A speck of dust upon the moss,
A tiny life the breezes toss,
Too small for any passing eye,
Beneath the wide and heavy sky.
It has no stem to proud upright,
No brilliant petals catching light,
No perfume drifts across the lake,
Where sleeping frogs and ripples wake.
Yet Wolffia drifts, a microscopic dot,
Upon the still pond's quiet spot,
No roots to anchor in the silt,
No green and spreading leaves to wilt.
A speck of green, a simple grain,
Untouched by heavy summer rain,
Two grains of salt could match its weight,
So small it mocks the grand and great.
Through needle eyes its frame could slide,
Like quiet hurts we lock inside,
A single stamen, lonely fruit,
An empire built without a root.
The busy bee goes buzzing by,
To seek the garden's painted crowd,
And misses where the treasure lies,
Concealed from all impatient eyes.
Whole ages fade and cities rust,
While mountains crumble into dust,
The loudest voices fade away,
Like shadows at the end of day.
For greatness is not born of might,
Or standing tallest in the light,
The weary heart can still endure,
With quiet steps, and purposes pure.
we are always guided but never compelled
to do what it takes that ego tree be felled
so we must be mindful not balk
to remain bliss drenched and walk the talk
in time dissolved stillness with love and light meld
Wake up
Don’t get up
Procrastinate
Hours pass
Self-hate
Wake up
My mind teeters on a cliff of eroding dust and pebble.
Above, the light shines, a rebel to the dust and pebble.
Below, the chains tighten around my frame,
as jagged rocks claw through flesh and name.
The sea smashes through me; | lie gasping for breath,
a whisper away from the clutch of death.
My mind fixates on the constant pummelling,
my thoughts tunnelling,
like honey funnelling,
the future muddling,
but the heart humbling
as my mind teeters on a cliff of eroding dust and pebble.
noticing feeling of restlessness arise
a stirring related to body-mind
dweller of our heart expressed surprise
at how such illusions do bind
poised in stillness we review our rebound time
to return to silence bliss energised
beyond space-time, no mountains to climb
where truth of Self is realised
sensory inputs amplified by ego
have served us well but to escape their spell
we shift into the boat God does row
which is how the cat we so bell
Fill your head with empowering and positive words.
They will be the bricks to walls that support you
and act as the beacon of light in your moments of darkness.
AP: 1st place 2026
My instincts coincide
with what I believe my attributes to be
People,
no more directly
you indirectly
Influence
what I mean to me
How I tend to move
What I tend to see
Not all the time
does our light shine together
But our average of sunny
Shines through
And weeds out
What I know
stagnation to be
Premeditation at the beginning
We always dreamt
What our lives could be
What together our lives could mean
Marching by our own sound
But when in silence
Meditation is key
Marching band on our side
I know the director
The director….
that’s me
The world has gone mad
The news is mainly bad
It makes me feel sad
Something needs to be done
Let’s get back to having fun
A new age has begun
We have different faces and we have different names
But, underneath it all, we are just the same
We all need to come together
We all need to do things better
And be less demanding
And be a bit more understanding?
Think about our children too
They depend on me and you
To have a better point of view
They see everything we do
Let’s teach them to be kind
And to have an open mind
It might be time for a change
Our minds we need to rearrange
It might be time for a change
Time for a change.
Noises in the room keep whispering —
we are addicted.
Addicted to the self.
To traveling for the self.
The ego always knows, I guess —
when it needs solitude,
when it needs to be alone,
when it decides to be happy.
We are just traveling.
Between addictions,
between passions,
between investments,
between what exists
for the ego.
We travel even in our sleep.
Everything is traveling.
So just travel.
Travel,
because we are all
just traveling.
Bernice Zoleka Mannie
@LYAIOZ MANNIE
Mindful.
The internet is Pandora’s Box.
It can never be stopped.
You took the key and opened it up,
Now it cannot be caught.
It is too far gone.
A.I. is just beginning.
We think that we are winning.
Are we clear of sinning?
Their eyes are on our every move.
No longer is the future up to you.
(C)2025 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
The walls lean in, murmuring secrets of weary days,
while chairs sigh beneath tired bodies.
Words from hollow lips strike like stones—
they refuse to soften, echoing in empty corners.
My lessons pulse with purpose, glowing faintly in the dust,
each one breathes life into silent desks.
They wait, expectant—hungry for curious eyes.
Even the blackboard leans forward,
eager to share every truth I’ve etched across its surface.
Though some voices build barriers—cold, unyielding,
my teaching-self stands firm,
a steady heartbeat among shifting shadows.
I may not linger here forever,
but as long as education breathes,
my footsteps leave a soft rhythm—
a promise echoing beyond my departure.
Until my final exhale,
I become the silent sentinel:
each wall, each chair, each lesson
alive with all that is just and right.
Reflecting on times, ones perfectly certain,
Without shadows of doubt on the mind,
As though shining, waiting by black or white curtains,
As though truth were so easy to find,
So clear now it seems, contrary to say,
Such clarity is not in the slightest,
As black, surely, but one dark shade of grey,
And pure white, just another, the lightest.
We sense the noose of fear tighten,
stifling joy, soul seeks to brighten
but relinquishing ownership,
staid silence, mark of our worship,
as an observer poised in bliss,
we recognise we are not this,
meaning we’re spirit, not this form,
so we have no cause to conform
to ebb and flow of shifting tides,
since we know God resides inside.
Before the onset of an urge,
arising from desire's upsurge,
looking at it as a dream form,
that impulse, in the void we merge.
Our soul's intent is pure and warm
but ego's role is to deform
the mist of bliss seeking to rise,
that touched by love we may transform.
Softening the look of our eyes,
embracing each offered surprise,
seeking nothing, we just look on.
as God's grace takes us to new highs.
as our heart contracts, a thought crystallises
distorted as a fear laced symbol
we look at the event with a nonchalant eye
recognising the play as but an illusion
wooed by bliss magnetism cascading within
we return to the cave of our heart where we dwell
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