The golden chariot of Apollo races
Against the currents of time furiously
In a frenzy of his divine madness
in a paroxysm of ecstasy.
Tag: Poetry
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Her Secret Society
From a land of morning calm far across the deep sea
In a crystal palace shining like the North Star in the night sky,She selects her own society
Then shuts the door;
Into her delightful variety
Intrude nevermore.She hears a galloping stopping
At the ancient stable of Artemis;
Still, a kingly hunter is bowing
To her Sovereign Grace.I know her from the land that is no longer a land
when she was a changeling abandoned in the wood with streams of her sorrow gushing out of her eyes So don’t let me see her drown in the sea of sadness – evermore. -
bewitched
“Wheat Field” by Vincent Van Gogh To write with an eager spirit summoned
On all the Consciousness there conjoined
And put a pen to paper in an expense of wills
On the visions and vagaries of the mind’s eyes.
Author’s Notes: Writing is a solipsistic act of a self in an expense of a will, filling a page after page with eruptions of feelings, emotions, and thoughts. I strongly believe that our human faculty is rather instinctive than reasoning, rather physical than metaphysical. It’s a sovereign act of self-will that yearns to manifest the buried hopes, anticipations, and desires that are denied to those whose existence, in reality, is invisible. I write for sheer egotism to let people know that I exist and for aesthetic pleasure to express the ecstasy of my soul when appreciating the beauty of arts. Therefore, I write and will continue to write despite my invisibility.
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Sheep may safely graze
I look at the blue sky
And see the wind
Carry a herd of clouds
Like a ghost shepherd
Skybound, westbound,
As I’m earthbound, spellbound.
Author’s Note: I always regard the cloud as the sheep in the sky ranch as if the wind being a phantom shepherd or cowboy were driving them into a glazing pasture where they can graze peacefully on the celestial meadow under his watchful eyes. Watching the moving clouds always amazes me as a nature’s panoramic play of wonder.
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primal scream
Don’t go easy with the crowd,
Charity is an empty gesture;
Humanity is a risible caricature,
For they will rip your heart off.False smiles, vain expectations;
The abused that weeps alone
Asks the heart what it knows.
Shout and shout it aloud!The pain makes you bleed
The shame eats you alive;
Don’t go easy with the crowd.
Shout and shout it aloud! -
backstreet blues
The uneasy head with a crown,
But his crown is not ours.
The throne breeds caterpillars:
The court becomes rotten.
Still we depend on Fortune,
Carrying men’s burden
Till death comes as Physician.
Author’s Note: I read today’s Reuters article about an old African-American barber in the northwestern suburb of Detroit who said that Impeachment is not really a ready remedy to ease everyday man’s daily struggle with life. What concerns him more than this national headline is how he survives with a paltry daily income in harsh reality. I think it pretty much sums up a general opinion on the political pandemonium. Such stoically cool outlook on the political scene has been constant of ages, regardless of race and culture. Surely, Aristotle said that if you are not interested in politics, you must be either a beast or a divine being. But did he in fact include the ordinary folk? It has always been the common people whom the powers-that-be use as their henchmen for political hegemony. The current impeachment news only tangibly matters to the politicians and their ilk. Apart from the universal news about the epidemic Coronavirus, the article lingers in my mind with the vista of the hardworking old barber doing his daily duties to make his living in his small barber shop.
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