Long Inevitability Poems
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In the thicket of spinning days, where fate weaves deep,
I seek freedom on paths of stars, my wave of hope.
Science tells me to believe in the dance of matter, in the sophism of time's flow,
That I am but a leaf in the wind, a bead in the long string of dominoes, falling at day's touch.
In the skeptical poem of existence, free will is but a crevice in thought,
Merely a statue in the marketplace of philosophy, awaiting the verdict of illusion.
"A center of being," we say, "a consciousness, a noble will,"
But these are just echoes in a valley of causes and effects that precede and follow me.
I perennially toil with the infinite question of a chain that knows no end,
Cause after cause, a thread of Ariadne covered by silent sands.
We believe in the illusion of our will, when we are just echoes in the symphony of the cosmos,
Notes in a score written on celestial papyrus, unshaken, eternal.
I delve into the ascetic practice of meditation, seeking to break the unseen chains,
But even this is just a link in the great catena, an illusion of liberation.
Buddhism sings of detachment, of nirvana beyond the unnatural wheel,
But even the road to zen is paved with the inevitability of fate.
I wonder, is the light within me just a moon's reflection, or a glow of its own?
Is liberation a cosmic lottery, or can I stop the wheel in motion?
Chance, grandeur or divine grace, does it rule my flesh puppet?
Or can I, the poet of the spirit, carve in the heavens a different destiny?
With verses threaded, I live out the melancholy of this uncanny mystery,
And in each stanza I rewrite the unseen, ecstatic magic, in a sigh of will.
Fated to be a butterfly in rainbows or just dust upon a wing?
In life's storm I keep spinning, a soul like the aurora borealis in search of its freedom.
The mining company
Has confirmed of a place
Its in the Alpha Centauri
Deep out into space
Their provisional scouts
Miners and Geologists
Declare seams of Unobtanium
In a jungle greened mist
Expedition and workforce
With their military men
Set of to this planet
To mine this precious gem
The day arrives
As their equipment scores
Months now having passed
Leaving incredible sores
Their expansion of greed
On this planet so green
Turns the indigenous Na'vi
Against man and machine
With their ingenious science
Of Na'vi-human hybrid
They create avatars
Entering their mental state grid
Infiltrating this species
To gain them on their side
So that mans greed can prosper
Whilst another culture slides
The inevitability of conflict
Indigenous against modern man
Bows and arrows against bullets
The fighting has just began
This species on this far distant planet
Who are in tune with their natures surrounds
Watch on in horror as mans flying machines
Bring their Hometree to the ground
This stirs up this indigenous nation
To rise up against mans greed
With their harmony with nature
Unites all the planets breeds
The might of modern man
Has met their match this day
And sent them back where they came from
For once a planet saved from decay
"I watched Avatar today and i was blown away with the colours, graphics and
the sheer imagination along with the messages of how we treat others"
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/avatar.php
Sometimes in the swollen,
trembling nights of summer,
I crawl from my bed like a shadow fleeing its own skin,
into the black so dense it clogs the lungs -
the suffocating emphysema of the world -
and I watch.
I watch the fireflies.
I wish—
oh, how I wish—
I could be one of them.
A creature born only to glow, alone,
in the darkness.
A spark that dies and rises,
and dies again,
without asking for permission,
or needing the world to notice,
or ever competing with the stars.
I watch the way they sparkle in spite of everything,
fragile, obstinate,
refusing to be crushed by the endless black emptiness
that surrounds them.
Their bodies pulse in short, desperate spasms,
tiny combustions of insistence,
and I, too, know that urgent gasp of light.
My own ribs, a prison of bone and sinew,
caging a heart that batters itself.
And yet, like all beauty,
their glow is transient.
It vanishes when the sun -
brighter,
more powerful -
returns.
They are imprisoned by their own limited, fragile forms,
their wings too small to carry them far,
by bodies that can not be more than what they are.
No pleading, no flailing, no fury will allow them to ascend beyond themselves.
And in this, they are human,
and I am human,
and the sky is infinite and indifferent.
No one sees them.
The world is asleep,
deaf to the whisper of their persistance,
their delicate screams into a tunnel that nothing more than echoes back.
I see them. I love them.
I catch them in jars,
trying to preserve eternity in glass,
hoping, somehow, they might feel
they illuminate the stength of which they give.
But even there,
confined by glass and my own obsession,
their effort, their fragile insistence,
is lonely in a universe that does not notice,
can not notice,
and will never notice.
And yet,
we gleam,
we glow.
We falter,
we hurt.
We sacrifice ourselves to the darkness,
knowing our brilliance is brief,
our bodies will crumble,
and our hearts will one day cease.
Each pulse, each gasp,
doomed to stillness,
to silence,
to nothing.
All that shines must fade.
All that resists must fail.
Even the most exquisite moments
are only defiance against inevitability.
Even love,
even joy,
even the purest glimmer of our fleeting selves
must bow to the infinite, merciless dark.
My fragility.
It’s a dispute of the unborn.
Sometimes I feel my loathe curling into the caves of my doting delicacy.
Sometimes I feel my pondering breath, stifled under the world’s strangling oxygen.
Sometimes I feel my security solace itself through the brittle tremble of my palms.
The mercy enchants me.
The relentless, ceaseless yearn of every man, inhaling my infirmity; a futile faith to fuel a defective ego.
The persistent, unyielding ruthlessness of every man, swallowing my hallucinated plea for the shelter of their calloused.
The obstinate, treasured haunt of every man, consuming my crumble; a famine to a fuelled, faux masculinity.
The egocentric proposal of a succoured sanctuary igniting my flesh in a hatred so potent; I cannot help but receive.
I cannot help but accept the ascending high of a haven so temporary, it gratifies the salves of my supplicatory wounds.
Is this what it has come to?
The reflection of the glass indulges at my bare bequest of my rupture.
The relics of my DNA question my competence for an ancestry demolition.
The throttled atoms of my making flourish onto the endless, violent anguish for the transgression of my dignity.
And the inevitability of my reality finally consumes the romanticisation of my presence.
I am fragile.
I learnt a new word today.
Catatonic.
The vexatious coax of its accuracy sanctifies the burden of my reluctant existence.
The vacant faith of its salvation glorifies the redundancy of my timeworn stagnation.
The inertia of my own consciousness rouses within the weight of my repulsive apathy.
I am absent.
My reflection in the window distorts into a portal.
The pale of my skin shudders, an ashen pallet of abasing beauty.
The tremors of my skin winces, a demeaning pallet of humiliating fortune.
The curve of my lips stitch shut, a confined pallet of overflowing tincture.
The violent, lilac fuse of deprivation pounds my crimson in a bloodthirsty famine of a desperate call for condemn.
Yet, the only paragon unearthed is the vacant, potent inevitability of saturation into the voices of my own void;
I will forever remain in an absence of my own conceded mould.
Life’s unsung tunes fade away
into nothingness with the menagerie of mirage
disappearing in the realm of death.
Trudging on the desolate deserted pathway
the fragile footprints collapse in his kingdom
where the cosmic monarch of the end,
the ruler of the last breath,
carves his throne from the sands of time.
With the arcane image of terror concealed
like the sordid silhouettes of lethal menace
the king rules without mercy or malice,
lurks in the shadow of dark danger
into the quintessence of placid life,
and waits at the pause of every heartbeat,
encased within the freight frame,
configured from the vicious void
of timeless inevitability.
We charge into battle,
Everyone side by side,
Prepared for inevitability,
Through the course of the ride,
We'll get cut, we'll get hit,
We'll get smacked around often,
While our critics and enemies,
Pray that we soften,
Our most secret of weapons,
They cannot detect,
They can't buy it or steal it,
Or, for themselves, resurrect,
It's knowing, for certain,
That we will prevail,
Knowing how to succeed,
Knowing how not to fail,
Our relevant outcome,
We cannot predict,
The time, place or nature,
The fate that we picked,
You choose a direction,
And follow it through,
Use all of the power,
That's inside of you,
If this becomes habit,
A worthy addiction,
Dreams turn into life,
From mere interesting fiction,
Some call it hot air,
Or simple lip service,
From unknown results,
That make you so nervous,
Precisely, my point,
If you can't control,
Anyone or anything,
Except for your soul,
The power of one,
When squared or when cubed,
Remains just the same,
One less than two,
But add to it slowly,
No multiplication,
Your singular voice,
Has mass replication,
So, bring on the battle,
There's strength in our lot,
Enough to defeat,
The fear that we fought,
The battle is over,
And we remain standing,
Our feet have absorbed,
The force of the landing,
Our win is subjective,
To what was at stake,
Our real intentions,
Or those we forsake,
Did we attempt,
Did we progress,
Was thinking and action,
Used under duress,
What more can we ask,
But response-ability,
Set goals and plans,
Build its facility,
Push ahead, gather,
Supplies for the journey,
Including first aid,
And a one-size-fits-all gurney,
So, here is my hand,
Please take it somehow,
My other I need,
To wipe sweat from my brow,
Because one thing is clear,
Despite smoke in the air,
We'll win going away,
Proceed if you dare.
(5/2/98)
Things already happened
have lost their shockproof mechanisms
The living are all done
with the surprise of you.
Who hurt me?
I hurt me.
Falling into it in the open mouth of night.
Trip-wire daylight, the falling backward
motion of progress.
Many a time wanting to let it happen
challenging it from a reckless need.
The ‘it’ is a multiscreen cinema,
a bifurcation where choice is
a haze behind the eyes.
Sometimes, only seeing it come
after it as gone.
Still and all, it happened,
The ‘needn’t’ was never an option.
I am glad to see the inevitability of now.
The only question worth asking is:
was it worth it?
Many thousands of years ago, a group of wise men
found a star in the night-sky,
they knew it was a special star
in which written is their destination and their fate,
which finally directed them to their saviour.
Night-sky, an enigmatic experience,
surrounds me in an inexplicable obscure divinity of a celestial power.
I gaze at the darkness, a boundless indecipherable canopy over the universe,
with thousands of glittering stars, blinking in a vast puzzling sphere.
All my deepest thoughts, all my inward reflections
surround the mysterious constellation,
where I see one marvellous star...the purest one!
Some days, this mythical star descends to the earth
when I feel the unbearable grief of loneliness,
and it sings a sublime lullaby of far-away water-falls
streaming down the coral rocks ~
and I feel peaceful and serene as I never felt before.
My star “Ashwin”, to me, the brightest star in the constellation,
narrates all the incredible stories in the history of mankind -
of saints and warriors, of philosophers and poets,
of brave men and women and their fights through eternity -
of Joan of Arc, of Rani Lakshmibai, of Aristotle and Buddha,
of Kalidasa and Homer.
Inspires to heal the world undergoing incredible sufferings,
with the magical power it has instilled in human beings,
when my heart bleeds...with passions and longings,
love and heartbreak, sorrows and griefs,
there’s my star ~ gleaming and sparkling ~
embodying all my dreams and desires -
reminding the inevitability of separation and sadness in our life -
To me, the message written in the stars -
death is inevitable, but not the end.
Denial, anger, bargaining, and depression
Barely behind me, I pick up pieces
and carry on
as best I can
It took ages to process, I’ll never forget
Just learn to respect the cycle of life
Embrace its inevitability
Appreciate the miracle of fleeting time
Is it change inescapable
That makes departed love most dear?
Divine treasure
Precarious
AP: Honorable Mention 2025
Submitted on June 28, 2018 for contest FRAGMENTED VERSE sponsored by BROKEN WINGS- DEAR HEART - RANKED 2ND