I was born in specialty ,
Growing up to not fit in,
I keep travelling to find what I’m
Though I do not know what I want.
I see nothing but everything sees me.
I grasp nothing, I refuse nothing.
I receive but I do not keep.
When you search for it, you lose it.
When you aren’t looking for it, you find it.
When you want it, it’s never there.
When you need it, it’s always there.
An echo whispers in the horizon,
On and on in one place as the world moves around me,
The hummingbird sings softley, I happen to hear it. That’s okay.
A flower happens to smell, I smell it. That’s okay.
The ocean waves to be recognised.
The brown leaves fall to make way for the new.
A thousand blossoms bloom from a hundred trees.
A leaf falls into the pond.
The swift wind in the breeze,
Weaving in the warm glow.
The visions that we immerse ourselves in,
We make ourselves to be made of.
To go to sleep and never wake up,
To wake up having never gone to sleep.
Confidence is a a sparing currency.
When it is present, it generates the most valuable and extravagent wealth from people,
When it is absent, all are poor and unfortunate.
It is common property and belongs to everyone,
Yet only few are able to invest it wisely.
The rare few of us inherit it from our ancestors,
Many of us accumilate it through our doings.
Spend it wisely and invest,
Your investment will be paid two fold.
A beauty has profounded you, in which the smallest pettle has shredded a thousand roses.
Of the breasted bird, a thousand creeds are given, of purple and gold robes; from the valleys of narlwood and rockcrete, groomed and plumped from the eyes of Constantinople’s beauty.
The shimmer of the valiant chivalry stands at a crossing point, the ayia of dignities. Whether we must pursue the value of the lusted, or the honourable bronze plate,
Silent and preserve as it has been, only to be awaken when unlingered of harmony. The harp of Eros.
For what is of worth, if worth itself has no value? If all becomes necessities and all necessities become granted? The slither of un-dying precept, from the vanity of a king.
Here on this pain of the ford, my wishes are given, even if it means the sweetest of dreams lost; the eternal cosmos of your undying presumption is where I find peace.
From light to dust, proverbs of a forefathers alley
The placid man returning home to the deep reaches of desolate and monotone equity.
To the rich man, what beat is the one which moves mountains?
Rather than, what rekindles the sunrise to favour the meek?
An individual can shift essence from stars yet the group draft choices closest to the surface.
And so, in this, the wicker or the carpenter or even the lame can bring compromised promenades of harmony from the dust of golden brown.
And in this immortal and infinite perspective;
I find peace where Kibera lay.
A blank canvas covered in everything,
Nothing filled with fugility.
Where I go words cannot explain,
all is where it needs to be but is not.
A stone hits the water, splash.
It marks the water in a ripple puddle.
All revels now are ended.
These are actors as I foretold.
You are all spirits and are melted into air,
into thin air.
And like the basis fabric of this vision,
The cloud clap towers, the gorgeous palaces, the solemn temples,
The great earth itself,
All I inherit shall dissolve.
And like this insubstantial pageant faded,
leave not a rack behind.
We are such stuff as dreams are made of,
and our little life is rounded with a sleep.