Posted on by solangesuri2015

A Stubborn Suffering

We know that we are in the midst of life
But we’re unable to apprehend its constant flux
Our minds are older than our bodies
And even though our bodies undergo continuous change
Our minds can be frustratingly refractory
Stuck in a time warp
Dulled by habit
And clouded by ignorance and delusion
The mind can be obstinately resistant to the flow of time
Fixated either in the past or future
It remains incapable of living in the present

Remaining absent to the present moment
Is the seed of all sin.

So before you condemn a man for indiscretion
Ask yourself if you speak
From yesterday’s ideas or from tomorrow’s fears
Or if this very moment
Uncontaminated by memory and mistrust
Speaks for itself

And if it doesn’t
Restore your kinship with him
Seeing in him
Christ reborn and re-crucified
Suffering once again for your sins.

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In Essence

May I continue to feel pain
May I only resolve to meet life unresolved
May I allow life to learn through me
And never try to become learned through life
May I never create within me any resistances
May I continue to make mistakes
May I persist in being
May I never seek to become
May I surrender to life and let it own me
And never aspire to make a life of my own.
May my weaknesses be the source of my strength
But never the source of my fear
May I continue to have hope
And may I continue to have my hopes crushed
May I continue to dream
And may I continue to have my dreams broken
May I be granted all of these things
And may I have them all taken away.

Posted on by solangesuri2015

A Tree Named Desire

Desire is the name of a tree
With its roots within me
And growing outward
Into the world
Its branches of thoughts and feelings
Entangling me in a mesh of relationships.

Silent is my demeanor
But my heart is a perpetual stirring
Dancing on the waves
Of my restless mind
Which I’ve come to see
Is not made for settling down.

Yet good sense tells me
The sounds of the mind
Are a cacophony
Lacking metre and melody
And which must be arranged
By truer feeling, by measure, by design.

And so, it must be understood
That to deny the mind
Is to nod to character
And it is character
Which will prove to be
A higher genius and a truer friend

But the mind is an enticer
That puts to test all restraint
And so now I ask it
What it wants
And why it does
What it does

In response, these lines
Flow out of my pen
And true to the mind
They are fluid, effortless
But drawing now
From a deeper, richer soil

“Indeed, I know just desire
That is why I exist
…To allow for fruition
But it’s only under the steady glare of character
That your desires ripen
And by law fall to the earth
As the sweet fruits of your patience.”

Posted on by solangesuri2015

A Meaningful Story

Our stories disappear
And fade into quick oblivion
Leaving us with no meaning in our lives
Only to be reborn, reread and rewritten
By those who sense a resurgence of meaning
When they string together
Through strands of time
The charms of little nothings.

The problem is:
Nobody asks them
For whom stories have faded
What is it that keeps them from dying?
What remains in feeling, in essence, in residue?
Do they now understand reality?
And if they do…
Do they think it’s a meaningful story?

Posted on by solangesuri2015

Placebo

The swallowed drink
With a shot of lime
Works its way within
And in no time

All my knots, my tensions
Come undone
I announce to the world
“I’m ready for some fun!”

“Life is good,” I say
And my mates agree
And we raise our
Glasses in cheer

We laugh, we tease
We jibe in fun
Crackling with wit
And intended pun

Much is spoken
Much is said
With great bravado
Without any dread

A drink permits
Both sinner and saint
To speak his heart
Without restraint

A tavern is a place
Designed for the game
Of people forgetting
All title and name

But all seasoned drinkers
A secret know
That the infamous drink
Is really a placebo.

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Before You Entered, After You Left

I’ve seen events,
momentous as they were
fade away

I’ve been gripped by
affections, I thought were
for keeps

I’ve lost so much
to time, but I haven’t
lost presence…

I now understand
that the gifts
of time

Are not things
that are born and that
can die

But are those
that remain, when all
has left.

Time can’t take away
what it hasn’t
brought in.

Posted on by solangesuri2015

See-through

I’ve come to see
That your kind words
Don’t stick
Neither do your opinions
Cause anything more than a fleeting awkwardness.
My deliverance from smallness-
(Sorry to disappoint you)-
Needs a more sophisticated design.

In a world of sound and fury
I wonder why silence exists
Why does it stay
And not leave?
Even when it is abused,
Ignored: not acknowledged
I befriend silence
And Understanding begins to claim its space within.

Now an expanse
It provides me with distance
And light
That can penetrate through smallness
And darkness
Your little schemes
Are not as tight in weave
As you think them to be.

Your body may be dressed
In fancy styles tailored to fit
But you are clueless about
The size and shape of your mind
Or its persona that challenges
Your ideas of who you are
Your little pretensions
Don’t cover it at all

You stand exposed
Your words are see-through.

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Now that It’s Over

So much is over…
Who swallowed those capsules of time?
And if it’s over and gone
Why does memory live…?
…like a persistent ache
…like a question left unanswered…

Is my change true and final?
If I wasn’t that
Then am I certain I’m this?
Memory is seductive
It beckons me to return
A smoke that suggests a hidden flame…

I stand somewhere in between
What was and what seems to be
Baffled that neither is my ground
I’m wondering then…
What is my truth?
And what skin will cling to me

When this moment too, is over.

Posted on by solangesuri2015

Remembrance Is Not Memory

Unaware of my truth

I created memories

Memories of me

Memories of you

Memories of sorrow…

And now

These memories torment me

They remind me of

Why it’s safer

To collapse, to suffer, to hide…

I watch a bird

Fearlessly stand on the ledge

Confident

That the chance of falling

Poses no threat.

I wonder…

Just for a moment

What must I remember

To find my wings when

I’m standing on a ledge overlooking memory.