The Conqueror
She is the conqueror..
—a girl from the
Spanish conquest
As if dawning like
the sky, —instead of
conquering, she got
conquered
Indeed, ingenue and young,
If only we all knew
Carl Jung
Never faulted in our
fault-finding sphere,
the casuists called
her dear
Fragility of the heart,
too insurmountable
to be broken by concrete blocks
—that some called art
Hell no! (Millennials disagree!)
We are all just suffering
from anomie!
—fading fast
sleep on
the things
that matter
having no cares
about the world
like the otter
this is how he
studies the marshes
and rainforests
unbothered
like too many
diktats leaving
them smothered
that's how i
clean forget
subconscious past
by being in the
present, i have
judged the last
that's how it
always goes
jibed or othered
transcendence
(in our essence)
spirituality
fading fast
calling it love (yet involving cultural variances)
it's as if they know—
how to lift their wings
to fly
only to be able to reach
that glorious blue sky
it's when city dreamers
really, really
could dream high
yet trying to go on their
own particular ways—
not even finding relief, sigh!
would you still hold me
until the golden dawn?
tell me what year are we now, again?
we're here, olden.. but then
somehow
we still have
fallen apart, as you joked
again..and..again
—that you bleed—
(unrequited love?)
that's how we
pass the blame to reality
but really, it could just be
an untranslatable word
for perfect love
unconsciously—
misunderstanding
mere affinity—
untitled (former working title: true music)
as if one have
all the value judgements
in this—
tribulation period,
if only wind
instruments were
invented to share
a message, —
would souls
truly speak
in the present moment?
time & its insignificance
like metanoia
—a paradigm shift—
suddenly, anxiety
changing one's drift
from kabbalah
to phonetics
linguistics, semantics
hermeneutics of the Torah
from ancient
to the renaissance
what more can
one presage?
neither—
if a believer
prays to a false God
[of an othered religion]
permitted but
wronged sainthood
senile syllogisms & oblivion
—Like Little Houses
Like little houses—
Are the places within which
—can be called our homes
Shoestrings (an affected poem)
Are people's
lonesome adventures
depressive masquerades?
In a culture of one's
design; only
'tis Not
Deceit tied them
together like
Shoelace
Solace.
To Paddle One's Canoe Over Still Waters
Seeming storylines are child's play
Appearing to you like 'tis
something funny
Out of our little trembling political
situation
If only stars are the silent majority
They must twinkle—endlessly, without a noise
No matter how far we are,
theoretically
The light year spanned space-time
to have brought
me to you
—wondering, now, if vice versa is
also
true
In a sense of delight that had made
young lovers swoon
'Tis a mother's loving caress to a
newborn
A perfect love of Astrological
compatibility
And forever they will
choose to share lovingkindness
—to each other & for others.
—
As well.