The Song of the Heart

A poet's bequest,
Read and comment; my humble request,
Gratitude is what I offer to thee,
Penned by yours truly.

The Song of the Heart

Winds sing to the deaf a song never heard before,
Fantasy emanating through lore,
Softly enhancing the imagination,
Lifting the senses to creation,
Words flowing smoothly to the rhythm of the heart,
Weaving a fanciful matrix of compounded art,
A joy yet to be pronounced,
A feeling yet to be announced,
A beauty yet to be recognised,
A privilege yet to be rejoiced,
A body sensing its soul,
Once separated senses its whole,
Fragrance melting with the voice of the nightingale,
Continuing to satisfy, never will it fail,
Giving without expectation,
Birth without destruction,
Beauty without adulteration,
Silence without provocation,
Bounty without starvation,
Voices join in chorus yet there is only silence,
A silence that is never penance,
In every hour of life,
In the struggle through strife,
Everlasting contentment envelops entirely,
Fears cast aside completely,
The bride wilfully accepts the proposal,
A beginning to propagate renewal,
As the song continues to revive the lost,
Immortal beauty will never exhaust.

07-March-2008

Blogging with purpose,
Mariamlelue

Inner Reflections

Inner Reflections

“We are what we think.
All that we are, arises with our thoughts.
With our thoughts we make our world.” ~ Buddha

To voice that which words can never truly express is challenging indeed. However, I am about to undertake this endeavour, simply because these feelings exist. Thus here begins an attempt to voice my inner reflections…

Nights have besieged days as the sun no longer brings with it warmth or renewal of will but just the inevitable passage of time. A passage indeed not riddled with fantasy or hope but one to be endured with a patient heart...yearning; the air is stifling. Closing in are the perimeters as the limits manifest themselves more distinctly. Not for the faint of heart I surmise as I can feel my chest tightening; a burden too deep to heal. Now upon the doors of hope I await. I knock, there is no answer and in the interim between the passing shifts of anxiety I sincerely hope, that hope shall finally answer and allow my entry into its fortified castle.
A feeling so invasive it transcends all emotion, every living fibre of my being, rapidly infecting…irreversibly infecting. Life carries on, in its constant winding of undertaking tasks at hand or those that seem the most demanding of attention. In the existential routine of day to day, preoccupation camouflages the obvious. Its ability to intoxicate; focussing one’s energy on frivolity as there comes with it no heavy price that demands payment from the intellect. A battle of the conscience seemingly never ends but if willed it can become as passive as breathing or dreaming… a superficial talent to disguise the depth of logic and reason.
I begin to feel light-headed in the frenzy to inhale nourishment of the mind; still there is no peace to find. An outward artist masks the inner slave, and no one is the wiser. I breathe in deeper and for longer periods yet my heart remains deprived and my chest is tightening all the more. As I listen closely I can hear the beast at work; constantly gnawing, nibbling, clawing it’s way deeper into the thresholds of my sanity. With an abated breath I have spent these days that no longer seem recent but now gradually transforming into lifestyle. When will I breathe again? A sports addict is held captive to the emotion of the last minutes of the game in dying support for their team of choice, right down to the final whistle; time goes on minute after minute in which I spend in similar deliberation.
I seek comfort in all its forms not due to materialistic need but due to spiritual demand. In the smile of an innocent without question and expectance it is simply given yet it becomes the centre of my universe; the revolution of my world. I feed hungrily and unsparingly on anything deemed positive or made out to be so in my clairvoyant eyes. Though this may seem a mental delirium that may pass with the effect of time I cannot agree to such as it would suggest I am in a state of illusion to which is the opposite of my reality; indeed it is because I see and accept things for what they truly are that has caused me all this mental endowment, that has come with its price of restlessness. It is this morbid sense of reality that plagues my sense of being. A tragedy of fates it seems that I may continue to be consumed with disenchantment and the veil of sight is forever lifted.
Everyday, institutions regulate new sets of laws and derivatives that are flawed only because they are swayed by the sensations of man’s imperfection of conscience. I cannot extract any freedom from an enslaved intellect but I will engage in discourse to exact this freedom. For on my own I attest my faults are too apparent and my intellect too limited to conjure a definite resolve. I am but a slave to emotion that is abundantly overwhelming and pours over into my existence. If sensation conceives perception I cannot argue that my perceptions are any different but in isolation it is not for my mental capacity is seldom unused. I seek an agreeable end to this mental suffering and a continuation of inward growth and spiritual freedom. The epitome of my turmoil still gnaws away. Distinguishing need from want is natural to this disposition and as much as it wrecks havoc on inward solace, it reveals that which feeds my intellectual freedom and personal contentment; therein lies my 'chateau des fleurs'. Signed here by yours truly and faithfully, my conscience…



“He that will not reason is a bigot; he that cannot reason is a fool; he that dares not reason is a slave” ~ William Drummond

Blogging with purpose,
Mariamlelue