The embrace

She stood alone on the silver shore,

Beneath the sun's demanding light

Not the wind dared nor the sea moved

As if in reverence of her silent mind

Her unseeing eyes poured her vast journey

like diamonds polished bright

There was but one question in her heart,

"Aeons I have waited my love, Will you come tonight?"

She stood alone on the silver shore

under the dark shadows of the night

The sea kissed the shore with gleeful abandon

The stars danced on passionate hymns

Her eyes aflame with the love she sought

The universe a joyous cry

Her lips quivered with wonder as she said

"Aeons you waited for my embrace, as you walked by my side"

The human condition...

This is a strange phrase...."the human condition"; typically used by philosophers, either to define the deplorable spiritual state of humans or to paint a dark picture of how humans are caught up in their own web of sorrow and suffering

For me the meaning is the state of the collective soul, a soul that is still a fledgling and not allowed to develop , or to be more philosophically correct, to manifest. This is most evident when you stand back or travel to a different country, where you are forced to be the audience, and you see people as a mass, and not as individuals you react with. You immediately get a sense of how the "mass" suffers, you see a dreary depressing reality, people almost like automatons, running through life, with a weird inhuman force or compulsion that makes them go through the motions day in and day out.

Life almost becomes a repetitive script written by an unseen hand that's not quite divine, but not quite human. And that unseen hand is the mind. It programs the body, drives life, and creates a veil of security that in singular rare moments of reflection feels "odd", like chains shackling something more important. But we do not investigate, we are slaves to our own minds, we are lulled into sleep so that the mind can exist at the cost of suppressing the soul.

And that according to me is the human condition, a malady more than a condition, where we pervert our naturally curious minds outwards, to take unholy pleasures in others sufferings; instead of using this nature of discovery to discover who we really are; and what we can be.

Maya

She walked on the pavement

Cold dust in her face

The autumn leaves swirled listlessly

With the desolation she felt

Life felt so empty,

no meaning to it all

a cruel twisted fate

slaved to an arid desert land

The seasons driven by passions
Like bright eclipsing stars
Technicolor dreams
on the wasteland dark

Sometimes, it all seems so pointless, the existence of humanity, our clinging to daily routines, desires, our passions

A sudden loss or going away of strong emotions creates a void that scars the soul, until another illusion comes along, of joy. Every single illusion is stronger, and more destructive...

The woman on the bridge

On the bridge across the river
stood a tall woman of might

She had blood on her hands
and a chill in her eyes

An ascetic calm grace
on a countenance so white

Her heart was of fire
Her blood was of ice

On the bridge across the river
stood a tall woman of might

She jumped off the wall
into the rivers' cold night

Tis said that even the dark warriors
the slayers of light

Have ever reached their end
Coz love was their plight

Burma...

I could describe this country in the warm romanticism and mysticism of a benevolent traveler, who has something important to describe about quaint places, breathtaking nature, people, their warmth, beauty and other things. But maybe because of preceding events that will not be recounted here as they would defer from the theme, and maybe precisely because I had no emotion either of excitement or foreboding about this trip, I feel the urge to be true to myself and the thought that compelled this article. Sometimes the most abstract things explain more than the gloss of articulate words that mean nothing, except make the reader happy, feel in awe and live through the writer through his selfish pleasures and inconsequential dreams

It could not be a coincidence that I lived through the soul of Howard Roark, at the same time that I reached this country, in all its beauty and glory, so innocent; that you expect all the struggles they have to face. It is peaceful and terrible in its beauty and serenity; an almost childlike and tragic wonder at change and progress. You immediately want to protect everything in this country, even the brutality of the strife, just to feel the rawness of human life frozen in one endless moment.

You want to keep experiencing the simplicity of treating everyone through how they know to live life, their poverty neither a badge of self righteous honor, nor a shameful yoke to slink from. I do not know if I love this country, most of us anyways make the mistake of defining lust and desire as love, love turned to a stamp of approval for the baser desires. But I do know that the country touches you, not in a beautiful postcard kind of way, but in a more basic impersonal understanding and grave recognition of humanity.