Can't do without them!

Periods of dry, periods of honey, a plateau, a struggling to go off in another direction and then the far off becomes close and the close is seen clearly and then old belongings bring warmth, the familiar, the having wandered to various plains and seeing what is beyond those hills and coming to realize that a pool does not have to be an ocean to bring happiness. The poems are dark, they are hopeful, they don't beat about the bush. Poetry is talking to the heart.

You see, you want, you go for it. Ouch! It hurts, you feel sad and cry. You go back to temptations because that is life. This is not work. You go back anyways since it feels good. Too good. Too heavy a price. You don’t think. You do. You regret and still do. You wonder why you keep repeating what is slowly killing the brightest part of you. You don’t necessarily believe in the soul or religion. There is too much confusion going around. You look deep within and find the garden blazing with fire. Who did that? You did. You realize the only way out is you. You need to die.

The work here is about disillusionment, of what we see and experience each day. We value so much what isn’t ours to have. Sacrifice so much to find that in the end, we are the ones that betrayed ourselves. Everything is temporal, the physical and the spiritual and the two often fall on separate laws. This is a work of fiction and I wrote it in the hopes that we may live our lives differently.

We live in different worlds. And yet there is grace in being ordinary. There is nothing wrong in being rich either but the pitfalls that come are unique to both. This is a very short story on what it means to be ordinary and religion or philosophy is added to it. I do not like those words since they confuse more than enlighten. Two people of the same faiths worship two opposite Gods.

Winter blast is about the life within not coinciding with what is seen outside. Conventions, peer pressure, culture, polite society and what not - logic gets it but passion is a fire and what is life without fire? It burns, it lives, it flows and burns all the more brightly when depleted of oxygen. It is the unheard, the unseen because all of us know logic. Of passion, it is hidden deep, beneath this earth while the leaves merrily waves away. We're all caught in the middle aren't we all? We did not start at the beginning. We did not choose this lot. Some of us cry with what we have. Some of us laugh. None of us chose at the beginning. As for the end, we can only predict and forecast is a fickle art. Thus winter blast is written because there are just too many things that need to be seen, heard and felt. Hush now. There is no need to open the book or read it if one so chooses not to and who am I to argue? We all chase our dreams, some brighter, some darker than others. None of what I write pertains to specific events. It may be motivated by events yet art is just that - a painting that tries to capture both worlds, the seen, heard, felt and the one beneath. Blast it all. It's time to live.

There is a morning alarm and the adrenaline rushes in, nerves, anxiety, battle cries almost as the body leaps out of bed to earn the right to bring in another pay check. Self goes, it's only the job. It's work then comes evening when it's time to reap the fruits of labor, to be one's own man. To be the Self. What is it? Who is hiding where? Dissonance is all the riddled, all the logic, passion, feelings that need to flow through the same river and yet they don't mix as one Self. See the Self is still chatting away, talking even as the time passes by, even as the weekend quickly flee by. Bit by bit, little bits here and there, the undissolved sink at the bottom of this river and there is no melting of one disparity into a oneness, a sameness, it is an observation that the light, the dark, the colors, the rocks and sands all hold meaning in this sometimes quite confusing running water.

Beneath Skin is about thoughts, reflections and what goes on under the surface - this normalcy taken as reality when reality holds so much more components than the simple day and night interactions seen, heard, felt in one dimension. Like lava or strong currents going around the core or within beds tossing sand, this is a reading for those who enjoy exploring, digging and finding out all the other worlds out there. And there's plenty. The writing isn't exactly positive. It's simply an observation told and you the reader may or may not agree of course. Diversity anyone?

This is a collection of poetry and they are not listed in any particular order. They are poems I have written over the course of time and go to writing when it seems my mind is imploding from a world that is largely built on fantasies and myth. Somewhere I need a grounded reality and thus I write.