I am the wind,
roaring, howling,
mostly aloof,
cutting through the innocence of yesterday
destroyed in the fire of one’s ignorance
tangled in the meshes of human trees
singing songs for those who can still hear
the broken melody of life
where do I blow now,
my heart weary by the storms
they hit the eyelashes
obstructed by memories and the
freezing blood of time
ordinarily without a face
tattered veins of a mysterious death
wishing to return home
not elsewhere but here
I cough and turn in my bed praying for relief
it is painful
this murmur in my skin
dried lips,
charred bones,
my dense tongue
speaks in a language unheard
as harsh cold shivers upon the traces of imagination,
ideas of revolution cease at the door of longings and attachments.
and at last as the doors of love and friendship start creaking, opening from the inside, we give up on our dreams, forgetting why we fight the good fight, purposelessly wandering within the blankets of sexy conformity that define the possibilities at the speck of dawn that die silently without vigour by mid-day.
so then you satisfy the day by eating your own shit like a good old bread spread jammed between the lines of the known, shielded from fears that are hunted in an act of the ultimate sport of manliness.
bravo!
another place has called,
a traveller without hesitation ends up in the fields of half brewed wine complaining about the lack of sophistication in the taste of the rich,
scenery attached to dusty fields of beauty embraced by the sickening tide of the void.
it is clear then to one’s who implore that to stick around in this world takes great courage when everything is working against each other, and no one can stand their own ground without leaning on a certain doctrine they impart with pride and laughter, creating walls of impregnation as they massage a woman’s bare ass who unconsciously reaps the wrath of her own lustful desires, lost in the sauce of ecstasy believing the great fantasies of opium induced splendour.
suddenly she wakes up pinched by the plight of her lover who travelled great distance to see her, something shattered that night as a demon was born without feet uprooted out of notions of tranquility, a curse cast upon the plains of freedom, an island with no stain, spitting venom stirred into hot water with honey spiced with ginger and pepper, medicine is often born out of the guts of poison.
a marvelous sight to behold, the undying quest of the eternal ocean copulating with the abrasive sand of the shore.
Love is a four letter word abused by the ones who hang their balls by the bells at the doors of temple entrances to be lapped up and rung in great meditation of a drug induced state in an unwringing lust for god.
the great understanding is then to realise that even wisdom fails in face of the mental prison, and darkness is an infant without mother, light its vagabond brother without direction and you the invisible warrior beast crooked spinal column of an insect consciousness hurled into the extravagance of this universe, a puzzle waiting to be simply observed and glimpsed and walked into rather than a mistaken ordeal to decode greatness out of the feathers of a dying bird.
a great struggle to merge.
the ones who shall become aware will suffer to no end in all worlds simultaneously.
there is no other life you can take your journey into, everything will amplify through the cracks of your soul pounding into the thunders of nothingness as sunshine returns after passing of a storm.
as I am approached by water, it is revealed that we have a difficult relationship.
It burns my skin as it washes away what I hold so dearly deep within, I cry every morning and then in the night and needless to say I avoid bathing as much as possible.
only rain remains
unstoppable bladder movements
and deep contemplation of the abyss
I am the wind,
roaring, howling,
mostly aloof,
singing songs for those who can still hear
the broken melody of life.