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Monday, 27 March 2017

Poem: Roots

Photos borrowed from StockSnap and Unsplash

mountains float like clouds in the distance
their existence seems timeless like the sky
the shadows that play on us,
trying to show us the light
captured we are in this vast sea of possibilities
caged we are in this modern society, losing value
trying to fit into a shape that is not us
calling out to others,
but forgetting our names
the corridors that we walk through
waves either heal or cut us,
water drips through
drips even through stone,
river is running dry
are we untouched by what life is?
the cold sweeps into our blood
as our roots keep on burning,
but we don't seem to see
the smoke that is rising
our souls tired, tired of walking in these shoes
who can still hear a howl?
people talk endlessly, but seldom listen
in love with their own words and voices
blind we become, as if these tears turn into ice
in the winter of our lives we'll lose everything we once knew
maybe even lose our minds, in which a ghost would
haunt those few memories that we cling to
a wolf searching for a path of old
*

Saturday, 14 January 2017

Poem: Fever dreams


As the blackness of ink soaks through the snow white pages
so does the breathing get harder and the heartbeat races
as you fight your ghosts in the shadow tunnels
making sense of your fever dreams
revelation always follows after the moment
you want to surrender and stare into the abyss
it takes years for us to develop strong spines
first we develop fragile cells and flesh, bones we create much later
we lose our shape living in the modern world
we've forgotten and destroyed most of ancient wisdom
there are many hard battles we fight
inside of ourselves and by ourselves
for we've never learned trust
and helping others is under-rated
we weren't born to this earth to walk it alone
sometimes it seems we talk endlessly, but fail to say a thing
we rather keep it locked up,
either we find the right path or we get lost,
hearts have the knowledge of healing,
but the mind remembers and lingers to details
since it is the fiercest critique
can you still distinguish real from fake?
can you still tell who is the writer of your life?
is time taking our dreams away?
*