Yourself-Evil

I wanted to share a thought on the post I posted earlier, though what I will say has no reference to the thought-pattern behind it.

We keep thinking that our essence is pure good. A fragment of God himself. However why could it not be pure evil. If so, it means that praying to God is done so that we can redeem ourselves and convert our essence to good. So praying becomes more holy as we seek to be closer to God and wipe away the Evil. It would also mean, that the reason why God does not help us, is because the struggle is our own. We must fight the darkness on our own. And thus Good and Evil becomes a choice.

If our essence was purely good, then why would we stain it at all. If God resided in the fingerprint he lays on us, why would there be evil?


After all, Why Not?

The Phoenix

Time has come,
My ages of trouble have caught up,
It is time.
It is the ending.
Goodbye.

Fire around me,
Burning,
Purity,
Like gold,
Burning.

My feet first,
Scorched,
And disintegrated,
My legs, burning;
Fall apart.

My Torso,
Engulfed in flame,
Falling away.
And finally,
Me.
I am burning

Pain!!
Help!
Please!
I am falling apart,
I am burnt alive,
Unbearable pain;
Screaming,
Alone.

Help.
I am falling.
I can’t bear it.
And I scream one last time,
Then Nothing.

I am ash;
I am awake;
Gather these fragments,
Of a broken life.
Assimilate.
Growing again.
Recasting myself,
Back on my feet.
Reborn. Alive.
After all;
I am a sole Phoenix.

Yourself - Evil

The Irony of it All.

The gruesome picture of death is painted across these pages. Blood shed, to create empires, like paying nature for what she has with what she created, reasoning with nothing that makes sense. Perhaps we believe that the land is ours; that by being the most intellectual organism, we begin to believe that we possess the right to rule over the land. That the written or spoken word is what gives us the chance to claim leadership. That we being the bishops of a master plan possess the power to claim the entire board.

But what does this claim mean? Do we possess enough strength to rule justly over the entire world? Does this world need only intellectuals? Was evolution only upto the mental development?

If so, another issue must be answered. Should the Kings of the system, be subject to human emotions, be overcome by wrath that he should lose all reason? Why is it that at a certain point in our lives, we feel the need for something more? We achieve wealth, fame and status. Perhaps we fall in love with the perfect person. But there is still something missing; something that is neither composed of thoughts or emotions. Just a feeling, that is so overwhelming that many commit suicide out of a sort of desperation for an escape, an alternate reality of a utopia. That’s why there is no true happiness in this material or physical happiness. Because the Irony of it all, is that what is real, can never be explored. It can only be felt. The real, is the perception of ego. That ego, is what is the falsehood. The fake identity that we create for ourselves, that leads to power struggles, and leads to a fall. The peace we need is all around us. We just need to open our mind to it. The Irony of it all…the falsehood is within us, the truth, is without us.

Frayed Strings.

A thread of my existence,

Knotted to another,

A barrier that stands;

Holds me back,

These threads cannot be twined together,

Held, and strengthened.

They are frayed ends,

Clinging on to each other,

But not together.

The knots will unloose,

And separate.

I know this;

That’s why its falling apart,

That’s why its dying.

Diminishing

The fire burns, swallowing this wood,
Then the embers extinguish.
And even though it ends,
Its purpose is fulfilled;
Unlike me.

The paths I have seen,
The end I know,
But I feel in myself,
A loneliness.
An absence.

My feet are leaden,
I am dragging on,
I need an escape,
An abyss to sink in.

I walk a lonely path,
So far away from a home,
I feel a constriction,
All around me towers,
My rank is insignificant,
Everything draws life from me,
And I am dying.

I am a drop to the ocean;
The petal to a rose,
The thread of a string,
The atom of a cosmos.
I am diminishing.
After all, I need you.

Solitude

I sit alone, this cell,

The four walls, protecting,

Away from this cruelty,

Away from this madness,

Far from the fraudulent laugh,

Far away.

The light pours into the room;

The darkness, is driven away,

The warmth is fading,

The chill settles down.

Everything,

So forlorn,

So hostile,

So untrue.

Rain pours down;

The warmth returns,

Just dissipate,

Dissolve,

Let me fade.

My existence is a myth,

My choices are a myth,

The promises are a myth;

Or am I a forgotten sand;

The memories etched,

like footprints washed away;

by the wind of trouble.

Who am I?

Love is like a river;
It always surrounds us;
We only need to let it in.

Nostalgia

Home ahead,
I march,
With every step,
I am returning,
With every moment,
I am rerunning,
I am coming home.

I step past the threshold;
Into cobwebs,
Into damp and dust,
Into darkness and gloom.
Everything is fading;
Like time.

The walls, are falling apart,
The curtains rot away;
And everything;
Is dying.
Like I am.

I pick up a dusty book;
Worn with age;
With use,
With the satisfaction of fauna hunger,
And I leaf through the pages.
Pictures that speak to me,
From ages,
Times gone,
Patterns lost.
The darkness dwelt at writing.
The darkness dwells at reading.

I flip the pages,
Reading my countenance;
Of innocence;
Of hunger;
Of the dilapidated house;
Bright once, with life.

And the light is enkindled;
My eyes are aflame;
Heart, feed emotion,
The wall is rebuilt,
And cobwebs vanish,
And dust wiped,
And the curtain,
Colour glows,
And the room is illuminated.

The sunlight pours through the windows,
The room is bright, vibrant,
And outside, on the grass;
A child sits.

His eyes speak of astonishment,
His mind filled with childish innocence,
His small frame against the plum tree,
And his laugh;
Innocent,
Carefree,
Livening.

I walk towards him,
I kneel down beside him,
I pat his soft head,
And he continues,
Laughing,
Innocent.

He didn’t know the hand of his future touched him;
He remains on lush green;
And admires the blooming red rose;
The warmth of the sun;
The innocence;

Little he knew,
He would be lost,
The innocence replaced with cunning,
The sweetness with roughness,
The eyes,
From bright;
To dull.
Or is it now reversed?

Hanging on the edge...

All my hands feel is rock,
I am at the edge of a cliff,
and below my feet;
Air.

The abyss is endless,
my limbs are too weak,
Too weak to play,
What is my choice?

I can fall,
easy,
simple,
yet I am falling;
through time,
through space,
It will never end.
It goes on;
no end,
Just dragging on.

Or.

I may pull myself up,
Maybe I am too weak,
I need strength,
I need energy,
I need life.

Where is life?
What is life?
Is it in me?
Or out?

Is it in the cosmos?
Or our we just life?
Just existence.
Everything?

Love, pervades me,
And I realize,
I can pull myself up,
Or
I can fall.
And drift through the endless universe.
What is my choice?

Disconnected...

They once describe me,

Impervious to change,

Water may hit me,

I cannot still move,

But I know better.

This flowing water, sweeps;

Past me, until;

It takes me along,

Or takes a way,

A part of me.

I might fall apart,

I will fade

I am described,

The most beautiful flower,

Yet they know, I dwell away,

In this brown mud,

In the offal, they create;

When the sunlight bounces off,

The drops of dew,

They deem me beautiful,

Yet will not save me,

I will rot away,

Let me;

For I truly live,

Here,

In the soft earth.

There is a darkness,

It eternally surrounds me;

I am but a speck in its vastness,

They say, I will be one of them,

In time,

My radiance will be lost,

And I will explode;

Unleash,

A consuming blackness.

They have named me,

They say I have an identity,

But do I?

When all is gone;

There is silence,

Then there is thought,

Then there is stillness,

Then there is the essence.

In that essence, I seek recluse,

I know;

It will never change.

But in the rabble;

My identity is theirs,

My thoughts are theirs,

And I am theirs.

I am lost,

In darkness,

In them.

Not myself.

Irreducible?

The weather beaten,
Rough and smooth texture,
Mixed with the sands of time,
And waters of many an age,
Vibrates, splits into naught,
And slowly, drift to the source.

The beautiful, the reddest rose,
Unfurls, and shows its vitality,
It unleashes all its aroma,
And diffuses, into nothing.
It glows, and bathed in light,
Fades away, into the source.

The flowing waters, on flourishing land,
The deepest blue and the muddiest green,
Flows across the sloping land,
Life in it dwells, a harbour of wonder,
But it moves, unanimously, and vaporizes,
Leaving nothing behind…
But barren land.

The land, the medium of thriving life,
The rich-green grasslands and the barren cracks,
It shelters; above and below.
Life to life, it ever consumes,
To the dust, it finally returns,
It like the earth, sunders,
Beyond, the dust, the atoms,
And move on, to the source.

The suns, burning all the helium,
Emitting light, arousing hope,
It radiates the energy,
It returns the life,
Gives a vibrancy to life,
Slowly; it stops, it expands,
But doesn’t explode,
Suddenly contracts,
Fades, moving to the source,
The galaxies, above, the heavens high,
Signs of life, signs of matter,
Containing everything and nothing,
It empowers, energizes,
Dwells within each atom,
Slowly it vanishes and it all disappears,
Yet drifting into the source.

The atoms, the energy, the vapours,
Of matter, drift apart,
Re-cling together, in mass expansion.
Then converges, around the Source,
Becoming, infinite density, no volume,
And suddenly;
It begins again.