I’d like to be attuned to myself.
I’d like to feel more of my self.
I’d like to get accustomed to my own habits, my dreams, my pain, and my strength, just me and nothing else.
I’m a fire.
I burn with desire, it’s wild and extreme.
Being boastful is just one of the many things to describe me and yet even with people’s words, I try not to lean on them.
At least not anymore.
Because I am boastful I want to write about the self, myself, after all, I speak better when I talk about my own rather than others.
So, apology to this body where cells are now bathing with a cesspool of radical aspiration that harms its form.
Apology to the brain which now delivers the message of an inquiring self
Apology to my heart that keeps pumping out the pain and joy in words and has saturated the body with sentimentality or enough vitality
Apology to the tissues that keep spreading itself and creating a pain-proof shield to my wounded ego
I’d like to give myself a balm for my classic antics.
I’d like to be free from the scratches of those who thought of limiting their art
I’d like to believe that I’m free to practice what I believe to be true without the threat of being linguistically short, standard-driven and music-free… I prefer the softbound, not the hard one…
I’m waiting for the bus ride
Down to the yellow landscape
Where a garden blooms in vagrancy
Together with the shoes, I got for a poem
And my feet fueled by my heart’s song
People thought I’m in search of a priest or therapy—-
On my walk, a priest brightly bowed in excellence
Thus, my journey begins with greetings to the wonderful few
I have come to a slope
Where children run with their arms stretched
They are the children of the slope
The ones who inherit the future of gold
I run to the open field with gestures full of radiant smiles
But a rope is tied around my hands
and thought that the past has suffered too.
It’s whispering every hunting…
Now we have reached the pond
Where calloused feet are washed
And the pond shows a being
Different and the same
Not a fiction of a flourishing tale—
Between what’s around me and within that pond
I can no longer say
Neither the truth or lie would tell
Perhaps that’s my faith in a dream
Manifested in this beautifully heralded place within.
I had this idea in mind.
It may be silly or bright
But I had this thought in sight
Water and oil don’t mix
but if you add in soy sauce or some fresh veggies then you have my country’s stir-fried dish.
It’s delicious and a staple food on our table.
I guess what I’m trying to say is…
There are things that mix instantly or not
but there are also alternatives or add-ons made available
for two different things to mix and taste even better
This is insanely a bad analogy, but hear what I have to say–
the self can be an enemy or a friend
it does not matter. It does not have to matter—
Everything would still be you.
Always derive from You.
I guess the world will just have to come to terms with that—
not the stir-fried dish but with the
practical fact. (?)