poetry

I believein love at first sightbut I will always believe that the peoplewe lovewe have loved before.Many, many, many times beforeand when we stumblethrough grace and circumstance and that brilliant illusion of choiceto finally meet them again, we feel it fastereach time through.The one glance that set life alightis two sets of two eyesstaring through the layersof lifetimes and stolen glancesand first kisses and hands held;the brace against the weight and unrelenting tideof waiting.I believein love at first sightbut am not burdened with the misconceptionthat it's a first sightat all.

Country music is the poetry of the American spirit.

Being a poet one confronts the limitation of language, how can the spirit be revealed under any restrictions.

Art is the conscious making of numinous phenomena. Many objects are just objects - inert, merely utilitarian. Many events are inconsequential, too banal to add anything to our experience of life. This is unfortunate, as one cannot grow except by having one__ spirit greatly stirred; and the spirit cannot be greatly stirred by spiritless things. Much of our very life is dead. For primitive man, this was not so. He made his own possessions, and shaped and decorated them with the aim of making them not merely useful, but powerful. He tried to infuse his weapons with the nature of the tiger, his cooking pots with the life of growing things; and he succeeded. Appearance, material, history, context, rarity - perhaps rarity most of all - combine to create, magically, the quality of soul. But we modern demiurges are prolific copyists; we give few things souls of their own. Locomotives, with their close resemblance to beasts, may be the great exception; but in nearly all else with which today__ poor humans are filling the world, I see a quelling of the numinous, an ashening of the fire of life. We are making an inert world; we are building a cemetery. And on the tombs, to remind us of life, we lay wreaths of poetry and bouquets of painting. You expressed this very condition, when you said that art beautifies life. No longer integral, the numinous has become optional, a luxury - one of which you, my dear friend, are fond, however unconsciously. You adorn yourself with the same instincts as the primitive who puts a frightening mask of clay and feathers on his head, and you comport yourself in an uncommonly calculated way - as do I. We thus make numinous phenomena of ourselves. No mean trick - to make oneself a rarity, in this overpopulated age.

i have known yousince the beginningof timethe one i have loved alwaysin spirit.only just discoveredin person.

This morning could have been perfect. The cruel truth is they have never been. Give us loneliness or give us death.

You know the parlor trick.wrap your arms around your own bodyand from the back it looks likesomeone is embracing youher hands grasping your shirther fingernails teasing your neckfrom the front it is another storyyou never looked so aloneyour crossed elbows and screwy grinyou could be waiting for a tailorto fit you with a straight jacketone that would hold you really tight.

I often stood in front of the mirror alone, wondering how ugly a person could get.

Touch my song with your lips, make it immortal,be my beloved, make my love immortal.No restriction of age, not the bond of lives,when someone love should see only the soul,by carving new trend, make the trend immortal.Loneliness of the sky is in my lone heart,with rattleing paayal enter into my life,by giving own breaths make the music immortalmake the music immortal, make my song immortal.World snatched from me, whatever was beloved to me,all won from me, I lost at every moment,by losing your heart you make my victory immortal.written By "Honthon Se Chhoo Lo Tum - Jagjit Singh

sometimes all we need to be able to continue aloneare the deadrattling the wallsthat close us in.

darkness falls upon Humanityand faces become terriblethingsthat wanted more than therewas.all our days are marked withunexpectedaffronts - somedisastrous, othersless sobut the process iswearing andcontinuous.attrition rules.most givewayleavingempty spaceswhere people shouldbe.and nowas we ready to self-destructthere is very little left tokillwhich makes the tragedyless and moremuch muchmore.

there's no clarity.there was never meant to be clarity.

To you who eat a lot of rice because you__e lonely, To you who sleep a lot because you__e bored, To you who cry a lot because you are sad, I write this down. Chew on your feelings that are cornerned like you would chew on rice.Anyway, life is something that you need to digest.

Sometimes the rainfallsjust for you and meto be the violinplaying in the backgroundof our loneliness's song.

What's a rainy daywithout some deliciouscoffee-flavoured loneliness?

...you hold a poemthat functions half as personalnote and half as telescopeto the heightsawaiting us all.

Every avalanche was once a lonely snowflake, every flood was once an aching raindrop.

I wonder if I might be lonelierif I didn't have loneliness