Dance of the Infinite Stars

She says nothing at all, but simply stares upward into the dark sky and watches, with sad eyes, the slow dance of the infinite stars.

~Neil Gaiman, Stardust

I stare at people when they go around

Trying to find a poem in their stride

A reason in their walks

Season on their face

What races those feet pace

As they move I am moved

Their movement excites

What makes them move?

My eyes turn blind

I see nothing at all though I stare

Lives so different from mine

Still I stare from far

This dance of life

Can I decipher it from afar?

Borderlines- A World Of Unfree

The worst thing is not that the world is unfree, but that people have unlearned their liberty.

In the world of highways, a beautiful landscape means: an island of beauty connected by a long line with other islands of beauty. How to live in a world with which you disagree? How to live with people when you neither share their suffering nor their joys? When you know that you don’t belong among them? Our century refuses to acknowledge anyone’s right to disagree with the world. All that remains of such a place is the memory, the ideal of a cloister, the dream of a cloister.

The majority of people lead their existence within a small idyllic circle bounded by their family, their home, and their work... They live in a secure realm somewhere between good and evil. They are sincerely horrified by the sight of a killer. And yet all you have to do is remove them from this peaceful circle and they, too, turn into murderers, without quite knowing how it happened.

~Milan Kundera

Borderlines
Where do I draw the lines?
Of freedom and its confines
Is it blurred?
Bedimmed as it seems to me
Or is it zagged?
As Life is supposed to be?

Many came and chalk talked about you
You, I studied and watched endlessly
Brute Borderlines
Why you are still a mystery to me?
Instilling a streak of fear
Yet sometimes
You do scent like security

Sweet Surety
Why you are so full of ennui?
Like a lone filament in a bubble
Glows of bond and immunity
Are you a noble thing?
Stringed to me as my sanctuary
Or it’s just me with my fickle fancy?

Borderlines, shed this obscurity
Before Me
Undrape the Babe of Reality

Truth That I Tell

Truth is singular. Its 'versions' are mistruths.
― David Mitchell, Cloud Atlas

There's one truth that I tell

There's another which I don't

In the thick lies a detail

Unfolded, told only to special one

Something's still untold

Layers after layers

My Truth really died

But, I still see one

One that survived. 

Doomed is the World for it Seeks Security

So many people live within unhappy circumstances and yet will not take the initiative to change their situation because they are conditioned to a life of security, conformity, and conservation, all of which may appear to give one peace of mind, but in reality nothing is more damaging to the adventurous spirit within a man than a secure future.

― Jon Krakauer, Into the Wild

Friendship is a Comforting Thing

A friend is a person with whom I may be sincere. Before him I may think aloud. I am arrived at last in the presence of a man so real and equal, that I may drop even those undermost garments of dissimulation, courtesy, and second thought, which men never put off, and may deal with him with the simplicity and wholeness with which one chemical atom meets another.
― Ralph Waldo Emerson, Essays: First Series

Why some people come into our lives

Is it random, planned, on a recommend

Or just another fashion for us to survive

I often ponder over that question

Brooding over why they do

As folks are tough to work with

Too complex, cryptic to construe

May be we all scare each other

Yet none of us ever live alone

We all need masses to go on

Friendship is a comforting thing

Secure blanket we can hide in

Lie in naked of all pretentions

Uncloaked and safe of all tensions

Cry, shout, laugh, be what we are

Shatter, scatter and split apart

They are potions to make us whole

Not some freak mechanic to control

For each day we sleep of strife

For everyday each of us revive

We are all crazies, we are all flawed

But, we all wing it, we all make do

My Smile Will Sink Down Into Your Pupils

I'm going to smile, and my smile will sink down into your pupils, and heaven knows what it will become.
― Jean-Paul Sartre, No Exit

Sometimes when I see someone laugh

I wonder what the reasons are

Satisfied with the act or it's just an act

Are the reasons fair

Had better I care

Reasons, precisions or timeless seasons

Whats, whys, when and hows

Are those the nimble lips

Or they are just curved

Bent somehow

I ask not, dare not to be precise

What if it sets off smile's demise?

Singular Heart Loves and Hates

You know these things as thoughts, but your thoughts are not your experiences, they are an echo and after-effect of your experiences: as when your room trembles when a carriage goes past. I however am sitting in the carriage, and often I am the carriage itself.
I am a man who thinks like this, the dichotomy between thinking and feeling, intellect and passion, has really disappeared. He feels his thoughts. He can fall in love with an idea. An idea can make him ill.
― Friedrich Nietzsche, Thus Spoke Zarathustra

Can this all be translated ?

All of that I see around

So many dreams, hopes

Beauty, art, love and love lost

Right words I can find

Much I can write

But it's all fleeting

And I forget to stop

A word only writes

And life goes on

What does all this mean to me ?

So many shapes and size

I try and fix designs

Should I open my third eye

Roam in the attics of my mind

Soon everything's so vague

To see a pattern

Of a lantern in the dark

Eyes only see

And life goes on 

I love the words and I hate them too

I see it not and I see it too

Same road, but it goes two ways

Singular heart loves and hates.