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Jorge Luis Borges

Life and death have been lacking in my life.

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There Should Have Been More Poems Of Gratitude And Joy

There should have been more poems of Gratitude and Joy
Too much has been Sadness and Despair-
There should have been more poems of other people
And not so much of myself -
There should have been more metaphor
And less one- dimensional statement-

There should have been more Poetry in my Poetry
And more Inspiration and Blessing and Love-
Small worry and anxiety have been too much-
Oh the Beauty and the Goodness
I have been given in Life,
And how I have not known how to write it well enough.

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A birth and death

Several deaths in single birth and death cycle
all religious books speak the same including Bible
who can deny the existence death probability
that has been made permanently the continuity

Human beings are always guided by emotions
they emerge in the form of innumerable questions
it may strike as everything is at stake for the future
life is uncertain and nothing can be taken for sure

This leads to imagination as how the life would shape
life would move on smoothly or prove as trap
at every stage it may appear as if the end of journey
you may feel very poor even after having enough of money

No one may comfortably say that he is not afraid of death
he may not be in position to proclaim he is weary of wealth
he too may say falsely that he can withstand any type of wrath
he can do all with the simple reason that he does not believe in faith

It has been clearly laid down that death is complete surety
it has to be faced by child, poor, rich or even mighty
it is of no use to loose the ground at every stage
it may be countered if life at every page

Birth is reality and we have been ushered in new world
the life may be shaped by others who will continue to hold
all cards and bring us up in the realistic atmosphere
even though it is full of challenge, agony, pain and fear

it is realized and understood that life can't be brought to an end
we have to adjust to the scenario with little or some amends
how could one thing of bringing it to stage of collapse?
even if he has to face so much hardship and remain tense

It is not bead of roses that you may be heavenly gifted
it is sheer your efforts that may help the standard to be lifted
not all may be lucky to survive the onslaught of fate
some may get the fortune early of life or very late

It is futile to think of death at every moment
you should not fall prey to defeatist tendency or movement
when we know that life is destined for something new
you have to make concerted efforts and renew

One one birth and one death in complete life span
no second thought or idea must work as plan
it will be cowards death every time
this is drawback and will be considered as biggest crime

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Many Have Been Made Afraid Of It

Perfected mediocrity,
Takes more time to achieve...
Than the application to strive for greatness.

To settle for less than one's best,
Is a lazy decision to make...
For those at rest procrastinating.

And those who offer this to assist,
Are seeking attention not accompishment.
Since to accomplish takes discipline.
And many have been made afraid of it!

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You Have Been Successful at That

You say you are slow to change.

I say you've been conditioned and programmed,
To seek and adapt to limitation.

You say your beliefs are based on faith!

And yet every move you make,
You do in fear.

You say you are blessed!

With what?
Anxiety and stress?

You can not deal with reality!
That's an assessment.

Because you say it makes you depressed.

Not exactly in those words.
But that's what you project!

You wish to run away when the truth is spoken.
And you do that often,
To quickly disappear.

Dismissing it to say...
You prefer not to listen to 'that' mess.

Whatever you're not comprehending...
Remains blocked and attached to fears you endear.
Within your mind that is troubled.

I can understand 'why' you find me strange and unusual.
I do!
Because unlike you,
I will not satisfy my mind by keeping it confined!

And you have been successful at that!
Like many who have made denial a career.

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I Walk And Am Happy-I Have Been Given So Much In My Life


I walk and am happy
I have been given so so much in my life-
And yet I want more-
What is Man that Thou are mindful of him?
I have been given so much
And yet there is always the next something
Or the long –longed for and never given something
That does not free me.

I walk and am happy
And for a time
Forget my own unhappiness-
But I know that restlessness will soon come again
And I in my desire and longing
Will inwardly and deceitfully believe-
‘If only I receive the one thing I want’
All will be well forever.

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I Have Been Writing For All My Life


I have been writing for all my life
And soon I will be done
And when I am done
What will be with it all?

You live and you try and you try and you try
And you live as long as you can
And you try, or so you tell yourself, as hard as you can
And what it all amounts to
No one knows.

It is a very very large universe
And I am one small one among the billions who have been here
And the more billions that may be here
And in all the sounds and all the furies
My little words may be quiet as a song that has only the melody of death.

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I Have Been Trying To Be A Poet All My Life


I have been trying to be a Poet all my life
Whether I am
I do not know.

A poem is written from somewhere else
Deep inside the self-pitying self
This morning I am so far away
All I have written is dust
And dust is my name and my destiny.

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All My Life I Have Been Waiting To Be Discovered

All my life I have been waiting to be discovered
It's not going to be
I am not good enough-

I know this
But I'm still waiting
And I'll probably die waiting -

Its not good to be not good enough-
It's also probably not good to be a fool
And believe
Every small confession you make
Is a poem.

But maybe I am good enough
What do you think?

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All Day Long/I Have Been Walking And Thinking


All day long
I have been walking and thinking
Trying to write a poem.

And the lines are not lines
And the poem is not a poem
And the poet is not a poet.

And as the Jerusalem winter wind
Quickens my soul
And the sun flashes at me
The beauty of this world,
I know I have wasted my life
On what was beyond me.

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We Have Been Learning From Life

We have been learning from life from the day we've learned to crawl
And our gift of life 'twould seem to me is our greatest gift of all
And those who believe they know it all to themselves only lie
For we will be learning from life until the day we die
And life is never easy for many it would seem
So many low in confidence and low in self esteem
Those who aspire to great things treat lack of success as defeat
So many disappointed people living on every street
Of every town and city and that is Worldwide
A lack of success for many goes with a lack of pride
And that's how it has always been and how it will remain
Without personal success many believe respect you cannot gain
We have been learning from life before we crawled on the bedroom floor
And we would be learning from life if we lived for ten thousand years or more.

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I Should Have Been More Responsible...

i should have been responsible for you
suffer for your loss
i could have drawn a map to find you
you are lost

it is this regret
that i keep on leaving
i, too, has a life of my own to live
a mountain to climb
a river to cross

a house to build or destroy
if i really want to
a grave to visit, flowers to throw away
to the winds

it is this disappointment that has kept me alive
i could have been more responsible
to each of you, sick and needing help
or dying and needing even just a prayer

but i too, has the time too short
to accomplish what i haven't
lots of unfinished business too
and so i cannot be yet taken

i've been empty, so empty that i begin to float
i drift like everyone else
still undecided where to land and be myself again
when i was just born

what i lost, i have not yet recovered,
my innocence, what i had was so much, this pride,
what i must achieve, seems but only a dream,
and it is not coming, no signal, no warning,
death for instance... oh,

i should have been more responsible than that,
i could have lived the life you've wasted.

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Between Birth and Death!

Between two shores,
Birth and death,
Ignorance and knowledge,
Turmoil and peace,
Mortality and immortality,
There is the ocean of dualities!

The world of dualities,
It is the ocean with waves and tides,
life is found there,
When energy and matter play,
Soul is the player,
stage is mind one is full of confusion!

Identification is what we need,
The world full of life,
light eaters and life eaters,
Autotrophs and Hetrotrophs,
Life eating life,
are parasites or saprophytes,
O, man what are
Listen to call of
Who sent his ambassadors,
Listen to them,
You can cross the shores,
Take deep breath and stop,
See the spinning wheel at head's top,
Let silence be the meditation,
Drum beats may pacify all!

Listen the eternal music,
The heart sing in you,
The lovely melody of love,
that melody subside all dualities of ego!

Then with in you will ask yourself
Hunger and thirst,
Desires and lust,
Needs and greeds,
Love and hate,
Is that all the life?

Your own mind answers you,
You have come a long way,
Look back, dream is over,
You had been there over and over,

You yourself made poorer and poorer,
You moved away from your throne on which you were not there long since!

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You would know the secret of death;
But how shall you find it unless you seek it in life?
The owl whose night eyes are blind to daylight,
Cannot unveil the mystery of light.

If you yearn to see the spirit of death,
Open your heart wide to the wonder of life.
For life and death are one, even as a river and sea are one.

In the depth of your hopes and desires lies your silent,
Knowledge of the great beyond;
And like seeds dreaming ‘neath the snow,
Your heart dreams of spring.

Trust your dreams, for in them is hidden the gate to eternity.

Your fear of death is but the trembling subject,
Waiting to be honored by his king.
Is the subject not joyful beneath his trembling?
That he shall wear the mark of the king?
Yet is he not more mindful of his trembling?

For what is it to die but to stand naked,
In the wind and melt into the sun?
And what is it to cease breathing,
But to free the breath from restless tides,
That it may rise and expand and seek God unencumbered?

Only when you drink from the river of silence shall you sing?
And when you have reached the mountain top,
Then you shall begin to climb!
And when the earth claims your limbs,
Then shall you truly dance.

(Inspired by Kahlil Gibran)



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Love life and death

What good work has to do with honorable death?
Why all people should be afraid of laying wreath?
When certain things are bound to happen in any case?
Why to link it with good or bad life phase?

Certain thoughts emerge in one remote corner
Mind is workshop for such place and provide as burner
In youth times it may look little funny and awkward
Yet wise people think ahead of it and look forward

In any religion we pray god for peaceful end
Ask for guidance to lead exemplary with foes and friends
Life means very short phase and should be with little aim
Not building of tall towers and not much to expect or claim

We get puzzled with little set back or bad news
This is how we look at life and sadly view
We all know that it takes course only as destined
Nothing is harmed as thought over or undermined

I pray for bright sun on next day
I also know that darkness may be pushed away
Yet one must be ascertained of what is good or bad?
When you have handed over everything then why to feel sad?

If someone dies, we sand helpless
If someone meets with accident we stand by side with gloom on face
We practically do nothing except feeling powerless
Such is state of life if one tries to find out or trace

Let us not be carried away by hollowness of existence
You may find thousands of ready made instances
Where you want to do many things but fail to deliver
As someone else is watching you and acts as server

Come down to little aspect and give little consideration
Everything may be looking good from point of relation
Yet it is uncertain and not fine at all from any angle
Love, life and death is only known form of triangle

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From The Distance (Of Life and Death)

The ghastly mantling fog
That had spun out my eyes
Adamantine and brazenly cold
Is your very breath slicing
A wanton shrill in the supple skin
Like how those words flung
Into the impassable distance
Toppling the dearth expanse
Of time strutting down her golden stair

Those words are the spine
Of the hundred tacitly inscribed
Poetries in blood and smothered breaths
Along with the thousand winding days
Plummeting into the abysmal trench
In constant winnows of your redolent
Balmy zithers of the morning sun
As I speak of these words, I entangle
Myself in the wisps of your tresses
And gape in the crevasses
Of your hostile sweetness

From the distance eloquently stretched
In life and death in ethereal phases;
In the verdure of treacherous subtleties,
In absence and in the deficient existence,
You bore me life from subsisting
The gorging plenitude of puissant deaths
I swallowed you and your piercing shafts
Had scraped my insides and you have
Melted into my very blood, life and death;
You were my life and death

The gods had left me to bled
For your wanderlusting immolation
So you went far-off, father than
The subways of oblivion
Down into the pits of lies
And you have reaped your wings
Whet your prongs and sealed
The gridlock enthralls beneath
The earth that cradles your remnants
I will crush my ears to the mud
For the petrichor slathers
The entity of your particulars,
To seize your lies and inject
A deluge of life and death

Constantly, in dithers
Longer than your memories
And preempted blarneys
Blind as the serrated stars
I shall efface your calls
To cross the line and free fall
Again into your eternal ditch
And keep myself between
The inertia of life and death
Regardless, you were
The two opposing columns
No longer

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Patrick White

By The Light I Have Been Given To Go By

By the light I have been given to go by,
I can see how homeless the journey truly is.
How provisional the shrines along the way like milestones
we stop to paint like the inside of our skulls
or the caves we first dwelled in with our dead
buried under fire and the numinosity of our picture music
impregnating the womb walls of a space made sacred by fear.
The darkness bears my secrets, and in the torchlight,
in carbon and red ochre, a diary of shamans
gored by defecating rhinos speared to death.

I have imagined my way into an understanding
that is a rite of passage into a space that is
a vast abyss of intelligence, a nothingness
that speaks through an intuitive grammar of things
as if a galaxy, a star, stone, tree, raindropp were each a thought,
a sign, a word, the syntax of a growing paradigm
of creative awareness that we're completely alone
and lost at sea like fish on the moon crawling out of its tides
as if nothing bound us, not even detachment,
nor a god that exists as a confession of the way we do,
nor any medium we work in as reflection of our presence
labouring away at an unattainable world that won't exist
until we do, and it's 7 to 5 against anyone making it that far.

But what a joy to emerge out of our own nothingness
like a secret we're letting ourselves in on,
making it up as we go along like a deportable myth of origin
we can adapt to our infinite beginnings
because for starters, it has none of its own.
We were born to express ourselves like apple trees.
We were born to see and be happy marvelling at the event.
To enjoy longing for things we were never missing
and be guided by wise men we never listen to
back to a silence that has nothing to say for itself
that we didn't already know in the first place.
Everywhere is the threshold of the return journey.
Life is either an exile, or it stays at home like a follower.
Bless the enlightened apostates of the dangerous religion
that desecrates the mind by worshipping it.
Why make a chain out of your umbilical cord
and get your head wrapped around it like a noose
because you forgot meaning was an art
and not a way to take yourself way too seriously to heart?
Why go to war with your own mind
just to administer to the needs of the suffering
when you can paint a god in blood and ashes
and decultify yourself with the creative freedom
of your imagination deconstructing the fable of your belief
that it's the being, not the becoming, that endures.
And you can do this without even knowing how to draw.
A starmap doesn't shine. A blue print doesn't open a door.
If you ask a crutch to do your walking for you,
it's going to throw you away like a miracle
at the top of the stairs of Notre Dame de Coeur.
Better to be the sacred whore of a thousand profligate gods
than the unrepentant nun of one who shuts the world out,
like art for art's sake, to revel in her own extinction
in a mystical connubium with an unregenerate imagination.

You can burn your gates and cages in a wild field if you like
for not being able to keep the flowers in, or keep the wind
from rioting with the leaves way past curfew,
but there was never any risk of being granted what you ask
because life is the unpredictable moon rise
that deepens the calendars with a renewed humility
towards the extraordinary mutability of time.
What have you ever been that baffled your imagination?
It isn't reason that inspires us to become a stranger tomorrow
to the self we knew today. Genuine faith isn't
an artificial life support system to keep something alive
that should have been allowed to die quietly away yesterday.
Millions upon millions of facts like a graveyard of skeleton keys
to a door we can't find open within ourselves
as if we'd just stepped through it to be here where we live
deciphering the shapes of the clouds as if we lived in code.

Hide your secret deep enough if you want it to be known.
Walk alone as far as you can until you can't
if you want the world to walk the rest of the way with you.
The white demon that knows heaven and hell experientially
mentors the senses in the spiritual subtleties of the black angel
that comes like the new moon of a third eye
to help the exegetes of light see further into the dark
by blowing their candles out like flowers.
All seekers are roads looking for a map to follow.
Preludes after the fact, that set out to look for their own endings.
Be a star. And keep your afterlife behind you
like the shadow of the last form you cast upon the earth.
Be an eye that doesn't leave any room between the moon
and it's reflection so that the substance of life is seeing
not that you're a distinct and separate entity
that cosmically identifies with your exclusion
but that you're wholly within easy reach of everything
that depends upon you for its existence. Just as every leaf
you let fall in the autumn like an adage of wisdom
about how you can know the world by its fruits
first came to the tree like a smile to your face
when you realized your imagination was
the inconceivable dynamic of a creative state of grace.

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In-between life and death

In-between life and death
Let's not resign another breath
Plentiful with a full-pail gainful

Reach up into ends rainbow
Catch that butterfly's coattail..?
Never just be left in "shadow".

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Since we have been gone from each

Since we have been gone from each other
time passes very quickly
and although it wasn’t my choice
you still blame me.

Maybe I try too hard
to get my life going again
and now I also know
what loneliness is.

Still I do not doubt
about where you are in my heart
and about how you feel,
but the distance between us
is stretched out long
and I miss you just too much.

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Teddybears Have Been Slaughtered

Many wish life the way they see it.
The way that it has been fed.
Without the bleakness and the dred.
But when the veil is lifted...
And a reality hidden begins to spread.
They go ballistic.
Out of their heads.
Their talking teddybears have been slaughtered.
And those they believed were of inferior quality...
Are actually more superior to what to them has been said.

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I have been sentenced by the blues

I have been sentenced
by the blues and that music
cuts right through me,
like a chilling electric saw
grinding at the fabric of my soul.

Maybe there’s more to this story
than what these few lines tell
and the blues
have no fascination for me
and just leave memories,
of how sad life can be
and the strings played

by a child hooked on drugs
who would never be free.

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