Downhill
The sky was a pit-cavernous and empty, like a void-feeding on eternal darkness. The gentle trickling of the brook against the shales and stones ricocheted in the vacuum-like valley.
The slope was steep, blanketed by hummus and wet soil, through which the stream mapped downhill-like a veil thrown over withered hands- not to hide the frailty and ugliness, rather like a caress of a child to his mother-reassuring and in a way blissful.
The pines shuffled due to the gentle evening breeze wheezing through them. The psinthurism and the low hum of the brook were rather like a symphony nature had composed- gentle, even though blaring with rage.
Moving downhill one could feel the profound sense of enigma- obliviousness in plain knowledge.
The moon's light flickered and glinted over the illuminated stream- glancing and glinting through paths unseen.
Moving down into the unfathomed depths only kindled one's curiosity within. Alas! oblivion does not contain bliss but rather the torment of the mysteries unknown, how clenching is the desire to move downhill, to discover beneath the underneath, and how it pains to be on the shore gazing at the abyss that could never end and would be left unseen.
The moss-covered barks emanated a strong odour of lifelessness, it hung in the humid air on the threshold of vanishing, threatened by the swift wafts of petrichor that mellowed the overwhelmed senses.
The ground beneath was cracked and deprived of life, despite the flowing water. But this was not the end of the steeping slope, for one could hear the muffled flow of water- distant but clearly beneath.
One could only walk in the hope of finding a surface, but the wells of wisdom are deep.
Wanderers through the cosmos
We are all travellers in an endless universe,
seeking the solace of a star streaked sky;
We search but find ‘beyond’
hidden by street lights.
Luminescence is merely a concealed illusion-
evil’s instrument.
But who knew a shadow-factory
could fabricate a facade?
Who knew that glimpses of a ‘cheerful’ abyss
could continue to persuade
us to thrust the name ‘scary’
upon the innocent?
Through the illusion of light
and our world - a viewing device -
our sight is narrowed to nearly none.
And so we believe that midnight is dark
and forget that night hangs stars
one by one;
That it cradles constellations
in its gentle palm,
sprinkling them with glitter,
just for us,
placing them to our familiarity,
just so that our troubles may be calmed.
We are specks in an ever-changing sky,
This magnificent cloud of disarray.
On this planet we live our lives,
structure organising our every day.
How it makes our hands shake
to think of a grain of sand left unnamed.
How it makes our minds quake
to think of a galaxy of fire, ice and change.
We cry in fear of the uncertain and indefinite,
for the loss of a perfection we will never attain,
but we forget that we cannot order the infinite
yet the universe still lives, functions, remains.
It is so freeing - as we look to the planets,
trifling marbles in a boundless game -
to remember what we always knew deep down:
That we are so insignificant, and every mistake
that we will make in our tiny lifetime,
is not known beyond our atmosphere;
just a snowflake in an eternal wintertime,
glittering in the light of a million suns,
far and near.
We are parts in a macrocosm.
We breathe in our niche amid a thousand planets,
yet live under the weight of a clock’s hand.
The tick tock controls our short lives, but sound
doesn’t travel through space’s furnished wasteland.
History omitted the knowledge
that time is a man-made concept,
and humans were the first ones to count the orbits
of our solar-system’s contents.
But just as we forged the shackles that,
for centuries, have bound our wrists,
the key to unlock them, in our
worn palms, will forever exist.
A thousand aeons of explosions and lifelessness
have plagued our galaxy home,
yet here we stand, breaking the timelessness
of a place where it’s infeasible for life to roam.
Still, sometimes we forget
that we are one in a billion,
that we dwell amongst the asteroids-
That we were made from stardust.
We are flecks in an endless sky,
our life, one blink in a foreign time.
How wonderful it feels to stop and see
that amongst planets and stars dwell we,
And as life flickers past, forever we’ll be,
wanderers through the cosmos.....
Omnipresent Universal Consciousness
Then even nothingness was not, nor existence/ there was no air then, nor the heavens beyond it/ What covered it? Where was it? In whose keeping? Was there then cosmic water in depths unfathomed?
Then there were neither death nor immortality, nor was there then the torch of night and day/ The One breathed windlessly and self sustaining/ There was that One then, and there was no other.
At first there was only darkness wrapped in darkness/ All this was only illuminated water/ That one which came to be, enclosed in nothing, arose at last, born of the power of heat.
In the beginning desire descended on it- that was the primal seed, born of the mind/ The sages who have searched their hearts with wisdom know that which is, is kin to that which is not.
Footnotes.
I have used this uh complicated kind of style to write this poem.. I have been studying panpsychism for 8 months now.. so that is actually a lot of time to get inspired and write a poem. lol.
I have tried writing the scene of the birth of universe...assuming that universe is consciouss..
Okay this is all damn complicated, so if any of you wants to know anything more on panpsychism just lemme know.
Remnants Of Dyscalculia In My Head...
The world seems to squeeze,
I cannot even escape.
Those numbers crawl,
you don't believe me?
that's okay, no one does....
but they crawl out the white board,
like little sickly black worms,
they're so ugly, grotesque,
wriggling and writhing
they are coming towards me,
they are near,
just a centimeter away.......
but then the bell rang.
it always saves me,
I'm the first one to get up and move out...
that monster near the board glares at me like I'm a criminal,
but I walk out anyway,
At least I can breathe again.....