Mere Moths

Tags

Light, Love, Mere Moths, Passion, Poetry

There was a time, once upon many a sigh,

The butterfly flew a mile and soared his wings high

The moth shined a smile and lived a lie.

Cruelty, unfairness; haters never shy

For the mockers, criers, disbelievers,

God posted this alibi.

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Born the same, peas in two pupae

One grew to a beanstalk; the other, dreary shrub disarray

Their formative years, the path was laid

The eye of the world put to blame.

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The dim moth sits by day and spites by night

Coveting the butterfly’s plum red stripes

His dark silhouette abhorred by birth right

His life painted grey, his mind tainted by strife

For days and days, he guilted his plight.

Call for a change, he instructs himself,

For no longer will I be the same.

Bring on a spectrum of hues, he dyes himself,

Streak me red-orange, violet-blue,

For I shall be born a butterfly askew.

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He flew the miles and soared his wings high

He bloomed to the brightest prime, in his disguise

He sang the rhymes, and romanced the chimes

He splashed his hue sublime, he rose to the divine

He lived a lie, virtue masking his crime.

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Then one fine day,

Rain led his parade

Straying the masked colors away

Laughter mirroring the moth’s wails.

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The dim moth sits by day and cries by night

For days and days, angered by his plight

Till one day he sees a shining yellow light

Torn by jealousy, overcome by curiosity

He makes his way, to the source of his gaze.

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He sees himself in the glistening glass bulb

A dark shadow of shimmering charcoal

Looking in his eye, he sees the fleeting glow

And soul by soul, the dawning within grows;

The rich charcoal was always on sight

All that missing, was the spark to set it alight.

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Today, he swifts by the sky

Soaring mile high, unfazed by day or time

Burning brightest at his prime in the darkest of nights.

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For a dry core and dull mind

One match of flame will suffice

To see in a new light, to see in perspective

To glance within and be reflective

To swell that warmth in your life

One match of passion will suffice.

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The eye of beauty, the eye of grapes sour

All in the hands of the mighty endower.

For us mere mortals, however;

To surrender to the worldly qualms,

To surrender to the inner wonders,

Lay in the eyes of our cockeyed power.

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Find that light, find your colour

Find that bud that makes you flower

Be not the passive paint, be the pungent painter

Mark the mirror with your power.

.

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Seek Refuge:

Not at the Altar,

Not in the River,

But in the eyes that look back at me in the Mirror.

The Rain speaks…

Tags

Light, Love, Poetry

He swept through Eden

A soul so pure, it was deceiving.

A cloud he was, supple and sated.

Flowing by, never the need to be commemorated.

Zeus his master he did obey

Whether to sprinkle droplets,

Or lead a storm astray.

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She blinded thousands with her might

A warmth so strong, it left us seething.

A star she was, born to fill skies.

Her beauty not astounding, yet her fame would rise.

To the highest peak of the heavens she grew,

And was crowned the Sun,

The biggest star heaven knew.

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When their voices spoke,

The winds blew.

When their eyes met,

The earth glittered.

When they touched,

Raindrops cried.

When he entered her,

The spectrum shone.

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Their love was a miracle, the mortals exclaimed.

The SunCloud dance, a strange kind of romance.

Their love was an oracle, the gods smiled.

Forever it shall be, it birthed reveries.

.

He said he’d be there

by her side

Whenever she needed him

Whenever she cried.

So when her tears did fall

and she searched for him

to dry them all

He wasn’t there, no where in sight.

For, to his Calling, he had to abide

when Zeus called upon his role,

a blind eye was turned to all, back and fore.

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In every saga, there lay a twist

In this oracle too, lived an abyss.

They say the Seven Sins are a mortal curse,

What do we do when the cards are reversed?

Original sin, that damned apple.

Lay its seed in the guise of a third faction.

Led her astray, to the fray between lust and love

And she gave way,

away from the confines of the holy chapel

into the midst of that damned apple.

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Every 12 hours she played that game

Disappearing into the blackness of Satan’s dorm

Her tongue unraveled his devious form.

Over and under and over again,

Every 12 hours she played that game.

And thus a deal was made with this plight,

Dusk was when she would surrender

To the whims and whips of the forbidden wonder

At dawn the moans would cease to breathe,

She gasped, and she no longer was free.

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She lost her power,

Her glow reached its end as soon as it begun.

Night was created:

The win of Satan over Sun.

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The vengeance..:

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She yearned to hear the voice,

The way he said her name,

Engulfing her in the deepest of flames,

Blinding herself to that fact:

it was all in retribution of the game played.

The game she played every night

a tryst with the blackness,

and she faded away,

ashamed, she stood.

This game, a part of that daily miracle.

A sacrilege of the Greater good.

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He kissed upon Satan’s cheek,

and slated her the Sin.

A Sin he longed to trickle upon his skin.

He called her every name in the book,

Shattered her soul, the Creation shook:

from the highest tower, to the lowest seabed,

the birds wailed, and the flowers bled.

Her soul died

Till the seventh heaven, the angels cried.

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Although she slipped,

Gave in to the hunger,

Her flame would always be a-yonder

As to Him it belonged, wherever he would wander.

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They never realized the purity of it

For tainted was she, a sin she did commit

They never realized the sanctity of it

For mere mortals were they,

With a delusional sense of merit.

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Through their tears, the angels had sworn

A love so chaste was unknown.

No smoke without fire,

They all say.

The smoke blinded:

A piercing ray,

Engulfing them without the blaze,

No fire this time,

But their light will prevail.

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She waits for him by the sky,

Her eyes ablaze with the teary hope; the blame subsides.

Her cloud will forgive her, the angels pray.

Every night she plays the game,

Not to Satan’s dorm, but to the horizon she flees,

At the brink of the heavens, he feels her plea.

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There is no end to this tale

Their love is eternal, a faithful veil.

The tears of the clouds graze the Sun’s face,

Time wiping her sins away

Their Love you feel each time it rains.

Missed something?

c. 24,000-22,000 BCE

The Venus of Willendorf

A symbol of fertility, beauty and sensuality in the Paleolithic era.

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c. 1,000-2,000 A.D.

Kate Moss

“Nothing tastes as good as Skinny feels”.

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Seek Approval:

Not from the Saint,

Not from the Sinner,

But from the eyes that look back at me in the mirror.

Dumb vampire-pig. No offence to vampires or pigs.

I don’t usually post viewpoints or opinions on a certain range of topics; consider them to be a tad personal, whilst a blog is open to a varied audience. However, this lady left me flabbergasted. Shut-up-right-now-I-hope-Satan-pees-on-you flabbergasted. Do look up quotes on google for an amusing read.

She spoke at an event held here.

From a friend’s facebook profile:

‘Just came back from the Ann Coulter event. Comment of the Night:

Muslim girl:”You said that Muslims should be not allowed on planes and can use magic carpets instead. What do you propose as alternate transportation for me since I do not possess a magic carpet ??” Ann Coulter: “Camel?” Words cannot express my feelings!

Comment of the Night:

Muslim girl:”You said that Muslims should be not allowed on planes and can use magic carpets instead. What do you propose as alternate transportation for me since I do not possess a magic carpet ??”

Ann Coulter: “Camel?” ‘.

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Rest My Case.

Rather, someone rest hers please.

“To walk down a Path where great men have been is an honour itself,

For a few privileged men.

But to blaze one’s own trail unequaled to thee;

Is a tribute to greatness that few men shall see.”

How the path was forged.

By: Paulo Coelho

One day, a calf needed to cross a virgin forest in order to return to its pasture. Being an irrational animal, it forged out a tortuous path full of bends, up and down hills.

The next day, a dog came by and used the same path to cross the forest. Next it was a sheep’s turn, the head of a flock which, upon finding the opening, led its companions through it.
Later, men began using the path: they entered and left, turned to the right, to the left, bent down, deviating obstacles, complaining and cursing – and quite rightly so. But they did nothing to create a different alternative.
After so much use, in the end, the path became a trail along which poor animals toiled under heavy loads, being forced to go three hours to cover a distance which would normally take thirty minutes, had no one chosen to follow the route opened up by the calf.

Many years passed and the trail became the main road of a village, and later the main avenue of a town. Everyone complained about the traffic, because the route it took was the worst possible one.

Meanwhile, the old and wise forest laughed, at seeing how men tend to blindly follow the way already open, without ever asking whether it really is the best choice.

| The Juries |

I saw outside: a catastrophe:

A broken promise, an unrequited plea

And my Head went on a silent soliloquy:

It’d be right, the Heart shouldn’t flee

Send it back to its shaded retreat.

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Retreat away to that little place in my head,

Where the sun smiles away, fleeing shadows instead.

Where the Heart swings away, looking out the window, unsaid.

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I said to my head – A pity,

See out the window outside

See the sun smile, facing shadows nonchalantly,

While the Head must linger far & further

Let the Heart sprint about a reverie

For too cold it is in the shaded Retreat.

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And so,

My Head and Heart meet at a jury

Head follows a tidy trajectory

Heart flows on emotional elasticity.

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Retreat again to that little place in my head,

Where the sun smiles away, facing shadows instead.

Where the Heart swings away, looking out the window, led.

. . .

Rainbows, given. | Rain, foresaken.

A man came up to me and asked me if he could use my lighter.
I asked him to pick a color of a lighter.
He said, it doesn’t matter.
I said, well yes it does, because if I don’t have the lighter of the color you choose, then I can’t exactly let you borrow a lighter of that specific color.
So he said, well, why don’t you just tell me the colors of the lighters you have, and then I’ll pick one of those color lighter.

And I said to him, well I can’t do that now because I’ve already made my decision; and it’s worse to second guess your decisions that to not make any at all… unless your decision was to not make a decision.

So then he said: yellow.
Indeed I had a lighter of that color and I handed it to him.
But then he said: No, wait, red.
And again, I handed him a red lighter.
And I took the yellow lighter back.

Then, he lit a cigarette with the red one
and he returned that to me, promptly.

And then we both died.

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