to be one

By wanderlust in poem 0 Comment

to be one

i can feel the power of seeing, of truth
and the boil of blood
that negates nothing of the real,
as it presents itself just

so to feel the strength of the emotions accepted,
at a distance sustained, and spoken truth to
by this governing mind.

to be a master of self,
to be One, with might
to be closer to true Self
and to see it in delight

the tension, the music, of what is to become one
from the passions many,
from the multiple selves
governed by, becoming: One.

little thing I am,
but by this I am hurled:
when i’m master of my self
i’m master of the world

caressing i knows

By wanderlust in poem 0 Comment

caressing i knows

i witnessed this week a sort of great battle
a serpent and the woman, and a child in between

with tensed and curled tendons
the child was seduced
his neck in full bondage
and nose to some shit

she whispered through some memory
of sweet power anew
“one that’s so distant,
it only lies in you”

and i contemplated,
detached and deranged
this one sweet battle
not wanting to want
but tequila in my veins

for seventy one hours the struggle ensued
the fake freedom of the spectator,
with cowardice imbued

the child and the man
each other’s power invoking
to be one with the other

yet desiring another

the tail in his neck
curled oh so sweetly
inviting it further to lose itself
finally surrender, completely

her aroma enveloped
created before all things
as when she had taken flesh to give life
she sweetened the grip, an offer

breath of suggestion
and terrible freedom

choose me,
the man cries out
with Her sun in his heart

look at me
i will hold you
i know who you are

to see you and feel you
your bitter pain past
choose me come to me
i’ll be your home at last

i know your true name

amidst sobs of loss
the pain that just flows
father holding son
in caressing iknows

logic of life

By wanderlust in poem 0 Comment

Unblossomed

the only logic in life is dance,

.

to protest against the monochromatic life of grace
.
where the psyche is seduced by truth,
.
from where everything beautiful in life comes.
.
writing is just another form of vomiting,
.
that anxious thought of dying unbloomed.

Foto here

yours is the earth

By wanderlust in poem 0 Comment

Milky Way

If

If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don’t deal in lies,
Or being hated, don’t give way to hating,
And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise:

If you can dream—and not make dreams your master;
If you can think—and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build ’em up with worn-out tools:

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: “Hold on!”

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with Kings—nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,
And—which is more—you’ll be a Man, my son.

Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,
And—which is more—you’ll be a Man, my son.

“If,” poem by Rudyard Kipling, 1895

Photo: Milky Way, by Mihoko Ogaki