In search of a quest.

Surrender in your thoughts

to let go what you have got
when the time is up to speak
you can wake up and shriek

The wells have gone dry
these words just stumble by
you have slept in them for too long
now its time to sing The song

The music is in your head
and your mind has often sped
the following footsteps seem
out of sync don't you think?

If these were sounds of tomorrow
then where have we been yesterday?
What were we up to then
that led us to this day today?

Oh I know. Why ask such things?
But then what else is there to think?
Why not break this tiny machine
and let go ourselves in a whim?

Often the words pause
and then simply flow
what are all these thoughts?
And where really do they go?

Carpets are covered with skin
the books are lined within
with wisdom and tales of times
that have often seemed to smile

Over here there is another thing
over there it has a different ring
the truth is always out there
but the search is always with in.

An ob ser vation on now.

You are you.

On the left is you.
On the right is you.
You are the one, watching you.

You are eyes, ears, skin, and a brain.
You are behind your smile.
You are over your own pain.

You exist as good and bad.
You are the one who is extremely happy.
You are the one who is terribly sad.

You want some more when its more than you have.
You hide yourself from the mirror and the sky.

You walk alone with someone by your side.
You are never alone so you constantly hide.

You are all that exists for you.
You are all who lives through you.

You are afraid to die so you cant seem to live.
You are afraid to live so you slowly seem to die.

You are connected with others and others are with you.
You are followed by your shadow and others are by you.
You are in here and you are out there.
You were then - and now - you will be.
You are the one who always sees.

You ask why, or who am I?
I am you and you are I...

Woo Who??

In absolution without dissolution of traits,
the floating manatees will never meet our gaze.
We will drift in their waters on shallow hurdles of pain.
We will wait and debate whether we will see ourselves again.

After losing our sight we will fight for our vision.
Through division and subtraction we will add to our confusion.
Before we know it we will beyond this dimension
Demented emotions will earn ephemeral damnation.

Through the wind the thoughts will bind
beyond the thoughts our ideas will rewind.
Before we know it we will have forgotten
the memories of a future and that passing illusion.

Together in this sea shall we strain for our souls
Gathering the reasons we had drowned in some hole.
From pole to pole we stretched these wings
And for what we asked? Just mere worldly things?

Before we know it we will certainly be through.
Through and through of an aftermath of a clue.
We hope we will wait - and probably debate
whether we will see who we lost our selves to...

Suspended Incognition

Blasted furnaces.
The thinking and sinking of cellular winking just could not take a break.
For the sake of passing time the grim themes of the movie set were the right sorta thing to get. After all how many times can a man walk down and pretend that he just cannot be?
So here we go.
From somewhere near we start to call out in sheer numbers- shouting away to a glorious day. Bellowing out towards the crowd. Waiting silently in our skulls. Wondering where the voice is coming from.
Waiting.
Waiting to be seen.

So every time the wind chimes in the notes of a distant bell we stop in remorse or respect. Because we can take it we take. Because we can give, we give. Beyond the established madness of sane asylums and normalcy lie the borderlines of individuality.
Beyond the fences lie the blasted furnaces.

The invisible enemy approached the bunkers and the soldiers just fell dead.
Greedy with life the others marched by.
Bullets of thoughts piercing through their brains, they marched on to the shifting sand.
It was a life well spent - bled to the grave.

The sun rises again. Yet again. For the umpteenth time, it rises again.
The light penetrates the dust and guts -
the spilled out spleens and testicles in stark shame.
Decay is such a slow aftermath. Such a languid consequence.

In a few hours an atom was about to be split.
The separation of two lovers was about to be pushed to a new extent.
The birth of destruction was looming in a fractal string of numbers that were awaiting mans decision to paint a gloomy cloud.

The sun rises again.

Victimised vindications over stale eggs and juice

There are secret ways to give away the most obvious truths.
No one can tell and no can know. Its all under the sheets, behind the curtains, and locked in a box that says, "don't open before doomsday!"
All kinds of stories are left behind by the silent makers of history.
In the glory of the accomplished, the naive dreamers stare at the pedestals with disillusioned eyes and confused thoughts.
One wonders if someday in the future of humanity money will stop spinning the world around! It is clearly not the end of the world if such a thing happens.
The fate of our universes are beyond the position of the corners that we inhabit in infinity.
However, it is interesting to note what "would" be of importance if money got extinct.
What would it be replaced with?
Material replacement of a currency that was devised to overcome the clumsiness of the barter system is an immature speculation.
Would it then be up to humanity itself to validate its value? What would individuals do in this case?

Is it possible to understand the impossible?
If yes, then it is not the impossible that we have understood.
If no, then we have acknowledged the impossibility.
Either ways, one thing is for certain - everything is uncertain.

Occurrences are phenomenal.
They exist as probabilistic outcomes.
Moreover, all that can be imagined is real. So why not speak up?

Morality is a constantly evolving quality of the evolving mind.
Laws are in place to act as feedback checkpoints.
Judgments are not based on laws. Judgments are based on the subjective assessment of the laws. Unfortunately, this means that a 'victim' can be described subjectively too.
So what is real really?