I make no memories

Life is a long story about how you died. My story has started already.

I born. Then came to do all the hard work here on the earth to make thousands of memories. Die one day.

The weird thing is that i hate all this labour toil under the hot sun. The sun has burned my skin. I am so dark. Unlovable… Mine is a life in the life of the hailstones of the hailstones. All the thousand memories seems so empty. Blossom beyond blossoming i saw no flower, no spring..

Some souls never saved in memory. They are to be remembered everyday. They are loved and admired everyday. May i held on; hug you tightly and not let you go. But’ turn your eyes away. Just overcome me. Do not stare at me, i am so dark. Unlovable..

She walks in beauty, like the night Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that’s best of dark and bright Meet in her aspect and her eyes
– Lord Byron

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Anbe Shivamagum

For obvious reasons it is no wonder the planet and it’s people are written in pain. You’re one of those people, who believe in some fictional friend in the heaven and his invisible advocates.

Suffering has human form on earth. Suffering is seen as a part of living until we reach moksha.

Aham is the supreme i awareness!

Shivam is liberation!!

Shivam is patron of death and destruction. Truly nothing is destructed, but reincarnation of the state of mind. Between the end of one thought and beginning of other, Shivam exist as a female silence. Shivam embodies her existence.

She is Shivam. She can’t condemn me; supreme Shiva doesn’t believe in heaven or a hell to put me in. In her elegance, my life shine with pure calmness. In her devotion, I reach moksha..

Shivam is love…

Anbe Shivamagum..

Rastafarian

I drink water. I get sunlight. I am just a herb with complex emotions..

Gloomed dreadlocks. Soot of cannabis. My kind of war-everywhere philosophy. But everything is not fine. I choose to smoke the weed simply because it is black man’s faith. I do respect my body and what it is.

God, the cause of all, is one. I saw my god in red-yellow-green stain. The symbol of martyrdom of past rastafari

Africa… my version of Zion. She is my paradise on the earth. I still remember her in a essay of poignant smile. One day i return to her, holding our emotional warmth that they take away from us.

The corrupt Babylonian system down pressed her. Colonialism separated us. One great love is killed diplomatically. Life being a total fear fest choreographed completely in a downward Oscar slavery.

One day everything will be fine. One day she is going to have so much of self love and i never settle her for anything less than what she deserves. I’m a crying cub. Rastafarian!!

Your wound is probably not your fault, but your healing is your responsibility

– Denice Frohman

I Feel Grey

I constantly aware of an absence. Each and every thing i write is revolve around that absence.

Absence may be an inactive sadness or an indolent wish. Some how it triggers my senses and live again with the bygone. The presence of absence control me as long as it stays as a secret. It’s dark energy galvanize me at times. Thus we co-exist in peace..

I love to be in this alternate reality. No season getting colder here… No sun is ruling here.. I feel grey!! Depression is torn on my table, half-attended.

“No matter where I wander I’m still haunted by your name

The portrait of your beauty stays the same

Standing by the ocean wondering where you’ve gone

If you’ll return again

Where is the ring I gave to Nancy Spain?”

– Christy Moore [Nancy Spain]

My Obnoxious Calmness

Life happen without warning, without rhyme or reason. We all lock on to people. Some… dearest.

In a less beautiful and meaningful vein, she reminds me our love. Hair touching and those compliments. Those days we had was zero gravity.

Sometimes.. you need a cup of solitude just to take a breathe, just to take a nap or to read a good thought. We find same love. Then we use our devotion to fuel the sick mind-games. But still we both, candid.

We are unseen, yet connected by same melting sky. We still share same rain, we have cried over the same book. I simply watch my world destroyed and created and destroyed again!

I want to know when you last cried? and why? I want to know what drives you now? I want know why you chose to kiss me out of seven billion people in the planet?, I never asked. In the end i can only smile at nothing..

In a world of much love-less labour, I find myself as most unlovable!

Man who get hundred butterflies

He love pink. Her pink lips. Even when her upper lip partially kiss and suck her lower lip, her eyes pretend to be asking a normal question.

“What ?” He exclaimed.

Even though he want to be serious on that exclamation, he can’t prevent a stupid smile leaking out of the corner. She took her face away. Then gazed at him. Eyes locked. Silence proposed.

“I need to go” she smiled.

He doesn’t replied. She started walking, slowly vanishes.. slowly.. from his sight. The weather is not so romantic; still he used to get hundred butterflies.

Just like his girl, yesterday’s moon also vanishes then, and ‘a grand dream‘ shattered!!

The phrase, of course, is “I love you”. Love has become such a complex emotion to the extent of which we are very much uncertain what it truly signifies and when it is a real thing.

The common view is that love is a “feeling”, I think it is not. The passion suffered by teenagers and writers of romantic lyrics that felt so painfully are may not love. But’… it is more than something if not returned, will make you as a most miserable person in the earth.

“Life is not always a co-authored work” she said. She is my realm of cause. I chose to be with her. Good, bad or indifferent; she induces on me. I was actually a whirling mass of stupid electrons, it is her “I AMness” that magnetizes me. Some times i just talk trash, but she tell me to be quiet. She is so peaceful… unlike any other possible unity.

“ so ought men to love their wives as their own bodies. He that loveth his wife loveth himself “

-Ephesians [5:28]

Once asleep, man has no freedom of choise. Sleep is a feeling of the wish full filled. Night after night, we live hundred winters rich in love..

Mystikos: Initiatory rites of the pagan mysteries

“By control of feeling is not meant restraint or supression of your feeling, but’ rather the deciplining of self to imagine and entertain such feeling as contribute to your happiness “

– Neville Goddard

It is so beautiful to think about my people and how we believe the earth is made. Everything is not changed… still i die away.

I believe in hundred things; hundred things that rest of world never admit. Somewhat a vagabond with loose morals. In the virtue of thoughts, i hate being a household for too long. But i wont search my soul in the land of mandakini. It is not a predestined fate, but my un-answered wish. No more aspirin. No more exorcism. Just a female consciousness.

“ Thou art all fair,my love; there is no spot in thee ” – Song of Solomon [ 4:7 ]

The Cristephor columbus followed a hunch. When he is north, poise magnetizes!!

Nagstrong12

I wish I could reply ‘Why are you so loud and talkative’ to everyone who asks me ‘Why are you so quiet’, but it’s considered rude.