Xenophiles

Spin the globe and let’s see where we start
I’m eager to see, to hear, to learn.
Show me snow-capped mountains
Off the walls of hidden towers,
Help me climb the ancient trees
Whose flavours I never encountered,
Clad in clothes I never touched,
My belly full of flavours
I never knew could be cooked.
Teach me the languages of the world,
Of the past, present and future,
So many of them that I learn instead
To understand the language of silence,
Of the breaths and heartbeats
That hide between the lyrical sounds.
Bring me down to the meadows and rivers,
Let me kneel in front of the gods
Whose names history itself forgot
And laugh in the face of their judgments,
Hidden beneath the armour of cultures
That long predate their creation.
Lay me down on the grass, on the stone,
On the rubbery, broken streets of the world,
And let me learn in the depths of your eyes
The name and position of new constellations.
Yes. Show me so much the Heavens above
And the Hells below give up chasing after,
Until we know all of this world and,
Still hungry, always hungry, we sneak
Through the cracks of reality,
Like all writer, all readers before us,
Go savour and bask in new images,
New sounds, new feels, new tastes,
And then go create some more.
Lifetimes are never enough to satisfy
A love of foreign as deep as ours.

Why something?

Why is there something when it could be nothing?
Why is there air when it could be void?
Why is there flesh when it could be aether?

Why light instead of darkness,
Sound instead of silence,
Touch instead of numbness?

I don’t know. It might be that
There’s no reason at all
And it’s all a happy accident,
A cosmic dice cast so many times
That even the smallest probability
Becomes certainty instead.
Or it might be even foolish
To try to consider mathematics
As the reasoning for reason.
There’s just no way to answer those whys.

But I’m happy that is, without, despite a reason.
Becomes the ‘something’ allows you to exist,
And all the other senses let me feel you.
And oh, something even better than this –
It allows me to exist, allows me to feel,
And gives me a choice whether it will be
You, or someone else, or nothing at all.
For I, at least, am here.

Obsession

It’s said that all creative minds
Entertain multiple representations of all things –
That’s the only way to give birth to unique perspectives,
Having random things bubble and mix and blow up
In an array of colours and metaphors.
The minds of artists have voices recounting truths, realities,
That their imagination then compounds on, shoots out from,
In ever more complicated fantasies.
There are also voices whose sole purpose is to keep track
Of which voice does what, of inner workings, and make sure that
Fantasies land on paper, in stories, paintings, sculptures,
And they don’t interfere with function in the real world.
There are times, however, when the real world is ugly,
So you tighten the fantasies around you,
Breathe them in, burrow in their warmth and security,
And shut down the voices telling you it’s wrong.
It might be surprising, that something as slippery as obsession
Starts with a conscious decision. But it does.
Like going down a slide, you need an impulse to get it started.
You need to choose to shut down the realities,
And you ignore that aching awareness sounding an alarm.
You pick and choose. You only hear the nice fantasies.
And, with no other raw material, your mind doubles them up,
Compounds on them instead of tempering them down.
It becomes a self-fulfilling spiral of quicksand,
Creating just enough satisfaction by its mere existence
To keep itself going. It’s overwhelmingly much,
Yet it’s achingly little, making you throw yourself desperately
Over unrealistic things, trying to soothe the growing need.
It’s painful, yet when the world delivers, my…
There’s no bliss quite as strong as feeling the worlds collide,
Sending the shock waves of the contact down your soul.
So you throw yourself harder down the next spiral.
It’s just a mistake, you see. A coping mechanism gone wrong
Though can you even claim it is wrong if it does its job?
Because it does tie you over the rough patch,
Your mind so full with your fantasies it’s numb to pain.
Sometimes, when you’re paying enough attention to the process
You can even trick it into becoming an absurd motivation
That walks you up the hill you so happily slid down before.
And when you’re strong enough, you can always disengage,
Get to your feet, breathe out the quicksand,
Shake the clingy bits of obsessions off you
And convince yourself you’ve got everything handled.
This, of course, until the next long stairway
To the bottom of the ravine we call life…
When you are more than happy to push yourself down the next slide.

Imagine

I saw a little boy building today,
Towers in spiralling, beautiful forms,
And rejoiced at the sneak-peek
Of tomorrow’s elegant skyline.
I saw a little girl painting today,
A world covered in flowers and sun,
And rejoiced at the assurance that
The towers will be dressed in gardens.
We know that it’s the silliest thing
To tell children that their worlds
Do not respect the rules of ours.
They will draw outside the lines,
And we let them do it in peace.
It’s a shame we forget, however,
To cut ourselves the same slack
And find forms that match our lines
Instead of cramming our colours
Within the stiff pre-existing shapes.
The world would be a better place
If we all closed our eyes to it,
And let ourselves imagine it anew.
If we imagined so hard we truly believed
That buildings are meant to be spirals
And curtains of flowers should adorn them.
We should believe in things that aren’t true
Or else how could they ever become?
Imagining other worlds is easy
The trick is to look at this world,
See it, feel it, understand it,
And imagine it as other, as better,
And all the ways to bring it there.