that they are not complete antithesis of each other, and that together they can form something magnificent.
I shared with them a poem that I wrote just recently, “Aren’t You Afraid,” talking about the second law of thermodynamics, entropy.
Aren’t you afraid? Afraid of the table stranded at an edge, its cloth drooping long, its chairs not tucked; Of the forgotten shirts crumbling cold atop the dust-layed sofas, once again missing its pillow; Or of those running shoes lying haphazardly next to those beers thrown unwarily onto the wooden floor literally worn away –aren’t you afraid? That in this ever-expanding universe you are but a physical manifestation evolved to execute this law so powerful that it is both your right to live and your verdict to die. (Mass producing and mass consuming animals enslaved by their selfish needs to expand–humans–what better way is there to expedite the reality of a disorderly world?) So stop displacing the table, moving around the chairs, forgetting to hang your garments, and tossing around those beers. And your shoes: at least line up your shoes. Because I AM AFRAID– I just don’t want to trip over a shoes, slip on a can and bump into a chair, bringing what’s left of the floor dust with me.
When you’re forced to abandon that long anticipated game, don’t blame the rain for stealing away that terrain just because this way is the only foe you see: I saw the clouds progress to the control of the invisible wind bringing those drops towards the play Yet the wind is not the culprit, say, since without clouds would the rain soak up the plain? The sun– that helioradio ball of gas unable to contain all that energy, endlessly spewing since 8.3 minutes before you even began to punt. But ho! you forgot about gravity, that attraction of the nearby dusts collapsing these in a giant sphere fusing to produce these “byproducts” radiating the convection drafts. What causes gravity then, you pray, let me put a rifle to his head. Perhaps the Big Bang or the Planck Time– who inflated our universe?
I stared at the half-empty glass of water, trying all my best to see the half-filled glass. I try the next day, And I almost cried out in dismay, I saw a three-quarter empty glass of water. I stared even harder. And everyday I stare, And everyday I fail to see the glass being filled. And the day finally came, when there was no water left in the glass. I panicked. The proctor just whispered, “It’s now completely filled with air.” I smashed the empty glass and it immediately shattered—there’s nothing left, none at all.
I lost my words today, somewhere, dropped them down the gutter with the rain that poured endlessly after a desert drought. I thought they would sink and sit, at the side of the road coveted by the gullies and protected, until the sun rises and someone else can pick them up, string them together however they want before they once again fall apart and are showered. But today, they fell into the drains, spiraled into the ocean then sunk, as all other wastes had whipping fishes, plankton, and the sea itself, forcing them to rise, allowing them to sulk at the bottom, at least assuaged by the constant darkness, stable temperature and full understanding that they have uplifted the most wondrous liquid on Earth.
Fish. Not just any type of fish, but one that is just big enough to fit and slide down the throat without having to work the up the gag reflex– don’t remember what they’re called, but, honestly, any fish is fine if you chop them small enough, thin enough, short enough… I’m hungry enough to not care.
Home. Not just any type of home, but one that is just large enough for me and my family to slide about without having to worry about too many predators, too little food, and too much care– you know, the place called zoo where we swim about and have pictures taken, pointed at, but, honestly, maybe any place well do so long it is warm enough, free enough, bright enough… I’m lonely enough as it is.
But friend. Not just any other friend, but the companion who can stay with you talk to you, laugh with you, smile with you, live with you, grow with you, age with you. Trust you. Trust me with the young. Trust me with tomorrow, the day after, and the day after, even if there is no more home, or no more food. Because we can start over. We can creat all of that together. Since we are both hungry enough and lonely enough.
Do you remember Sita? How when Hanuman came to rescue her she refused, how she insisted that Rama come openly, defeat her captor Ravana openly? She had no desire for stealth, no desire for intrigue, and though Ravana could not touch her for the curse on his flesh, she remained captive until Rama came. Do you remember that she was tortured? That Hunaman asked her for permission to kill the women who had tortured her? Do you remember how she walked through fire to prove her purity, even though everyone knew of the curse on Ravana? How the people said the fire didn’t matter because Fire was the brother of her mother, Earth? How Rama was as weak in the face of his people as he had been strong in the face of Ravana? Can you imagine the eyes of Sita when she refused another test? When she looked at Rama, a man she loved enough to die for, a man who was a god, and knew it was over? Can you imagine her eyes in that moment, as she asked her mother to take her back, to swallow her back into the earth? I think my eyes are like that now, leaving you.
It’s just a drop in the ocean A change in the weather I was praying that you and me might end up together It’s like wishing for rain as I stand in the desert But I’m holding you closer than most, Cause you are my heaven.
I would definitely say that some musicians are #poets.
Let me string together some bits,
Weave as DNA does,
Double stranded, anti-parallel,
And behold a gene i see,
The one that shall promote a future,
Allosterically control my art.
I see my creation, my promoter.
Why is then, I see no product, at least,
Not the one I want?
For instead of pixels forming dabbles of thoughts,
I still have bits, merging into useless globs.
Resolved. Resolved to change.Resolved to change the world. Resolved to change the world for good. Resolved to change the world for good by ending hunger. Resolved to change the world for good by ending hunger and introducing cease fire. Resolved to change the world for good by ending hunger and introducing cease fire until I run out of resolutions.
Until I run. Until I run out of visions. Until I run out of visions and intake too many. Until I run out of visions and intake too many and the resolves. Until I run out of visions and intake too many and the resolves I had are now just New Year Hopes Until I run out of visions and intake too many and the resolves I had are now just New Year Hopes written as courtesy at the very end, a childish tradition left to rot.
Catabolic catharsis is when the poem crumbles. All that’s left are letters drifting line by line waiting for the idle soul to initiate pareidolia, an anabolic ablution reforming words in another structured pattern, translated and transcribed.
Sometimes it’s just a feeling,
One of the six new senses scientifically coined,
Telling you: this place is going to revolve,
The top soil will be overturned
And the bottom will come atop, to breath.
Should I help the gardener,
Or will he already have strength enough
To uplift the dirt below and cover the entire world?
Bah, worry not! It’s the 21st century–he has machines
Inspiration all around,
motivating us to breathe
and blink without forgetting
just how miraculously life is–
There is nothing inherently extraordinary about concerted and controlled biochemical processes,
nothing special about electrical pulses,
and nothing exciting about electromagnetic wave forms.
Nothing, except of course, you,
you who, with that memorable smile I can see because of electromagnetic wave forms,
interpret because of electrical impulses,
and hold onto because of biochemical processes.
Life is not any more miraculous,
but it sure became precious.
Oh–the true nectar of life!
While she waves her thoughts to the world, I hide mine within words nestled in lexicons resting within sentences of the encyclopedias tucked covertly inside the shelves bound within the library built quake-proof atop this Earth orbiting quite predictably around this star releasing only light it must emit.
The loonie waded in the clouds embellished by the constant waves it’s silent peaking its wings only sometimes I suppose it’s another shy duckling unwilling to comply to Fate it hides in the rising tides and accepts the brutal beatings harrying the rebellious youth. A dime shines in the distant scars mar the pearl skin.