Was poverty an essential ingredient

Of our sympathetic foundation?

Like blood-pie buried

Under rubble heap?

Like an orphan child

Covered in dust and smoke

Of our cannon bullets?

We named ourselves humans;

An image of kindness.

A streamline of humanity

That defines us as,

love... compassion,

Honor! & Dignity.

But what Really defines our

Humanity?

I mean,

Have you seen that fat-belly?

The fat-belly that swallowed

Our livelihood, our hunger,

And e-v-e-r y drip-

Of our blood.

Look at the homeless in February

On New York streets;

Trembling empathy as our foot steps.

Look at this little girl;

Gathered the pieces of her

Younger brother, coming of age,

Of Blood, of Tears! Of Fears!

Of Mass-ive... mess...

The crows of darkness and greed

Have conquered the internal cities.

Stained the soil with blood,

And replaced our peace with

TEARS... SCREAMS... CHAOS!

and poverty...

But what Really defines

Us, humans?

(Perhaps I should put your name

To the test, for iii your reflection!

Step forward--

Kneel! before the shrine of truth;

State your glorious victories)

...

I once saw a single mother,

Knocking on the doors

Of mercy-ness...

Regretting her desires,

Cursing her stupidity.

Not to trust

A man-being

...Again.

Sights...

And saw a lover-

A man with a broken heart

Shattered into pieces,

Melted into teardrops.

Stabbed by his own passion.

I saw...

And I’ve seen those high-heels

And fancy suits

On Hollywood walk of fame;

Both strive for the color...

Green.

And I watched...

A singer sang a song,

A player played along,

A drug dealer rolling bullets,

And a pimp wearing a golden watch

On his fists, ticking...

Counting.

On.

Dignity!

Was all this guilt and greed,

Or is it poverty in humanity?

Drink it off,

When wolves howl

At your self-pity,

Or kill a giraffe // a Lion! may it be,

And take a selfie upon your bravery.

Celebrate your victory!

And that tree though...

Won’t make you richer,

-Immortal?-

For when the earthly-rage

Fulfills its capacity,

You will harvest...

...but your greed.

#PovertyInHumanity

#MyPoverty&Greed

#Self-Destruction

#Human #Greed

#Philosophy

#Humanity

#Poverty

#Suckers #Fuckers #Motherfuckers

April 18, 2018

Sitting by a fire in the Minnesota night

Listening to the crackle of the flames

And the life of night by the lake

Breathing in the summer air

Of a lost retreat, I am humbled

Not by what I have learned

But by the lesson of futility

Which only comes when

All other lessons have failed

There is no reasoning

No last pleas, just crackling fire

And the sounds of realization

Sitting by a fire in the Minnesota night

Listening to the dying echoes

Of a love that is fading

Dream me a dream

of a time I have forgotten

Where your breath ran warm

And sticky against my skin,

or your laughter floated,

Trailed into my ears like

My favorite song,

And your arms gently, playfully, brushed

Against my own

Just so I can find it in me

To forgive you for what you’ve done.

It does not need to be said.

It builds up in the air between us

while we lie there unmoving;

it is thick and garish

custard with ants in it

ants barely alive

yet still in continuous and intricate motion.

It trickles down my neck a little

while my ear is tightly fastened to the phone;

and when I move it so forcefully

3 1/2 cups of brown rice fall on the carpet.

It does not need to be said.

The words we say are so often putrid 

yet, the light always shines brightest

through the bathroom window.

“I saw the heaven

when it makes

a gloomy sense in the blues sky

I felt the heaven

when I wander

silent in your sleep

Moon in the outside

reading your dream

And I’m searching

the piece of poetry

that supposed to be

the higher sense of the heaven

In my head,

I’m watching the clouds

rolling over in my sight

In my vein,

I’m pushing the torment

feeding the hungry blood

I can’t be the spurious mind

I would be a ramble silence

Moon in the outside

Reading your dream

And I’m looking for free highway

that supposed to be

Freedom footing above the heaven”

Written on: 24 May 2017

Tribute to Chris Cornell 

Born of grunge and metal's mirth

Beneath the pouring rain,

Swarmed Seattle; legend's birth

Incorporating pain.

Troubled childhood, feeling down

Within depression's clutch,

Chris Cornell, against a frown,

Ensnared a hopeful touch.

Sparking much debate in school,

Religion took a fall,

Hence removed from off the spool

As Chris had questioned all.

Drugs escaped into his mind

And solo seemed the path

He would walk as albeit blind,

Until musician's math

Forged a bond as guitars strummed

And drums in pounding beat

Measured in the way he hummed-

A symphony complete.

Gardens made of sound arrived;

The friendship formed a band.

Intercession, songs survived

And guided Chris's hand.

Rusty cages seemed outshined

And more so, I suppose.

Moving melodies defined

A Jesus Christ like pose.

Spoonman sung in deepest rays-

A black hole sun's delight.

Fell on darkened, blackest days

The way he lived in night.

Pretty noose foreshadowed doom;

A burden in the palm.

Blowing up the outside gloom,

The rhinosaur brought balm.

Black rain fell in drops of thought

As phantoms telephoned.

Been away too long and bought

The crooked steps he zoned.

Slave to audio conformed

As in between the the time

Garden of the sound reformed

To sink in the sublime,

Chris Cornell enjoyed a stay

As new friends jammed in tune.

Like a stone, they learned to play

The highway and the rune.

Be yourself- a mantra's gift

And time had come to pass.

Doesn't call reminder's lift

As out of exile's class

Fire, original in flame,

In revelation's scheme

Burned the solo album's game

As if some sort of dream.

No such thing, a scream long gone,

And many singles sung-

Finally the heart of stone

Forgotten settled, hung.

Temple of the dog avowed

Unsettled pasts revived.

Chris did all he was allowed

And for a while he thrived.

Never known, the reason why

Detroit became the place

Seeds were sewn as his reply;

A sadness filled his face.

Songs performed were not the same,

Conditioned on the ride.

Chris Cornell, a hallowed name,

Committed suicide.

This is for his wife and kids;

The Fans he left behind.

Sadness beckons as it skids

Across the bump and grind-

Friends will not forget the man

Enlisting lyrics writ.

Concerts from the deepest span

Ensure he will not quit.

Lost forever to the earth,

Inside us Chris will give.

Born of grunge and metal's mirth,

His death calls us to live.

this is how i hold onto you:

ankle socks, a baseball cap,

your ball state crewneck draped

over my skin so that i am a ghost

of you. i look in the mirror

and see pockets, seams

fraying, edges stitched inside-out

because i've never patched exit wounds

in my gums, i've never bound

my body without a handyman's help. 

the new cotton doesn't hold me

like you did. it stuffs my scars

but stifles sparks. i felt more comfortable

dressed in static. i miss

the electricity between us,

days spent waiting to be ironed

so we could rid ourselves of our wrinkles

and sort the good days from the bad

like bath towels from rags. i wish

we could love like we do laundry,

forgive, rinse, and repeat. i wish

the thumps of the washer were your heartbeat.

they'll paint you in the stars

that people glorify and explore

distant lanterns that will drift away

to places unseen to the naked eye

they'll write words that will make you feel old

use old language that you will not know

because they'll say your an interface to time

because time seems to fly when they're with you

they'll sing songs in your name for all to hear

their gorgeous voice crying out your name

through sweat and tears and content moans

never letting you go

never letting you go.

©SelfTitled, 2017

Everyone has a defining moment in life.

It strikes you to your core, and stays there.

More often than not, it's an evil thing that sticks with you for the rest of your life, whether it's a disaster, an accident, a crime.

A tornado, car crash, sexual assault.

You get the idea.

Problem is, people often let these defining moments, define them.

Understand?

They're confusing their incident, with their identity.

This horrible thing that happened, with who they are.

Your life is what it is, because of what happened. It impacted you, but it is not the only thing you are.

I think that's why we often feel so lonely, and ashamed.

Because we are alone, in that experience.

But we are not alone, in our lives.

As humans, we are capable of connection, of relating.

I think that we forget that, a lot.

So instead of continuing to get it wrong, I think we need to remember one thing:

It's our imperfections that make us human. And our humanity, that makes us truly influential.

remove the batteries from the clock

pluck off the hands, as if they were rose petals

drain the sand, bring it back to shore where it belongs

your time is up, our time is up,

it’s over, lover.

i’ve flipped the coin my number of tears too many times for you

heads for forgive, tails for forget

but whichever one it lands on, i don’t fret

i always choose to return to your arms

arms that have held others

arms with love potions flowing in its veins

arms that have held others while pretending to have only held me

i could’ve known better

i should’ve known better

i thought you were the morning,

the dawn of a new story, lighting up my eyes

dry the glistening rain on the pavement,

a vibrant yellow against the gray;

you were not just a saturday in a week feeling like all were mondays;

you, you, you.

but you were the night,

and i was a flower needing the sunlight

--skin needing heat--

but anything to be with you

until i didn’t even care that i was wilting;

i could not bloom

i could not wake up.

you were the night

and i cried to you

mildew tears staining rose-kissed cheeks

but you can’t spell tears without ears

and you never listened to my cry

you turned them into hurricanes

flooding me, drowning me

forcing beautiful things down the drain

and i could do nothing but go with the currents.

i was too much for you too handle

too this, too that

you told me that i loved you too much

you told me that this felt like a mistake

how could this be a mistake

when everything i had, i’ve put on stake

for your sake, for our sake

but all you said was you needed a break.

i am still hurting

barely a whisper of a petal left of me

stems broken down, nothing is holding me

but i promise you,

i will grow from this.

i deserve the sun.

i do not regret you

i cannot regret you

because at one point

you were exactly what i wanted.

but i regret not realising much earlier

i was giving the love

that i deserved.