Poem #13: Ode To Italy

Ode to Italy

Peck me with your kiss, take me home to you
I can taste the wine we drank โ€“ Toscana.

It was Autumn as fresh as morning dew
Your sweat and earth merged as one โ€“ mine.

So foreign you were at first, shining new
Then to my heart you walked, you took your place.

You filled it with wine too red to be true
Fresh as mio Montepulciano.

Here I wait looking for but your sweet hue
Shall not though I say, arrivederci.

In pain I reside making love to none
Waiting for the kiss of your lips so true.

Life here is cold, it took away the sun
I bonded with the snow but found no love.

It hurts to touch it, it hardly is warm
I miss your presence as I miss my home.



Poem #12: Soul so Old

Soul so Old

Do you have a memory oh young soul,
That kisses your colour and makes you old?

How hard must it be, must you be so bold?
So young at heart, bound yet to act so old.

Has time passed made you love this world so cold?
Left your youth, stepped with ease to mould so old.

Were you meant to be a soldier, be bold?
Protected your seed, grew a tree so old.

Did they beat you, forced that strength to be bold?
You grew through it, bitterness fled – turned old.

Fond did you grow of memories so old?
No choice you had, but to love and be bold.

What did you learn that changed your mind so cold?
It taught you love – acquired skill so old.

You learnt, did you not, so young no more – old.
Lived some lives, live some more – shine but as gold.


Poem #11: Oh Desolate Night

Oh Desolate Night

Oh Desolate Night,
So far off you seem.
In a world so new
Fresh remains your hue.

Silhouetted life,
Freedom from its strife.
Dissolve that cruel whip.

I loved myself that night
You gave that love to me.
Wed I must thy shining stars
Honor I must thy gleaming moon.

I missed you this night,
Spent with souls so new.
Life seemed so empty
Of bliss they seemed free.

Lost in your embrace,
Heart mine loves you more…
Tender music, bliss
Life of happiness.

Lonely I was when,
That life hurried by.
Strange is it to feel
Ambrosia when lone?

Take me in your arms
Oh kiss me good night!
Dreams with you so pure,
No pain to endure.

But now I must sleep
With reality.
And dream of all
That we can be.


That Rotten Egg

It’s true. Freedom does lie beyond fear. Fear looks like a tall giant with the core of a rotten egg. It smells as bad as the same, and as powerful. It disseminates itself to every corner of the territory it has just invaded, blinding, or rather choking that territory’s original inhabitants. This giant is true to its name – it’s so big that there is no space for it to have a home of its own. It has no choice but to invade. In other words, it is homeless. It’s vulnerable, and has no place to go except where it is accepted.

The choice, then lies with the residents of the territory Fear sets its eyes on. I do understand, however that fear can sometimes be so imposing and large (it is a giant after all), that turning a blind eye to it proves to be difficult. Every time I have looked it in the eye, it has done the same to me. Instead of looking at my eyes, however, it bore a hole through them, and walked straight inside without any form of invitation. It invaded my mind. It’s baffling how something so large could possibly fit in my brain though. All I can remember from that time is its presence. Every nerve that transmitted messages did so to the fear that now resided in my brain. I was the victim of this loud, large, and obnoxiously rude ‘giant’ that somehow managed to live in a territory much smaller that itself.

If this creature can sustain itself in a place where it can seemingly not even fit, the alternative conclusion would be that it isn’t really as big as it seems. It spreads itself everywhere at the same time though. How would that be possible? Well, it does have a powerful smell. I would not be questioning any of this, had I not experienced this paradox associated with fear myself. The only way to the freedom that lies beyond fear really is through it. This still does not answer how fear is able to spread itself out so well though. It does the task as efficiently as one would want it not to.

One probable answer could be that fear, when it takes over the victim’s mind, is not only demanding room to stay, but also nourishment.

If the fear is unable to look away from, and it somehow manages to enter one’s mind, the only way to let go of it is to starve it. To refrain from taking any pity on an unwanted guest. Give it no attention, and no reason to stay. When it gets no returns, it will lose the power with which it has inflated itself , and go back to being exactly what it is: the equivalent of a rotten egg. The key to turning it away, however, is to recognize its smell and disallow it from choking you. In turn, the key I have found to doing this is nothing but faith in the key to turning it away. ๐Ÿ™‚

See you soon,



A Reason for Literature

Why does one read literature? Why is it written in the first place? If fiction is not real, can it have any immediate significance to one’s life? In short, what is the point of literature?

Here’s the paradox. There is no one point. There’s a nebulous cloud of reasons, which hovers around literature and its purpose, with each reason addressing one tangible point of literature, without being a tangible in itself. A blend of all these intangibles together constitute what literature means to its reader.

If one considers fiction, the texts encompass events that relate to those that possibly take place in the life of the writers or in their immediate environment. This makes it exclusively significant to the writer. Fiction could also be sparked off by a small thread of inspiration that the writer may have chanced upon. It may have absolutely no direct connection with the life of the writer. In this situation, it may be relevant not even to the writer. Who is it relevant to, if at all this piece of literature is relevant? What is the purpose of its creation except the temporary amusement of the one writing it? It doesn’t help solve any immediate questions facing the world. It’s fiction after all! It doesn’t really exist.

However, there is a nebulous cloud of reason that exists. How does one tap into this reason, and express it specific terms? It is possible. It’s not easy, neither is it exhaustive, but is possible to connect some of the things one reads merely for pleasure or amusement with immediate questions, thus in the process, connect the former with solutions to said questions.

When a text is written, and is written for the sole purpose of being written, it bears one core quality: passion. It bears the essence of the deepest facet of human nature, which is the root of reason for choice. Without passion, choice is dry, and sometimes even redundant. It takes you on a journey of passion, grasping concepts only the heart can understand. The only way the mind can comprehend the reasons why a detective can solve the most puzzling cases in a matter of minutes, or why a mere man unable to decide which road to take is so profound, is because both situations possess passion, which appeals to the heart. This, in turn, expands the growth of passion through the mind.

When I read fiction, I learn. I learn not only the facts presented, but I learn things about myself I would never have imagined existed. Perspectives on immediate question in my life expand, I see things beneath the surface of what is presented in something explicitly real. By glimpsing what lies beneath, aren’t you able to see what makes the surface? You are finally able to see, ‘why’. And this, ‘why’, is nebulous. It is subjective, and may not always be quantified. But when understood, it is as clear as an objective fact. In this case, nothing can dispute it. Nothing can be said that would in any way dilute your understanding of the situation for which you have found the reason for, ‘why’.

This is why we write, and love to do so. It clarifies, without actually trying to, the questions that never cease. And it does so with a character of passion.

All my love,


A Moment Out Of Reality

Life is real. That’s why you’re being able to read this right now. And from a realistic point of view, it’s nothing short of a speeding car racing by; giving you hardly any time to photograph any of the scenery you pass. That’s the way it is, and it can’t be changed. Time never waits. It keeps moving on, which is something if not embraced, runs the risk of being left behind.

But there are ways to capture scenery. There are several ways, in fact. All you have to do is stop. Sometimes, you have to force yourself to stop. You have to stop thinking, trying, talking, running, chasing, and wishing. I won’t deny that takes an immense amount of effort. The fear of being left behind is significant, and if manifested, can provoke disappointment.

Yes, it’s a fast-paced life. Yes, it doesn’t stop, and neither does anyone else. But that’s what makes it the ideal situation. That is what makes it the ideal opportunity to value one, short, and physically fleeting moment more. This is the moment when you stop. You stop to admire the view from where you’ve reached. Sure, you’ve got a long way to go. That never changes. There are plenty of steps you still have to climb. But isn’t that what life is? A constant ascension to the destination you hope to reach?

Now ask yourself this; if it’s constant, it’s not going to change. You will not stop moving. But you will pass by several instances which you do not know if will repeat themselves. Is it not worth it to stop, and absorb some of them as you continue to make your way up? Enjoy a cup of coffee without thinking of tomorrow, or even of the next few hours. Live in the now. Take a moment and forget how far you’ve come, and how far you still need to go. In that moment, just think that you are where you are supposed to be, and find the element of beauty in that moment. Life won’t seem as fast any more, for it won’t be so in that moment. It will be at the very pace you want it to be at. You will begin to take control of your life, rather than life taking control of you. You will, in the process, inevitably, make life as happy as you want to be. Preoccupations will cease to exist in that moment. Any obligation you may have for the future, will reduce itself to routine, for are you not in control of it? Are you not enjoying the view from your standpoint? You know you are here, and you are so happy, that when tomorrow comes, it shall pass in the bliss of today’s bliss. Before you know it, you will be admiring a different, but equally fulfilling view.

It’s what makes the climb worth it.

See you soon,


Why People?

People come and they go. That’s one of the constants of life; the constant flow of people one meets at different stages. Some stay, and some don’t. I suppose this knowledge is quite common. It reminds me of the fact that every moment, regardless of who I share it with, is transient. It’s impermanent.

This thought often worries me as well. I fear that if people are only meant to be a part of fleeting moments, why do we live in society? Why do we crave human company? I am able to find contentment in solitude, fulfillment even, but I do not live by myself. I live in a society which comprises a host of different people, each of whom bring to the table their own, unique persona. As I write this right now, it would be wrong to claim that the thought does not have an effect on me. It does cause a certain degree of anxiety. for it triggers the thought of having to live with said people, and find the same degree of contentment I would on my own. This is difficult. If I could find contentment on my own, and if one of life’s greatest purposes is just to be internally happy, why have I been placed in a situation where I am surrounded by so many externalities, which, instead of enhancing my state of calm, seem to dilute it? It is uncomfortable and uneasy. I cannot help but ask questions, and wonder why I have been placed here.

One of the answers is that I have been placed here for a greater purpose. If discovering that purpose, and fulfilling it includes living in a community and doing so contently, the people I meet must play a part in helping me find my purpose. Every small, seemingly insignificant moment I spend with them must evidently be more significant that I believe it to be. Who then, are these people? They must have their own purposes too. If they play a part in helping me find mine, are our purposes interrelated? Are we really independent? The answer is probably negative. How then, can I assume that I find contentment in my solitude?

For I do assume it. I do find happiness in my own, idyllic world. It is only one facet of happiness though. ย The people I choose to surround myself hold the keys to other facets of the same. They do not control my happiness, rather inspire thoughts and revelations, that once pondered on, could lead to happiness. It really is a shared purpose. We influence each others’ lives everyday, at every instance of interaction, memory, thought, or feeling. Thus, one of my purposes must be to optimise this interaction in every way I possibly can. By spreading what I like to receive, making the right choices by interacting the way I would like to be interacted with, and accepting that we have been placed in society, not because we are dependent on each other for happiness, but so one can grow not only by spreading joy, but also by learning to derive it.

As one puts this into practice, he may begin to notice that deriving joy independently, while simultaneously through acceptance of those we are surrounded by, is essentially the same as spreading it. That is why people come and go. They come to teach, to learn, and to help.

All my love,