Shape

 

A mind can lead to war

Or to peace

 

The shape of a bird repeating itself 

In what I thought to be a lotion blot on the wall

And after a while, I wonder if that could be the remaining

Of a dead butterfly

 

Possibly through too much coffee and imagery

 

And suddenly, the bird is encaged

The mind will rethink reality

And its sanity 

 

The constitution of the self will be put into question

And the self is mere reflection of the whole

 

But the self will eventually get to the conclusion 

That it’s just a blot on the wall 

And I’ve got an appointment tomorrow 

So I must take my sleeping pills and go to sleep

 

And the show is always sustained

Every day

By the luxury of watching violet clouds being denied

Ripped out

In the land of misplaced outlines

 

The mind

It can lead to war

Or to peace

Depending on how that blot 

Shows itself through 

 

And I, who should be seen as the caterpillar, am

Cast away as if a goal ended right there

 

And my cups have all been breaking

Wine puddles on the floor

Not to mention the love

That was forgotten long ago

 

Sound

 

We’re just forever and perpetually imitating ourselves, quoting ourselves

By reiterating the others

Stuck on a loop

 

The others that didn’t quote anyone or repeated anyone

That once coded everything that would be labeled later on

Were they, gods, 

philosophers, 

enlightened ones

 

And now we quote them to justify things we don’t understand

And we can’t explain by ourselves

 

They translated higher knowledge into code

And now we lack understanding of the code

Because we were too busy being distracted by artificial lights made of counterfeit colours 

 

And maybe our purpose was as simple as transcending the code

After becoming it

Before experiencing this

 

But we’re just here

Going through pages of encyclopedias

Finding someone else to be mentioned

To justify something that doesn’t make sense

Or at least we couldn’t get to the end

 

Colour

 

I

 

We’re all figures 

Images

Pictures

As soon as we get to understand

We’re also the other 

 

And there’s only us because there’s them

That’s why we create them

 

And if everything looks so dull

The magnificence facing it

Is you 

 

And the notion you have about it

Is merely a mirror 

 

II

 

I look through lenses that were lent to me

By other that I myself put there so there’s me 

 

I see everything through the other 

And I’m merely a narrator

An observer

Of the art that I claim

When I get to understand

That it is mine

 

III

 

Since the day it saw the light

And decided to give it a try 

The baby sees the whole before it is put together

A cubist painting of reality

A state of broken triangles

Divvying up squares 

 

The more it looks in the mirror

The less it knows its shape

It’s forgotten every day

By the shape of the other

 

IV

 

I define me as I define you

But what do you define me as

If you define me as I define you?

 

Second point of view

Third point of view

I need your view to

What will be my view

On what should be

A state of the art

 

But what would I do to define you

As you move?

 

Meaning

 

I

 

When all my red roses

Lost the blood of their proses

My skin turned blue

 

Ink to verses

 

II

 

My love for the code

Is a tulip being written

By daisies

 

Unereasable ribbon

Watercolour paper

 

No water 

 

My love for the code

Is existence being drawn

By nines that had it all

 

And gave it all

So it could be spoken

 

III

 

May I walk in the aisle of Tropicos

Like the brides who carry Gypsophila

Blossons 

 

With only Love in sight

 

IV

 

My whimsical state of Tropes

Go from wild daisies who care not

Where they grow

To the Orchid who chose its vase

 

And if the gardener gets any other

I won’t bloom

 

V

 

The gift of the code

Is reflected on the Asphodel Lily

Utter the mellifluous colour of that name

And taste the Ambrosia

 

Suddenly the day is murking to night

The day that barely twilighted in the times

Of silence

 

And stairs above are reflected below

 

It’s almost time to darken 

My hair and go back there 

 

VI

 

The manifoldness of my kind

Sometimes twists some minds

In thinking we are different

 

When in fact, I’m you, you’re me

Experiencing the minuteness of being here

Because I – or you – decided doing nothing

Was no longer the best thing

 

And the circles he started to multiply

And you and I became we, there has been created time

And the rest is history

 

 

Time

 

I

 

The seed will be nothing

If you keep it in a jar on the top shelf

 

But if you give it the chance to ground 

It may be flower in a couple of days 

 

II

 

When life was first created, I wasn’t expecting for the dark to show it through

I was just curious about how existence would feel

Because I had been naught, the void

For too long

The void, naught (0), the joint and absence of everything and anything

Being antonyms even in that simple sentence 

 

The madness was to fall from that

But once I escape from that

I am free

 

From the matters of the unmatter

 

Or at least I thought so

 

III

 

The longing to come back to oneness forces us to merge

And by merging, we mess up everything we spent a lifetime trying to build

We are forced to throw away the cards we could use to win

In order to underwrite the future

With the illusion that we’re reaching it 

 

And that way we keep existence going at present

Asymmetrically

 

Because what is perfect can’t afford to exist 

 

IV

 

Every present has a past

But not always a future

Unless the future is contained

In the past

 

But you have the strings that determine that

Don’t you?

 

V

 

Perhaps life from now

In the time future regarding 

Time present

 

Will look as misplaced as

A bearer of dust and memories

From a while ago 

That now might seem long

Translated by the gift of code

 

Given that time is just a point of view anyhow

Years gone by are just arbitrary constants 

 

Perhaps

Happiness or gloom or love

Or hate or light or

Dark

 

Will too be a point of view

Misplaced, an infestation of dust

Pointless, but insightful in their beauty

On the tomorrow of the days to come

 

Perhaps, just perhaps

 

 

Love

 

HOLOGRAM AND IMAGE THROUGH MY VISION

 

Love can sometimes be defined

By the Comedy of Dante and fine wine

 

And that might be the biggest flaw

 

(Not for enlightenment) I too was left behind

The open wine had to be consumed and replaced

On the shelf for next time

 

 

THREE

 

Birthday of a middle aged mother

She yearns for pictures of her to be shown later on

And gets sad if no one doesn’t take the initiative 

The earthly symbols of unconditional love

Based on the concept of taking pictures

 

She wasn’t the favourite daughter

She was told she wasn’t as beautiful as her sister

 

Unrevered wife

Her husband forgot her first birthday after their wedding

And other daily earthly symbols

Of unconditional love

 

So now she silently begs for pictures with her son

On her birthday, not to show she wants earthly 

Symbols of unconditional love

 

Every day

 

And that got me thinking

If my perspective of movement was that delineated

Life would be beautiful 

On the earthly unconditional love way 

 

Symbolically 

 

 

SIX

 

They’re the future

Your future 

Take care of them

As if they’re you

Because they are

In the end 

 

The potential of a blue rosebud

That tomorrow may bloom

That won’t give you colour blue

But you can admire its power

And beauty

 

The potential of a seed

That can grow roots and leaves

If you take good care of it

 

 

AROUND AND UNCHANGING

 

I used to think love justifies the means

But love is never the cause

Very often, and in my own suitcase

It is the effect that culminates 

In a sense of raison d’etre

Though it is merely a state of mind

 

 

Perspective

 

I - THE STRANGER

 

There's the object

It's shaped by the light

That leaves the shadow

Distorted as my view

When I overthink the concept 

 

The leaves, the shadow

That hint purple in colour yellow 

The gazebo perpendicular to the palms

And my palm set to inertia on the six of wands

I lost a wand under the light when I was 

Deceived by the realness of a dance

Several circles below

 

A feud between linear and aerial perspectives

I was the judge and both sides of the coin

And I sustained the show, anyhow

For the sheer plateau of this card

And for fun

 

Until my horse moved on

And my inner sixes and sevens begun

 

 

II - THE ACQUAINTANCE

 

From the shadow I sight

All the light I've hidden 

Under the illusion of the being 

I am and I am not

A missing caesura

That would see that the twisted

Forms and twisted minds

Were no more than misconceptions

Influenced by the tales of the firmament

And its dark side 

 

An arpeggiator of dazzling memories

From the last time it happened

 

Short lines from background thoughts

That keep me standing looking into the nothingness

Without forming a concept about what I see

Until the image begins to blur

And I reach the state of being

Since I shut it down 

 

By adding the wrong preposition on

 

 

III - THE STAGE

 

I was the reflection reflected in the vacancy

I was the conception, the misconception and the guilt 

The open door which is a comeback to the start

The story of the history

And the core

Of how light can be elusive and enlightening 

According to the one who sees

 

And I could see from there and from here

If I kept turning around it - star-shaped route

 

Suddenly there was something

Sun shining through palms that came into being

Because of the echoing footfalls on the draught

And the potential metaphor

That would concept the rest

 

A patio to define the quiescence point

A swing hanging on something that defines up

That would define down

 

And when I touched the swing, it became real

 

It was a dawning existence - the swinging I

Could perceive the warmth of the sun

Through the palms

 

Until it became too hot

Until it became too much light

 

 

When all the mirrors are shut

 

All this mindful startrip since I was born next to the orangery

All the calculations on the unintended perfection between constellations

All the thin layers above matter around those who can’t behold

All this

Existence

 

All

 

Makes me feel lonely

The kin won’t let me in

Neither out

Because they need to sustain the show

 

And I don’t blame them

That’s how blindness works

It’s pure event memory 

You can’t shut one down

 

I’m lonely

 

There are no much more of my kind left

The ones who look the object and see it through 

The ones who sight the flower and see the root

Who will translate the glance to sense

Using words 

And nothing is stronger than one’s intention

 

No textbooks

No moral compass

 

I’m very lonely

 

My house is full os echoing thoughts

Which I fear the utterance

Many memories, no one to remember

But me

 

That’s why I feel lonely

 

I tried to avoid it when I attracted a lover

To hush the burden 

Of my existence

 

But it’s math

You can’t make up calculations

You just have to accept them 

And exist

 

And all this existence

Seeing what isn’t easily seen

Is incredibly lonely

 

Perpetuation

 

If you want the silence

You must mute everything else

And that includes yourself 

 

So, write that line

Read it in different states of mind

Read it a in different circle every time

 

And it will change 

It will keep changing

Until there’s no more line