Planeterium

our existence is but a
tiny temporal dust
floating in the river of time
in which stars have breathed
their first and their last;

we belong to a single heartbeat
an endless cosmic dream
that we attempt to measure
with lifetimes—and we fail
for it is a dream too vast,
and too deep to be real

the world may end

in a next few seconds,
the world may end, just
like any world, which may end
at any given moment;
as it goes, I am not afraid,
for our existence is but one
single act of love and
a continuous act of loving–
and what is love
if not something undying?

an ant on your skin

to them, there is only forward

they advance

not knowing what you are

trapped in their two-dimensional vision

and horizontal understanding of reality

you feel an itch on your leg

a tickling on your shoulder

you catch them waltzing up your skin

undeterred in their minuscule existence

so focused, so intent, so colossally unaware

the world beyond sight

 

 

 

Reality

In my hand I hold a piece of sunlight.

It crumbles. Pulled to the ground by the gravity of its love.

Its love for earth. Like golden cookie crumbs and a child’s toothless smile.

Back in those moments when we knew nothing at all. Ignorance is bliss.

Back in those moments when the sky was just the sky and it was vast because it is was.

That was before we tried to understand everything. Before we lived by the so-called reason.

What good has reason done for us, so far? This reason. Ha. We think it is the truth.

We point at it and name it the truth. It becomes the world we live in today. It becomes our vision, a kind of blindness. It becomes God. It becomes Evil. It becomes whatever it needs to become so we can exist.

Like the Matrix. You have seen that movie? I just watched it last night.

And I think that world is not so different from ours.

Who really is our enemy?

How can you tell what’s real or what’s not, what’s love and what’s hate, what’s life and what’s death—

You’ll know it’s real. No, seriously.

Tell me if this is real. Tell me if your life is real.

Tell me this world isn’t what I think it is. Tell me.

Tell me when it’s all over.

Tell me that we live in a utopia and not chaos.

But hey, we are.

Don’t you know?

We are in a utopia. Of course we are.

No, seriously.

We are in a utopia.

And that’s the truth. That’s the reality.

Why am I so sure, you ask?

Well.

I have my reasons.

A Shift

The air fluctuates with your bitter anger

Violent turbulences

In the corners of their vision, which

Are easily ignored

Put down, and treated

As a piece

Of their imaginations

.

Yet it is through these

Strange, wondrous figments

That you survive

In vibrant, impossible colours

Lush with passion and rich

With invisible music

.

Always, on the

Edge

Waiting to be recognized

As something real

.

Sometimes, to be considered

A ghost

You just have to be, simply

Redefined.

By K.T.