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Where force rules, justice does not exist.

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Death occurs, it does not exist

Death, as we all know
Marks the termination
Of a life process

It is the climax of a
Natural process
Where a life system takes birth
Grows, matures
And meets end

It only occurs
And has no existence as such

We fear death
As we know we are going to die one day
We fear most
The aftermath of our departure
Than what really is going to happen to us after death

Death takes not even a split of a second
To fructify
But we ponder over that
And its impact
Much much longer

We just need to know
That we cannot escape this ultimate end
And enjoy living as much as we can
In a fair and socially acceptable manner
Without troubling others around

Factually, living itself
Is indeed a preparation for death only
Because you are going to die the way you lived

A matured, well balanced living
Leads to a similar departure
A chasing, hurried living
Leads to a unplanned demise
Leaving behind others to chase and hurry
An ever complaining ways of living
Leads to a death
After which the near and dear ones
Have a lot to complain
A compassionate and considerate living
Leads to a death
Making others be the same with every one
Death is peaceful only
Health conditions may at times
Someone be hospitalised for long
And someone incapacitated
And some others becoming a real burden
All these have nothing to do with dying peacefully
As long the person to die
Remains in peace and comfort
No need to get reminded
That we die each time we breathe out
As we are not sure
Whether or not we are going to
Brathe in immediately after that

Let us live
Strengthening ourselves
With the understanding
That death does not exist
But, it is going to occur
Only once, somewhere, somehow, sometime

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Exit Does Not Exist

Does not exist, take an exit
I hear voices insinuating
Feeds me lyrics to this song that I am saying
Sunlight 7:20 pm, early september
Standing looking at a photograph
That you do not remember being taken
You look out of breath, and me like I am faking
As a matter of fact I dont recall this photo being taken
You dont even actually exist so I just started shaking
Does not exist, take an exit

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Time does not exist

time does not exist
we made it up...
imagine you ask someone
for the time and the
reply 'time is a fabrication of
the mind to cope with change.'
you'd think them to
be strange.
but the more you think about it
the more sense it makes.
time does not exist
when you finally comprehend it
everything else becomes a lie,
science will make no sense
history will not be in the past
time does not exist
what else doesn't exist...?

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One Does Not Know Where It Is

ONE DOES NOT KNOW WHERE IT IS

One does not know where it is
Or what it is
It’s somewhere else something else
But we long for it
We want it to be again
Our youth is part of it
But it’s not just our youth
It’s life so much life as it was
So many people as they were
All that which is not and which we loved when it was
So so much
Our longing for it goes with us everywhere
And in old age I wonder why I am alive still
When so much I loved is not
And will never be as I will never be –again.

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Federico García Lorca

City That Does Not Sleep

In the sky there is nobody asleep. Nobody, nobody.
Nobody is asleep.
The creatures of the moon sniff and prowl about their cabins.
The living iguanas will come and bite the men who do not dream,
and the man who rushes out with his spirit broken will meet on the
street corner
the unbelievable alligator quiet beneath the tender protest of the
stars.

Nobody is asleep on earth. Nobody, nobody.
Nobody is asleep.
In a graveyard far off there is a corpse
who has moaned for three years
because of a dry countryside on his knee;
and that boy they buried this morning cried so much
it was necessary to call out the dogs to keep him quiet.

Life is not a dream. Careful! Careful! Careful!
We fall down the stairs in order to eat the moist earth
or we climb to the knife edge of the snow with the voices of the dead
dahlias.
But forgetfulness does not exist, dreams do not exist;
flesh exists. Kisses tie our mouths
in a thicket of new veins,
and whoever his pain pains will feel that pain forever
and whoever is afraid of death will carry it on his shoulders.

One day
the horses will live in the saloons
and the enraged ants
will throw themselves on the yellow skies that take refuge in the
eyes of cows.

Another day
we will watch the preserved butterflies rise from the dead
and still walking through a country of gray sponges and silent boats
we will watch our ring flash and roses spring from our tongue.
Careful! Be careful! Be careful!
The men who still have marks of the claw and the thunderstorm,
and that boy who cries because he has never heard of the invention
of the bridge,
or that dead man who possesses now only his head and a shoe,
we must carry them to the wall where the iguanas and the snakes
are waiting,
where the bear's teeth are waiting,
where the mummified hand of the boy is waiting,
and the hair of the camel stands on end with a violent blue shudder.

Nobody is sleeping in the sky. Nobody, nobody.
Nobody is sleeping.
If someone does close his eyes,
a whip, boys, a whip!
Let there be a landscape of open eyes
and bitter wounds on fire.
No one is sleeping in this world. No one, no one.
I have said it before.

No one is sleeping.
But if someone grows too much moss on his temples during the
night,
open the stage trapdoors so he can see in the moonlight
the lying goblets, and the poison, and the skull of the theaters.

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A Poem Whose Meaning The Poet Does Not Know

A POEM WHOSE MEANING THE POET DOES NOT KNOW


A poem whose meaning the poet does not know
Is a question only its readers can answer.
But if in the silence of endless absence
There are no readers
A poem whose meaning the poet does not know
Becomes a poem which does not exist.
And a poem which does not exist
Is not the poem the poet dreamed
When he heard in the night or the early morning
That rush of music that sequence of sounds
Which seemed to say more than he would ever understand
As he wrote it down in haste
For fear it somehow would be lost.

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Innocent`s Farewell

innocent`s farewell

i`m not dead
you will see me again for so much you loved me
let your innermost peace
i`m going to the world of poetry
where i will be eating poetry, drinking poetry
hate me no more now allow my soul to rest in peace in the world of poetry.

i`m not dead
i`m going to the world of poetry
where love dont exist but only wisdom
where there is no weapon but just pen and paper
where hunger and anger don`t exist but only joy.

i`m not dead
thy shall not cry for that is the waste of tears
i feel no pain anymore but only joy
i have no problems anymore but only progress
i`m not coming backto life
for where i`m death does not exist
i`m not dead but i`m living in the world of poetry
i`m with poets
we don`t get bored we are always writing poems.

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There Is This Man Who Does Not Know Where To Go

there is this man who does not know where to go
his wife left him
and his children had already disregarded him

there is this man who does not know anymore how to live
no one cares
about his baldness, his wrinkled skin, his rambling thought
gnarled, whorled,
his arms do not know what to hold
his soul has no anchor
his mind whirls
his hopes all burned
he is ashed
but not gone

people laugh at him and twist their faces at his back
there is still a place for him in the roof of my empathy
he takes shelter here and on this last threshold his fears
at least, are gone momentarily

we shall touch him and we shall watch how he shall quiver

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This Light Of Justice

Do not look back, there is only darkness-
Look forward, toward the distant light.
A look back only brings anger and bitterness,
So, I reject the thought with all my might,
In favor of faith in a future not yet known.
Flashes of this darknesscreep into my mind,
Where I am always heart-broken and all alone-
A lonely, freightened man left behind
By a system that espouses justice, yet does not exist.
I so very much crave this future's luminescence,
Yet, the pain of my past's darkness continues to persist.
Our Forefathers so beautifully captured its essence,
But its guardians have allowed it to wither;
Now, sadly, this light of justice shines not, hither!

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Please Do Not Tell Me

Please do not tell me to walk away and let my anger go,
It is most assuredly justified, in ways you will never know!
Anger, when directed in a constructive way-may change the world!
I ask you: 'where were you when all these viscious lies were hurled? ? '

I now know that Lady Justice hath been assassinated-
At least this is what my heart says, now broken and devastated!
Believe what you like, keep telling yourself there is equity;
Why then, when I have been victimized, is there no answerability! ?

Live in your Utopia, where injustice does not exist;
I live in the real world where iniquity does persist!

Take me not as a nay-sayer; I say 'yes' every single time,
Thinking: to be a seeker of truth, they will finally be prime!
Alas, I will believe in it again, when it shows and proves-
Yet, it shan't, until the biases inherent within, it removes!

Maurice Harris,3 May 2010

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Casting incantations

Casting incantations directed towards our abodes
The keys hide by the riverside to catch you on your own.
Some say this is reason enough to chase the crossroads home
Yet whilst we know our powers are strong we may never expect our goal.
We may never hone our skills, to our regret.
We may never bring home a kill before requesting game from the house upon the hill.

To understand is to question, to answer shows your ignorance
Don't cast your curse my way whilst sat upon the fence
Come down, Come to town, we'll each show you around they say
Still you put it off for another day, until there you are, caught out in the blue,
Sipping mountain dew with the ghost of a girl you thought you knew but were never sure.
She spoke of prohibitions; she liked to call them principles
Nevertheless a number of rules she dictated to her disciples
With which she claimed they may govern the use of divination,
By which means she claimed they may carry on healing,
Those feeling like they could never go on, feeling they'd never last long enough to rise,
To take their elders by surprise in the revealing wisdoms of a prophetic nature,
Stammering in trance at the sight of the birds mid-dance,
In catching the end of the show only half we'll ever know.

Why is it that no one told me that this is life as the days go by
This is life in which we redefine our meaning, to see clearly,
It's all we ask. Casting incantations so the time it may last.
As we grow within the static our perceptions widen, poised for conception.
Fed pity in a labor to which was born a savior, a savior fed deception
As the temple lie in ruins.

Sinking deeper into appreciation maybe we our bound to seek the keys together.
Perhaps a world apart, adorned our chests in feathers, where are we to start, the end my friend.

To believe in truth, in light as it guides us through shadows.
To will it through, to know right, to see malevolent spites pierced, strung upon the gallows?
Their bodies clustered in a fluster of anguish,
In which they are left for an eternity to languish,
As we strive onwards, the righteous, we who have been disregarded, who have suffered too long.
Is this what we are to expect from justice, a judge with no concept of right or wrong?
To believe in truth, in light as it is blinding
May lead us to accept a truth that does not exist, If just so we can resist in questioning that of which no truths can be known, That of which we have no knowledge to throw upon the flame, no knowledge
even to name what we can never describe, an eternity in leaps and bounds a future prescribed?

To know, to will, to dare, to keep still your tongue as they stare upon unruly masses of hair,
A chaotic ensemble glaring, oozing it's aura in reproduction as Flora frees her pollen for abduction.

Should we be grateful as the living heads of state awake the nightmare?
In which they expect us to share? Bloodbath, Slaughterhouse sensibilities,
Is it this that they expect of us, to don a uniform, to smile, respect and conform?
Whilst still we're chasing the eye of the storm that sulks in the darkness,
Bulking in a recess of fears, drowning in a waterfall of cascading tears.
If only they'd listen to the Rede as it says
'An it harm none, do what thou will'
Find the time to live if you've got so much time to kill
Perhaps the rule of three fold should be upheld above the law,
It would never leave the vultures of vengeance ever wanting for more.

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Love Does Not Keep To Seasons

Love does not keep to seasons,
is not caught by days, by months or by time
and where it really is true
not even death can lock it down.

Even when age wrecks features,
when money dwindles away,
love has the capacity
to still stay true,

still sees through the eyes
that in youth found beauty and sincerity
has a link to the divine,
and in all of this I want you to be mine.

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Sonnet II: Time does not bring relief

Time does not bring relief; you all have lied
Who told me time would ease me of my pain!
I miss him in the weeping of the rain;
I want him at the shrinking of the tide;
The old snows melt from every mountain-side,
And last year's leaves are smoke in every lane;
But last year's bitter loving must remain
Heaped on my heart, and my old thoughts abide.
There are a hundred places where I fear
To go - so with his memory they brim.
And entering with relief some quiet place
Where never fell his foot or shone his face
I say, 'There is no memory of him here!'
And so stand stricken, so remembering him.

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Distance Does Not Exist

to people with some questions
in their minds
and to people who care to listen
just plain
talking
without any vested interest
for what i owe
and what you owe
to me

for us who keep
on opening our hearts
and keeping
our fingers
busy with words
the ones
that we choose
not to hurt
but to elucidate
and
enlighten and make other people feel
that this world
is kind
compassionate
always ready
to listen
and be heard

for us
a toast, we just made it

we abolished distances
and now
the rule
is this
pure and simple intimacy

good thoughts
and wishes of health

may the force be with us
may distances shrink like raisins

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Sonnet 02: Time Does Not Bring Relief; You All Have Lied

Time does not bring relief; you all have lied
Who told me time would ease me of my pain!
I miss him in the weeping of the rain;
I want him at the shrinking of the tide;
The old snows melt from every mountain-side,
And last year's leaves are smoke in every lane;
But last year's bitter loving must remain
Heaped on my heart, and my old thoughts abide

There are a hundred places where I fear
To go,—so with his memory they brim
And entering with relief some quiet place
Where never fell his foot or shone his face
I say, "There is no memory of him here!"
And so stand stricken, so remembering him!

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And is love very strong where honour rules?

And is love very strong where honour rules?
Would the world ever speak of Lancelot's love
Or Tristram's love had they put honour first?
What would you think if Guinevere had knelt
And begged for kisses and had begged in vain?
Should she be constant had she been refused
Or would she laugh and turn to love elsewhere?
But Joseph is a hero nowadays
And young Paolo, the Italian blood,
Rather too rash and uncontrollable.
Lovers who are not free should sigh and part—
Lovers, you call them—and not free to love:
They may be wives or husbands, businessmen,
Saints even: they're not lovers. After all
I'd rather be a lover than a saint.

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It Does Not Have To Be This Way

Every culture tries to control, manipulate, shame, dominate the other culture, the dominate cultures today where the so called inferior cultures of the past, the so called inferiors to day where the dominate cultures of the past in many or most cases, in their region or in their portion of their continent. This is what individuals do to one another. This is how we are habituated on many levels, but it does not have to be this way. Believe in your self, face this tendency of humanity that we need to grow out of, defend your self from this, rise without putting others down. Weed out dysfunctional patterns of relating, of being that you picked up from your family.

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Pablo Neruda

Sonnet XVII: I do not love you as if you were brine-rose, topaz

I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz,
or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,
in secret, between the shadow and the soul.

I love you as the plant that never blooms
but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;
thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,
risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;
so I love you because I know no other way

than this: where I does not exist, nor you,
so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,
so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.

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Hard Times/ Grief Does Not Say Anything

I am tired.
So very tired
of making it all fit.

I suppose it’s called
grief.

It wears you down,
into a rounded rock
in a dull dumb landscape,
where once was
an exhilarating mountain range,
lush and forested.

Everything, or something like it,
has happened before -
and why bother anyway?

Just to walk away
from the flowers, grass, the seagulls and people,
the tiptoeing, fence-walking cat
in front of that hazy tall-trunked forest
across the grey wide river
as it meets the Tasman tides.

A lovely break at Port Waikato!
with the heat, noise, active flea or two,
and mosquitoes at night -
but most of all
with grief,
my companion with no name,
because grief does not
say anything.

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