Being present
Sieve the mess, take all the conversations that you hear,
listen.
What it means? What it doesn’t mean? What it say? What it doesn’t
say?
Listen carefully.
Like arched humans panning the creek bed in hot humid sun for
days and days for few specks of gold dust, if lucky a nugget.
Search for the strand of truth.
Read whatever you can.
Choose what is passed unquestioned as culture, tradition,
faith, rational, fiction and non-fiction.
What does it means? What it doesn’t mean? What it say? What
it doesn’t say?
Read carefully.
Search for the strand of truth.
Watch. Watch carefully for what is presented, and not
presented.
Keep a keen sense on what is mainstreamed. What is news? What
is not news?
What is entertainment? What is not entertainment? Who decides?
What decides?
Watch carefully.
Pound day in day out like miserable humans eviscerating e-waste
from noxious landfill mounds for few grams of copper or brass or whatever that
fetch food.
And when you find that nugget of gold, that piece of precious
metal
That strand of truth
That is unique to your being on this planet.
Declare it.
Shout, scream, yell. Louder.
Take that strand of truth
Stitch the fabric to uncover the universe.
Firefly
In the
darkest of night a soul with lantern knocks
I let him in
with a noiseless breach and warmest smile
Like a comet
from the sky he fires into the room with abandon gaiety
Propelled in
his own delight to corners, up the cupboard and under the bed
His rear flickering
the brief sight while he ponder the dark in rapid stride
Exhausted he
sat on my palm ever pulsating the lively warmth
The embers
setting a primal crypt that synapses decode in blooming script
A planet of
colors in faraway space, arranged in patterns and waves of shifting shades 
At the
border
So they
stand facing each on the rugged mountains
With stones
and sticks, fists and barbed hate
They squint
to get a clear view of the enemy
Unaccustomed
like lost spirits in the whistling night
They grope in
the hypoxic air of the altered world
To find their
own shadows fighting its own survival
In the
barren land of imaginary lines
Devoid of
reason and love.
