The Vernacular Form

silence

2010-12-04T04:44:00.000-08:00

silence

nothing non-nuances could promise;
silence, i discovered, is not bereft
of intonation.

the way your gaze slid off my eyes,
i knew i was floating on a jagged edge,
feeling thoughtlessly.

nervously pecking at the table,
i try to become opaque,
invisible.

your silence speaks in the distance,
but it does not know that
we have never met.

2010-11-21T02:00:00.000-08:00

There is no shortage of names, or faces. People ooze
out of this world of particles, people various; yellow,
white, black.
People, like forms, like
bubbles anonymous; it is not whether you are alone,
but, rather, whether you feel lonely.

Structure

2010-10-01T05:48:00.000-07:00

Semantics are soulful;
Why, we are constructive creatures;
We create words, thoughts, poems;
Exacting, syntactical;
Even our delusions are symmetrical.

2010-09-04T10:40:00.000-07:00

The two of them met. It was a profoundly
surreal experience for them both.

Their lives were not the same,
thereafter. Their days became brighter.
Their nights became more peaceful.

The sounds around them seem to reverberate
as if all the noises around them
transformed into music.

They saw each other interlaced within
every beautiful thing they saw.

They felt silent nudges within themselves
to became better as people. It was
as if they were becoming
different, and better, types of people.

Their changing personalities
gave power to their love and their
love, in turn, fuelled their
metamorphosis.

Once, for a few days, because of a
misunderstanding they temporarily
drifted apart from each other.

During this phase, the lives altered and
they both felt it. The sugar they tasted
in their coffee was not as sweet; their
days were not as bright; they felt a certain
emptiness in themselves.

They stopped listening to love songs, or
watching love stories. On occasion, they
found themselves teary-eyed
for no obvious reason.

Their hearts were filled with despair
and longing. One day, as if by a
chance coincidence, they started to
talk with each other if only formally.

Their hearts got warmer and warmer
until soon they started to use
terms of endearment. The hole
in the center of their beings started
to heal and they started to become
a single reality once again.

Once again, they were happy.
They began to hear music, again.
Again, in them, arose the desire to
listen to love songs and
to dream of beautiful possibilities.

It seemed as if the Cosmos as glue
bound them into one, as if they
were meant to be.

What is my religion?

2010-05-20T04:43:00.001-07:00

I do not have a religion if by assuming to adapt a religion one means

to confine oneself to follow a particular way of life defined by a

specific set of principles which may be unique in their own

right and different from other religions.

It seems that, commonly, people find it hard to understand when

I tell them that I do not believe in anything. What I mean to

convey to them by saying this is that, foremost, I 'am'; or

'I am become me'. Grammatically, this sentence does

not make sense. But this is the closest I can

get, after pondering, to express myself

on the issue.

One could also say that it is very Buddhist of me, and they are

correct, also, as, conventionally speaking, Buddhism is one

of the religions I adhere to. I am also a Christian, as one

of my professors in College, Dr. Philip Barlow, instilled

in me the belief that one of the key essences of

Christianity is compassion and love for one's

fellow man. I am also a Sufi as I believe

that God is the ultimate Truth and

that one could not really justify

living without losing every

ounce of one's being in

His Love.

Still, further, I do not assume to follow other religions and

that is so, mostly, because I do not know too much

about these religions. But in time I will

necessarily gain 'essential' knowledge

to adhere to the essence of other

religions.

I believe that we humans, fish, rocks, particle of air; all

of us are interconnected; we share a common bond.

Like the force which binds together two atoms,

all of us are eventually the same organism

with a common force binding us, keeping

us together. Come to think of it, we

are not too different from each

other.

What I am concerned about, in other respects, is that

I would like people to not become exclusivists. I

would not like for people to believe that their,

and only their, beliefs are correct and all

other beliefs are wrong. Following this

mindset could be extremely

dangerous as it can easily

breed hatred amongst

ourselves.

Truth is found in all religions, so why limit

oneself to following any one religion?

If we did, to me, it seems that we

would then become like this

person who goes into

a restaurant and

instead of eating

the food, he eats

the menu.

Wanting You

2010-03-26T03:31:00.000-07:00

Where time stands still,

The ecliptical orbits

of my heart shift

like tectonic plates

in the Pacific;

A storm brews in me.

In that one frame of stillness,

I find myself

wanting you.

The Path of Love

2010-02-03T17:17:00.000-08:00

There are no hidden doors

to the Path of Love,

but rather only those which

you may not yet see.

If you wish to see these

doors, completely remove

from within you fear,

inhibition and selfishness.

And until you find these

doors, at times be prepared

to feel totally alone as you

barter ego for awareness.

Visualize in your wakings

and your dreams for Mercy

and Love to shower upon you

like a neverending rain.

Quiet from within you every

voice that may tell you

to stop because walking the

Path of Love is difficult.

Be patient, persistent

and continue your journey

bearing absolute certainty

that Love awaits you.

When in company, with every

embrace, every word spoken,

with every smile, feel and

radiate Love's sweetness.

Be steadfast. You will see

cracks begin to appear in all

false realities, and the

Light of Love will emerge.

The Light of Love will

filter through these cracks

and begin to fully illuminate

the grayness within you.

Be gentle, and yet strong.

For, the strength of will

can influence casuality to

favor your resolve.

Humility is at once a

realization of the insignificance

of one's self and a catalyst

to the Sojourn.

The Path of Love has many

doors, and It awaits

discovery by the zealous and

ecstatic seeking Unison.

Am I a poet?

2010-01-30T16:40:00.000-08:00

Am I a poet when my muse

is a narrative which

seeks articulation?

My thoughts dwindle between

highlighting insipid vagaries

and expounding prolific dreams.

My thoughts

seem like the chronicles of

a journey which

has a beginning

and an end,

and all that which is

in between.

Am I a poet when I pen

metaphors and then

define and describe them?

Sometimes I find myself

alluding to obscure

nestled creeks of the Alpine,

seeking a part of me

that ought to

exist in my consciousness.

Sometimes I find

scattered pieces of myself

in unexpected, and

unusual, places that long

to be named and explained.

Dreams of Me

2010-01-26T18:44:00.000-08:00

Your thoughts live

inside my soul

like the memory of rain

over the Pacific.

Under the collated sky,

like an evolving

metaphor,

I fill my heart with

the azure air

of your country.

As if both you and I

were gazing

at a

twinkly pebble

that adorned heaven.

Perhaps your

palpitations will

herald the twilight

to gently escort

colorful dreams of me

to you.

Nearness

2010-01-26T18:43:00.000-08:00

You are a spiritual dream,

An awakening music.

Like subtle colors that dwell

Within the far reaches of

A wintery horizon.

You eclipse the evening sky,

To seek solace.

Shadowing my existence

Like a colorful canopy;

You are so near.

Time

2010-01-09T16:31:00.001-08:00

Everyone is journeying. Time is endlessly moving forward.

We are moving with it, even when we are asleep. Sometimes

we consciously undertake a journey. We travel to work,

then back home. We travel to the grocery store. We travel

to see a friend. On a broader scope, we are silently traveling

towards eternity. The Earth is revolving around the sun, and

we revolve with it. Our solar system as a whole is moving in

a particular direction on a trajectory. We do not know

where it is headed, but we are traveling with it. Before

we materialize our movements externally, i.e. before we

begin to travel physically, we begin our journey within.

We begin this journey in our minds before we undertake it

in reality.

Hold Your Breath

2009-12-24T08:27:00.000-08:00

Be carefree, like flowers that follow the sun, like colorful birds that play in the air, like children when they dance or smile. Be spontaneous because there are many surprises waiting for you at each turn of life.

A Stranger

2009-12-22T15:37:00.000-08:00

Sometimes I feel alone, a stranger amidst strangers; a flower as it swirls and floats in still vacuum, and then lands to rest among other flowers of another valley.

At Times

2009-11-16T17:29:00.000-08:00

At times, I imagine you

stretching your arms

at me.

At times, I imagine you

smiling at me and being

secretly happy.

At times, I imagine you

to truly know what I

am feeling.

At times, I miss you

enough to long

for you.

At times, I want to

love you save the

consequences.

At times, I am too

numb to really feel

you.

At times, I want to

make you a part

of me.

At times, I feel as

if I was a part of you

before I existed.

At times, I perceive

you in everything

I see.

Meandering Embers

2009-08-02T05:44:00.000-07:00

The ember-marred edges of burnt paper,
smoldering, leave a sensual black crust
in its trail. Words of a poet create fire,
leave the embers to stray like runaway stars.
As if some invisible destiny mysteriously
guides the meandering sparks, they feed on
dried pulp; they feed on the paper's flesh.

Our Collective Silences

2009-05-02T03:04:00.000-07:00

In a room,
an awkward silence
prevails.
A massive crowd,
their mouths
shut;
their faces speak
volumes.
They seem afraid
to say what
they think
and
feel.
I hear my heartbeat,
and yours.
We touch;
In all measure,
you are
true and uninhibited;
we talk about
sunsets,
about walking bare feet
by the ocean,
sharing fragments
of dreams.
And while they are silent,
we say
without speaking;
we always know
what we
mean;
our thoughts,
our feelings,
our collective silences.
and that is
enough
for me.

I heard that ...

2009-03-29T14:09:00.000-07:00

How is it that amidst barrages of gray storms one could wish to live, to be anything, to be?Fighting tempests, through fogs, running into uncertainties. And then peculiar joys of our own we encounter as life etches closer to itself, where mortality and immortality seek to balance themselves out. With every moment, every hour, everyday time seems to span closer to its finitude as if it too, like us, were slowly dying.

Life can not really be happy or sad, when nothing lasts. Life then becomes like a meandering stream with twists and bends, some phenomena that is predictable. And yet hoards of people live their lives in the hope that happiness will last, that perhaps the pegasus of joy will linger and graze in their backyards.

But morning heralds another day, another episode, another detached epicenter. We await life, and more twists and bends, an inkling of joy and a smudge of sorrow. Another day goes by.

Nuances of Stillness

2009-01-05T00:47:00.000-08:00

If you find no words

to speak,

find nuances of stillness

and listen to what

I do not say.

perhaps then you may

discover me

because without you, my love,

I ache like the

frail aspens

for want of Spring.

Inhabit me

like a poet's

words which

compose fantasies.

Be me like

sweat and water

are one.

Touch me and

take me with you,

forever.

Gyrating Streaks

2008-11-04T09:13:00.000-08:00

Somehow, most things around my life revolve around music. This, what I feel as I listen to great music, is what one must assume to be akin to being possessed.

Right now, I am listening to the track titled Going Wrong by Armin Van Buuren and seems to me that the only absolute position of my being at this moment is to drift, swerve, an ordered inconstancy.

Like the gyrating golden grayish streak, the beats outside of me invoke the beats that reserve the inner sanctum, the place of their birth, the place of their return.

As if the rhythmic nuances of music were mingling and slithering and intertwined together with my heartbeats. One expression that interjects is that "May God save me," but from what I do not know.

In gist, I am convinced that that feeling is that of delirium, of uninhibited joy.