
Where is liberation-in-life,
or even liberation at death?
There is only One”
Verse revisited on 14-September-2022
When fully undifferentiated is our awareness
Fully integrated with God consciousness
There then remains no separate doer
And God alone is the divine mover
In which case feeling complete
Vaporised self is bliss replete
Knowing that God alone is
Felt within as a bliss fizz
However for the deluded
Duality reality as concluded
Even if glimmers of truth are seen
The soul has acquired not lustrous sheen
Thus attention oscillating between body and soul
Consciousness not quite God’s light we extol
Challenges of earth life’s learning curve
Oft mitigates soul’s gusto and verve
Law of cause and effect stern
Rotates life roles until we so learn
That all are one and the truth is love
Enabled when head-heart hand in glove
In resonance with enlivening throb of bliss
When our heart truthfully exclaims ‘I Am This!’
Until then oh weary hermit, it’s work in progress
As the pulsations of love divine slowly make ingress
The wheel of time churns the disarray dust,
settling on the unstable shelf of the disordered life.
In the maiming moments of painful perturbation,
truth crumbles in the cauldron of disorientation chaos.
Under the scorching blaze of the sun of craving,
the desiccated life suffering parched and forsaken,
searches for a wayside thicket of sanguinity
to provide the satisfying shade of hope.
The sapling of deep desire of irresistible longing,
I nurture in the receptive core of my heart,
blossoms the flower of passionate hedonism,
luring me with the illusion of impulsive urge.
Chasing the mirage on dwindling dunes of despair
with hope lost deluded of taking life to the oasis,
as the hurting storm of disenchantment blows,
I enter the realm of awareness to undo craving.
In the disorderly squall of divesting dismay,
my mind is disheveled to a dishabille state,
strips off the flimsy attachment of desire,
psychic cascade of indifference carries it away.
My detached mind develops the skill to disconnect,
cultivates the aspirant ability to evade attachment.
Repulsion frees me from the bond of attraction,
and I feel aversion instill in me a state of apathy.
_______________
May 2, 2023
Title chosen : A State Of Apathy
Contest : Pick-A-Title, Vol. 36
Sponsored by : Edward Ibeh