Where do I belong?

Are we a tribe of bastards

forsaken by Time’s flirtations?

Am I an iota of consciousness

lingering
on an insignificant, spinning rock;

or a tiny speck of ego

swimming

in a sea of eternity?

There's all Love.
But then we exist
and we complicate.

Ceci n'est pas une pipe

The tree is not the forest;

the forest is not the tree.

The song is not the essence;

the anthem is not the pride.

The smiles are not the happiness;

the tears are not the grief.

The touching is not the reaching;

the reaching is not the connecting.

The existing is not the living;

the living is not the becoming.

The shackles are not the bondage;

the freedom is not the free will.

The republic is not the union;
the fence is not the separation.

The morality is not the definite;

the truth is not the absolute.

The religion is not the path;
the conscience is not the guide. 

The war is not the justice;

the justice is not the consolation.

The success is not the testimony;
the failure is not the finality. 

The silence is not the serenity;

the ticking is not the time.

The awareness is not the awakening;

the awakening is not the transcendence.

The wakening is not the reality;

the obvious is not the certainty.

The universe is not the totality;

the end is not the eventual.

Petrichor

It’s the desolate hours of the night

in a sleepy town by the sea.

The exhausted bodies

tremble to the eerie silence before the storm.

The reflection of the lighthouse

dances on uneasy waters.

Sometime after midnight

the heavy air explodes with a thousand thunders.

A nervous cat

sneaks under an old armchair.

A little girl

clutches tightly to her mother’s nightdress.

Two lovers snug into each other

to muffle the intervention.

More flies

buzz drunkenly around a greasy street lamp.

The darkened skies pour suddenly over the deserted streets

and the tin roofs are trampled by the onslaught.

A dusty car in a back alley

shines a glistening yellow.

The distant trees

swing & droop under the weight of the incessant downpour.

The cat stares at the dampened walls

and the lover thrusts deeper.

A colony of ants in an abandoned shed

bask in the petrichor.

 

 

Anthem

I will march on

as long as the sea inside me

churns up resolute wild waves

to crash against the Rocks of Conformity.

I will march on
as long as the beauty of life
tames my wildness
and the force of life elevates my conscience.

I will march on

as long as the blue skies

beget blushing rainbows

to color the garden of my dreams. 

I will march on

as long as the heart finds hope

and the mind finds purpose

to battle the plagues of the darkest hours.