I’ve Found Thee

To the endless ecstacy called life and beyond.

Mystical Midnights

Undying inertia

An unknown dream

Perpetual delusion

Never-ending stream

With no destination

With no deem

I’ve found thee

I’ve found thee

Found my destination

Discovered my dream

Gleam in the darkness

Beam in the bleak

This is my destination

Conclusion of the deep

The supreme

I’ve found thee

I’ve found thee

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Her Eyes Had Eden

The doctors said they don’t know as to how there were accumulations in her retina.

Maybe they did not look at those eyes from their own, that is how you need to really know her. To be oneself to see the world as this naked sphere of roses that blush golden brown in the sun.

That is her iris, now for the surface where the world is made, the retina, one must stay still and sync in the heart beats. For you see, it is not just a biological curtain where the most beautiful things hit inverted to a mind, but it is the very contact of the world with an oblivion that resolves the stress of the existence.

As if the doctors had the time to fathom the beautiful passage to peace. They said that something is odd and they should probably remove the disturbance with a laser. Well, I clearly know that bombarding some particles over peace is what happens in this world all the time. It is harmonious, musical almost and the energy keeps it all intact.

Little kids in the pound splashing water make a universe that smiles.

Now, I am not saying that medical science is not advanced enough to appreciate a moment or respect the creation of the eye that literally made me watch the world in a better stance, it is just that, I have kissed her.

Maybe a lost poet lost his fine mind,
Playing with the strings of that lonesome time,
When those olds books started singing,
The stupid songs in my head.

 

 

The King

A journey as the lines proceed! A must read !

Jasmin Elizabeth- Poetry-Prose-Fiction

Decadent and obtuse such as a king unwilling to change his ideologies.
The judgement he makes, clouded by his self-worth and stubborn mind; no more simplistic or laborious than something as insignificant as an orange, however cursed with a curious mind.
Is it preposterous to suggest that a leopard can not change its spots? Or is it in fact that he is just obstinate?
Envious and riddled with hunger for the things he has not earned, unpleasantries spill from his lips like a ruined wine, so thick, its dark colour resembles blood.
However, this man has not been wounded by another man, only by his own sickened delusions.
Then as his lips turn to grey, and he lets out his final cry, only then will he see that he is alone, waiting to die.

©Jasmin Elizabeth 2018

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Will You Understand?

A poem that divide the sky for a sense of self.

Renscape

Dear little angry bird,

Your flight might seem a smooth sail of sweet smelling air,

but do you realize? that air hasn’t a fragrance.

That you have been breathing in a bubble of your desires that wasn’t built by you.
It is just beneath your guardian who has been dragging it under the whip of your demands, for you.

The colonizing authority, which you possess over your guardian, will only break your potential for self-preservation.

So, stop marking your territory for the luxuries you can’t afford to make efforts for.

In the desires of flying high, who knows if you have mistaken choking oceans for a breathing sky.
The sky which will never be enough for you.
Enough to embrace the desires that have marred the growth of your wings.

Treating your real life like the game of tetris,

You have been stacking their emotions to fill your voids without…

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Parts and pieces

The Caravan

The crescent moon far far away in the dark sky or the sound in the air that passes by me, There’s a part weaved from them inside of me.
The green that I see in the trees or the tranquility in the water I feel, I possess the same somewhere in my being.

This sense that I feel, I see or I hear. Do these trees, this water, this air, do any of these feel me anyhow? I think they do. More than their piece that I have. There’s a piece of mine there and here, far away and so near.

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Strings of the Stars

I am weak. I struggled lifting myself up with each step on the stairs. I climbed up to my terrace. The stars were waiting to listen to my violin. It is 20th march, 2040 and I was aware that this was my last birthday. I took out my old violin, the strings were relatively younger than me, but I am sure of the wood being really old. Some tree, a beautiful tree and then an amazing artist would have crafted this magical instrument.
I was playing the strings since last three years, the sound was perfect but sensitive. I held it in my arms, placed the base on my shoulder, felt the wooden surface with my cheek and embraced the bow with my right hand. It was time.
Everytime I used to play, some part of me was transmuted with the vibrations to my past. As I placed the bow on the extreme right string, I remembered my first kiss, a sudden touch and everything disappeared. The emotions of the violin had filled the void of the night with a flush of reminiscence. I glided hard to feel my youth in the old veins of my heart being held by the neurons that have never been so kind when it comes to my sexual frustrations. I did not realise that my force at almost injured the extreme right string and with a sudden break in music, I found myself with three strings remaining to be touched.
By this time I knew how the universe was talking to me, I had to settle my impulses, tonight. I placed the blow gently over the extreme left string and dragged the two energies, the music this time was sharper, somehow more alarming. It was the rush of my senses reflected by the dawn of the night where I spent the time away in arms of a beautiful woman. The night went away faster than I could ever perceive. Somehow the music was hurting my heart. It was not the blood pressure but the symphony of my broken trust in the humane frame of life.
This string was strong like my memories of going through the emptiness of her pleasure principles. My pain had sucked in the air around somehow puncturing my lungs with the break of the sound. Another string had broken its effect on me. Somehow, my energy had drained at this point. The remaining two would be the most meladious, the two key strings I play on the most. The most beautiful music. Frequencies that held my heart since the day I got the feel them.
One of them was sensitive over the other, but loved the sensitivity and the frail sound of perfection.