stay in the Now

Stay in the now. Forgive. Positivity. Laws of attraction. Unconditional love. Grace. Generosity.

Choose love, they say
but I did choose love.

I’m sorry for feeling like a monster
if only for a couple of days, because all
of a sudden the world was full of bullshit and fakers
they thrive on their own lies, an abnormal growth
on the flesh of their soul

Actually, sorry I’m not sorry for feeling like a monster.
I feel bitter, angry, empty, sulking silently
in my cold insullible corner
Stay in the now. Forgive. Positivity. Laws of attraction. Unconditional love. Grace. Generosity. Light. Love and light. Higher frequency. Light. Love and light.

Sorry I’m not sorry
for being human.

For the past few days I just feel profoundly bitter. I tell myself that I’m alright, that the higher choice is to forgive, to inhabit the space of light and love. I tell myself that “I need to feel better.” Then I said to myself, no I don’t. I don’t need to feel better. I feel bitter right now, so I’m going to feel bitter. I’m only human, after all. I’ll be all light and love and grace in a couple of days, and I’ll  be fine after I finish riding this wave.

Lightbringer

want to be a lantern
that lights up
the path

want to be a fire
that burns
in the dark

want to be the star
that points
to the North

want to be the sun
that nourishes
the earth

want to be a glorious beat
that pulses through
the Heart of the Universe

and can I not wish
for a light that travels fair
and far

and can I not wish
for a world where light travels
faster and further
than the reach of the dark

and if by wishing I could undo
what has been done
then there would be no more nightmares
for in a blink of a heartbeat, they shall be gone

26 Moments That Restored Our Faith In Humanity This Year

Hello world. This post isn’t going to be a poem. I have come across this brief blog post (mostly pictures) about 26 heart-warming moments that restored our faith in humanity this year. I feel that I must share it as much as possible. I was crying as I was reading it, touched. So please go have a look! It takes less than 5 minutes to go through everything.

This is what we should celebrate; these are the stories that we should spread. Not gossip, take-down pieces or politics. We all need to recognize and cherish the love as well as the brave individuals all around us.

So here’s 26 moments of love, courage, and the precious things in this world:

http://www.buzzfeed.com/mjs538/moments-that-restored-our-faith-in-humanity-this-y

what laughter is made of

I

can no longer understand what a laugh is–

so dense and intricate

with meanings, it is impossible

to tell what it contains:

knives, marshmallows, acid, feathers and/or thorns.

Make one mistake and

you may end up chocking

for breath

on the floor, gurgling

blood,

eyes

shining

with

disbelief.

The world I used to know

Gradual realizations trickle

down my heartstrings, corrosive,

bereaving, and I collapse, enervated

from the growing stench of  rotten

bones, fetid clots of the mind and

the world’s insurrection.

Because things are different now.

My knees melt into earth as I

struggle to breathe in oxygen

through this thick stifling imposition of reality–

people leaving, transofrming, ceasing into

intangible shadows, fading from my knowledge,

beyond my reach. I lament over

their indiscriminate renunciations, their

powerless surrender, their youthful luminance

confiscated by the hands of humanity.

I watch

the sterilization of life

fields of imagination lost to the

sputtering ghosts; those venomous

thieves; life’s artifice.

Bathroom Struggles

He sat on the toilet, constipated

with injustice, a recurring problem of

indigestion. His stomach, the incurable

conscience, had failed to disintegrate

the tenacious chunks of humanity and

was flooded with heartburning lies that

remained ridiculously untouched by

the enzymes of righteousness. In vain,

he pushed a little harder and his

intestine-long principles writhed and moaned

like a mistreated beast: bitter complaints

towards the unhealthy diet that had

tortured his metabolism ever since

he abandoned his passions and idealisms

and dreams that used to illuminate his

world—the world prior to this perpetual

stomach ache. With each muscle

contraction he gritted his teeth and cursed

vulgarly when the worms inside his

body retracted ruthlessly and taunted him with

regular reminders of the things he ate. Eventually,

after nearly an hour of sitting and trying, his

determination melted into tiny beads of

sweat that covered his forehead and dripped

down the side of his face and he

reached for the toilet paper

in solemn despair and he

flushed away his unstarted business along

with pieces of tissue stained with dried

hopes, down down down into the pipes.

I woke up this morning and as I started at the toilet, I decided that I shall write a poem about constipation. Don’t you just hate the long minutes during which you sit on the toilet pushing as hard as you can to clear out the nasty stuff? And I thought, hey, this can actually be an extended metaphor.

Yeah, I know, I know, it’s kind of gross. Good thing I didn’t include the asshole imagery. (It was meant to be a swearword at the end.)

 

City of Lost Angels


 They perch on the malleable architecture

of abducted dreams, agreeably dying, as

their faded wings tremoured against

colossal winds and unconquerable odds.

In great trepidation, they watch the phantoms of

intractable yesterdays populate

the world of what-might-have-been’s and

weep incessantly for their deliberate silence

that has now grown deeper, deep enough

to castigate their tarnished souls with

an inexplicable dark magic, but not yet

deep enough to wake them from their

own personal nightmares. They fear

to realize what they have come to realize,

and they shall never admit that fear.

They have forgotten how to choose

for themselves in their violent attempts to

choose for others. They have unlearned

their abilities to look for answers within.

Over the inane centuries of

misplaced passions and self-generated

righteousness—all properly

cleansed, modified and justified—the

Lost Angels know not who they are,

who they had once been, or who they

will become, for the Lost Angles know

just one thing and one thing only

and that is what they think they want.