The Majestic

Too kind and cruel: I drown waiting for savior, while drowning too attached with self.

Too unreal and blind: I drown – waiting for savior, while drowning too attached with self.

How can be one serene,
knowing that one can be
a cause of major disappointment?
Yet I’m so naive to be.
Thinking at least that
I try to be as distant
as possible, so people are
neither too attached,
nor retain any illusion of me.

A vagabond, a wanderer,
a drifter, a shade.
I have no honor. No master.
No principle except love.
A moth who’s running
blindly towards a Sun.
Acid rain for the patient,
stagnant for the raining.

I yearn restlessly,
and people who mistake
me for a moon or miracle,
forget to realize they’re seeing
a reflection.
It’s not me who’s admired,
it’s the beseeching sun
of their passion,
their curiosity.

It tears apart to see
people affected,
to leave any impression,
let alone bad.
The engaging polarities,
of those who would die,
and those who would kill.
Consider my helplessness,
I fail in expressing
for love to be a love,
it has to be free…

For what purpose be,
would one consider me an ideal,
or sit submissively in front of me
making me an idol.
When my whole existence,
is compelled to serve a motive
eradication of symbols,
removal of  inscriptions.

I am an aloof path –
a journey least accustomed,
a way most indifferent
of destination.
A flow, titillating
disparaging, evaporating,
and merging…
that too far from established
and recalled definitions
of norms or perfection.

Only if one has to go
by some definition,
I’m everything “bad”,
they haven’t wrote
in references yet.
Everything “unknown”
for which both the hope
and fear is traced.
Everything in “circle”,
without an idea of origin,
or a resting place.

– Dedicated to time and tide, stream and submissive, love and passion, mystery and mystics. Also to Frank Herbert’s sci-fi novel Dune.

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9 thoughts on “The Majestic

  1. brother, once again, you have penned a masterpiece, and i do not say this lightly. these words are so well chosen and strung together. the beauty of the words and the way it reaches the heart of what is such a common, but painful state of existence is a gift of magic. i notice that you don’t post often, but when you do it is extraordinary and every bit worth waiting for. peace brother.

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