I’ve been given eyes to see the world
I’ve been given a chest to fill with air
I’ve been given a heart to love
And a sense of awareness to enjoy it all
And yet I find myself sometimes
As lifeless as a rock
Blinded, choked, aching
Yearning to be free
A throbbing heart,
A set of eyes,
A rhythmic breath
And a sense of existence
Do not need practice
And yet I find myself
A complete amateur in life.
bohemiaspeaks.com
If words are made from stardust
Then every thing I’ve ever said
Is made from light,
Even the bad.
If people are made from stardust,
Then every person I’ve ever met
Is made in heaven
Even my enemies.
If worlds are made from stardust,
Then we all are born
In outer space
Even the ones among us
that lack imagination.
So how best to explore the cosmos?
When here,
In this big blue planet of ours:
Are a million galaxies to explore.
Music is so much more than sound
bohemiaspeaks
Music is vibration.
And all that which lives vibrates:
Music is life.
All that which loves vibrates:
Music is love.
I wonder what she sees
When she looks at me
An adventurous man,
or the broken boy inside me.
If only I could wear her face
above my own.
Then maybe,
She could see
the real me.
And then those times
Where life like pleasant clouds
Softly moving through the sky
Without a chartered course
Yet never lost to gazers
from below
And then those times
Where life like wine
Poured into glasses
Red and ripe with zeal
Making us soft at head
Yet never foolish
In our choices
And then those times
Where dreamy Sunday afternoons
Ending with a setting sun
Perched atop a golden gleaming sea
Are simple yet magnificent
Without the need
for audience
And then those times
Where magic lost
Inside our hearts
Is filled with madness
Roaming like a ceiling fan
Only to find ourselves
Where everything began
And then those times
Where life has passed us by
Measured by our memories
Smiles and loves and cries
And then those times
Where life content with what
we have become
Heavy oak trees
Rooted in the ground
Still reaching up
Trying trying trying
To be free
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bohemiaspeaks.com
Love is
The most powerful
force
on the face of
this earth
Binds us together,
breaks us apart
Like the crackling wildfire
Burning through
Forest land
Melting sky with earth
Trees with flowers
Predator with prey
Into a winged
pitch black
amber butterfly
Set free
Gently floating
Above a brazen inferno
Immune to its raging heat
Aloof
Searching for a new place
To call home
To rest
To breathe
To mend
what has been broken
Yes,
when the summer blaze
subsides
There is autumn
And a long cold winter
But then again
there’s spring. :)
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bohemiaspeaks.com
Let me write now alive and well
Roaming in my thoughts
Like I have never roamed before
My heart in pain and soul in anguish
Freed
From all the hubris and make belief
I bear the coldness
of my naked solitude with pride
I will not budge,
I will not hide
But I ask myself:
What difference could I have made?
She’s like a broken water fountain
On a warm day
The thirsty stand in line to take a sip
But all that she can serve them are her tears
And as I stand in line and wait my turn
I’m writing these few lines
To keep me company
I’ll never have her
Although we could have had the world
That’s just the irony of every beautiful thing
It’s always at a distance,
fleeting, beyond reach
But no
I will not budge
I will not hide
I’ll stand under the scorching sun for days
Until her tears and mine
Pour their way into a stream
And share some journey
Towards a setting sun
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bohemiaspeaks.com
I walk barefoot,
Not because I’m naked
Nor poor
Nor in need of shoes
But because I’m curious
To feel and reconnect
With clay beneath my feet
And muddy fields
To voyage through
A forgotten world
That’s right beneath our feet.
Now, we walk barefoot
Together
Fields a bit more green to touch
And as the blades of grass
caress our heels,
the sunshine rains
between our toes.
I feel I know you more.
We dance
I witness all your life
Your past and present
and what’s to come,
As your feet sway gently
across the floor.
And in the morning,
Our hearts still cold
From the loneliness of night
But our feet are bare
and slightly touching
anticipating another day
Making shapes,
telling stories,
and leaving footprints
on our way.
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bohemiaspeaks.com
(Adapted from my post on October 18, 2013)
A poem is a state of mind that manifests itself through words. But what is poetry worth if we lack the boldness to make those words manifest through our actions everyday. If every blogger on the planet acted on the beauty of their words, we would live in paradise.
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bohemiaspeaks.com
I travel the world in metal birds
Wings roaring fire and steam
Lift me high above the clouds
And when I land in some place far away
I ask myself if it is night or day
My heart eclipsed by neon lights
Luring strangers passing by
I claim a vacant room and call it home,
– (For now).
I see the sunlight
Bursting through the hotel curtains
But never seem to have the time
To step inside the sun
And as the world slowly burns itself to sleep
I know my place among the stars
Drifting in my thoughts
To where it’s cold and gray
That solitude of foreign land
That never seems enough
To make you stay
Yet is enough to make you hopeful
For just another day
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bohemiaspeaks.com
That which we call life
That which we call love
Serenaded under the sun
Hanging in the air
Dancing in a cup of coffee’s steam
Broken like the grass beneath us
But green
A withering apple tree
Will ripen with the days,
And share its fruity love
With bees and mocking jays.
In snowfall there is hope,
For those of us who roam
The footprints of a deer
Will always point towards home
And scorching suns may turn
A sandy shore to coal,
But wavy seas will rise
To soothe our aching soles.
Those seasons of decay
Will always end in May
And every broken heart,
Will mend itself with clay.
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bohemiaspeaks.com
Metal bird
Fly with me
Above the clouds
Take me home
To where the eagles nest
Take me there
With feathers made of steel
Take me back in time
So that this cage
Can sleep again
In mountains, hills
And rivers
Scattered like my heart
A thousand pieces
In a land that I call home
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Canon AE-1 Film Camera / Frankfurt, Germany (May 2015)
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bohemiaspeaks.com
An African New World invention combining the best of both European and African elements, early banjos made their way across the ocean to an unwelcoming land. In their new home these musical machines unleashed an exotic power that soon became commonplace (ever heard Cotton-eye Joe?). In their transformation from crude tribal lutes to engines of a new folk culture, Banjos laid testament to the magical influence of music. Captors’ hearts were unwittingly captivated and legions of haters were defeated with song. Today the Banjo is relegated to halls of fame as this painful past is dusted under the rug of time and as new Banjo’s leave their mark in history.
Detailed information about the history of the Banjo here:
http://www.musicfolk.com/docs/Features/Feature_Banjo.htm
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bohemiaspeaks.com
Capturing moments on film restores a long-lost sense of belonging to our screens. It defies the fleeting imagery of our digital world. With unplugged precision space and time are distorted. Yet they scream with the same authenticity of nature.
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bohemiaspeaks.com
Nature is technology
Design is divination
And all our man-made toys
Piggyback on creation
From Eden’s luscious gardens
To the Apple of Francisco
Idols still erected
Some rain-dance others disco
Yet people like a cancer
Spreading with a jitter
Hard-wiring the universe
From Mr. Morse to Twitter
And every tool is searching
For a righteous hands’ command
Our greatest foe –
Our only ally
Depending on where you stand
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bohemiaspeaks.com
Re-blogged from 3 years ago. Happy International Women’s Day.
In the heart of the desert
Wisdom is an oasis
On the pathway of every caravan
Our lives a carpet ride
Above the burning sands
With no escape
From raging dunes
We were not meant
to be awake
Under the sun
It is as if
the human race
Is in a tug-of-war
Six billion carpet tassels
Floating in the wind
Tied to each other
Each pulling towards
its end in vain
A living tapestry
But as for me
Carpets are
not meant to fly
I weave myself to stay
instead
Seek refuge here
Above the sand
Sewing myself
into this desert land.
Without the grains
the desert would not be
But in its being,
grains of sand are free
To make their way
across the dunes
To wander for eternity
Without constraint
That’s how we’re meant to be
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Character: 49/100
When you strip down visual art to its constituent parts – paintings, photographs, material installations, movies, concrete skyscrapers, embroidered textiles.. – they all seem to speak the same fundamental language. Just like mathematics is the foundation of all sciences, writing is the bedrock of visible artistic form. A word is more than just a movement with the hand, or a stroke of characters on a keyboard. It is a visual expression of human interaction honed by memory and experience. It is the most basic visualization of emotion and thought nurtured by generations of culture and civilization. When a word is breathed on paper – just like a painter’s brush on canvas – a calligraphic shape soon becomes surreal. The only difference is that with writing, we all have access to this imaginary world. For every true writer is an artist and every true artist is a writer. What do you think?
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bohemiaspeaks.com
Mischievous diva
Plant your tentacles here
Let rivers part their way
And deltas break the earth
Into a thousand rings
Muddy emotions
Resting on the sand
Damp with barren colors
Yet fertile in the sun
Cast your infinite hairline
Into these oceans deep
Quench the thirst
Of salty reefs
Inundate mountains
Soften their peaks
Before they rise
From valleys unseen
And when the sky goes dark
What difference does it make
To moonlit horizons
Where clouds and water meet
There is your home
Where form can take no shape
But love
Where dreams take refuge
From dusk till dawn
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The Ganges River is commonly referred to as Ganga in various Hindi dialects. The river enjoys a rich mythological significance. For many Hindus, the Ganges signifies one of the many stories of creation comparable to what is commonly known in the west as the story of Noah’s arc.
Sometimes a few words, meaningless in and of themselves, and loosely scattered can say much more about a thing than all the monographs and manuscripts in the world. Racism in America is like a bunch of mirrors pointing at each other. The more you try to see yourself, the more you see a million other selves. Your race, your bank account, your God, where you’re from, your parents, your values, your clothes, your accent, your role models all caught up in an infinite visual prism glistening on network TV. You lean to the left, and they all lean with you. You look away and who knows who looks back.
Broken Brown
Lying down
Joins his people
In the ground
Shoulders touching
Sirens sound
Marching onward
For his town!
Mothers worry
Sisters cry
Fathers suffer
Brothers die
Nations color
Outside the line
Children colored
With shades of crime
Crayons never
Tell a lie
Guilty people
Seldom cry
Drawing pictures
In their heads
Who’s to blame
You or I?
Who’s to blame,
Broken Brown.
Join the conversation
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bohemiaspeaks.com
Lamps shining steadily
Casting shadows
Into darkness
Tasteful words
Still wet
Sprayed in red
Thoughts void
Timeless
Floating freely
Bones forged
With bars
Bolted doorways
Hiding yesterday
Walls trapped
Inside their concrete skin
Shedding truths
Cities bustling
Above their rubble
Revolutions peeking
Through imaginary keyholes
Welcoming tomorrow
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Can you smell the dawn
Grazing along the surface
Of the foamy sea
Can you feel the breeze
Push against your face
And fill your lungs
With endless love
Can you hear the morning prayer
Echoing through the city’s stones
Silent sponges, hardened memories
Can you see the seamstress enterprising
The baker smiling
As she tosses life between her palms
Can you taste the sweetness
Of an innocent hope
And steadfast faith
Staring the centuries in the eyes
Without budging
In the sea
In the air
In the people of this place
A testament to god’s magnifecence
And his eternal grace
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bohemiaspeaks.com/about
Everything in the sun glows
Nothing cold,
nor untouched
And although streams of water
Seldom find meaning in their paths
Rivers always seem to find their way
Towards the sea
Greeting that eternal lightness
Every morning
With gentle murmurs
Until the dusk of time
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bohemiaspeaks.com/about
I am currently working on a new book that tells the story of Cordoba an ancient city in medieval Spain. Cordoba has so much to teach us about coexistence, tolerenace and love. Yet it remains forgotten in our modern accounts of history. More than 1000 years ago and for a brief hundred years or so, it was the largest and most extravagant city in the world where people from all walks of life lived together in harmony – until Cordoba was destroyed. I hope to share with you some bits and pieces of the story along the way.
And never
Would I have thought
That we would share
Those words
From all the words
That we have shared
And not
Only a few
To mark the end
As they depart
Into that haze
Above my thoughts
I greet your words
With rain
To fall upon
A different land
To meet again
Endless conversations
From the sky
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bohemiaspeaks.com/about
Confined to the very elements that make up who we are, we struggle every day to break the rules of nature. And little do we know that nature’s rules are only broken with little blows to our inner selves and to those we love around us. Above the rubble of what we break are countless heaps of problems that need repair. And only through the same collective pain that wrought this err can we find amends for our transgressions.
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This deeply touched me. Let’s all show this girl the support she deserves.
In the beautiful steamy haze floating above my morning coffee I sat there on a narrow balcony and stared at the old alleyways and streets that spoke to me of many memories and tales. The bitter brew of the finest Arabic coffee grains soaking in my mouth painted every image in my mind with the darkest shades of brown until the city melted into something from the past, a past that I could not recall. Emperors came and emperors left but here we have remained for thousands of years rejoicing with the bounties of our generous land and sea withstanding every conqueror, conquering every journeying heart until Cordoba with every piece of stone and brick and wooden stall became a sleeping giant taking refuge beneath the gentle lashes of a history that chose to spare us all.
What does writing teach us
Other than to love
What blot of ink
Can say a word
Without a mouth
To make us hear
What voice pronounced
Can speak to us
Without a thought
To resonate in our minds
Yet speech without a sound
Can change the world
With words of love
What pen, what paper
Can speak louder
Than our hearts
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bohemiaspeaks.com/about
That longing
Slowly dying
At the bottom
Of your chest
You can feel its heartbeat
Faintly throbbing
Rising every morning
With you
Still awake
For years
Like a school of daisies
Waiting innocently
For the sun
To shine
Feeding from
The coldeness of
The earth
Taking refuge in a soil
Roughened by the days
Each grain of sand
A thousand years of memory
Stale waters
Soaking roots
Soggy pores
Sleepy buds
Blossoming peacefully
Only when its time
Beyond the stories
Of this world
Transcendent is
That uncivilized passion
That raw melancholy
That natural desire
To expand
Germinating in every grain
Of pollen
That instictual love
That beauty
That currency of existence
Ethereal
Swaying beneath
Our ignorant eyes
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bohemiaspeaks.com/about
Headline, technology is depleting this planet’s most valuable resource, humanity. An environmentalist might beg to differ and would probably say that our most valuable resource is nature and the environment. That humanity and the tools it has developed in its struggle for self-awareness has cursed this earth. But we are the eyes and ears of this universe. Humanity being the state of conscious cooperation and procreation is a manifestation of this universe’s desire to create. Advanced string theory has shown this. Great minds such as Stephen Hawking’s have explained it. And as Carl Sagan has eloquently put it, “we are a way for the cosmos to know itself”. So how can our tools be negative or bad when they are an expression of universal will?
Let’s talk about energy for example and please forgive the following simplistic argument. CO2 emissions may destroy the atmosphere and cause lung cancer, but they also can help create machines that can restore the atmosphere and save peoples lives across the world. The punch line is that destruction lurks behind every creation. Even if this whole planet ran on fusion energy generated from water there still would be a level of environmental degradation no matter how small.
Although fusion is truly the energy of the future in its efficiency and low carbon footprint, it still breaks down water which although is much more abundant than oil, could someday also lead to problems of global warming. Someday billions of years down the line? But still, someday. So this means that one cannot deny that humanity’s desire for energy comes at the expense of destroying this planet’s natural habitat; a habitat that would remain intact if humans were not present.
But what is this planet without humans? What is this planet without desire? Scientists from across across disciplines have long described earth as a planet with ideal conditions for life. It is truly ironic that these ideal conditions for creating life are also ideal conditions for destroying it. So the question is: Can humanity satisfy its legitimate desires for self-fulfillment without harming the natural order of our planet’s ecosystem? And the answer is unfortunately, no.
However, if we rephrase the question and ask: Can humanity satisfy its legitimate desires for self-fulfillment without jeopardizing the natural conditions laid down for life? And thankfully the answer is yes, there is a way to fulfill our desires as conscious organisms without degrading the conditions that have allowed us to be conscious in the first place. But this requires a fundamental shift in how we view technology and what we use it for.
Technology should not be judged from the rudimentary viewpoint of its impact on our planet and its natural ecosystem. But rather, technology should be judged from how it impacts humanity, and the shared value of universal procreation. As human beings we are a perfect embodiment of the natural organization of things. We are organically linked to our natural surroundings including our great planet earth.
We live in unity with earth and nature because we are organically one. And our technologies should be focused on preserving this unity. So the way we define the ecosystem of our planet should factor in human beings and their desire for technology and innovation. Our technologies should be focused on fulfilling human desires without endangering humanity’s ability to survive.
This obviously is the notion of sustainable development. But the difference here is that survival does not necessarily mean the preservation of earth’s natural order. Survival means a combined evolution and progression between humanity and this planet as one. This is the only way that we can ensure the survival of our race indefinitely and that we can honor the life that has been given to us.
However, today technology is breaking us apart from this organic unity with earth. With increasing carbon emissions we are changing the face of our planet at a rate that is much faster then what we are capable of handling. Our technologies are focused on warfare, and the ones that are not, are focused on commercialism and are profit-oriented. Has technological advancement ever been focused on human development without the need for profit?
Today the sum product of technologies focused on the fulfillment of human desires creates an outcome that is not conducive to the maintenance of the natural conditions set forth for these desires to exist in the first place. These natural conditions are not only related to earth and its natural ecosystem but also to society, its values, and the broader concepts of human dignity and self-fulfillment. Our technologies should be humane. Our technologies should be natural. Our technologies should be focused on preserving this organic unity between earth and the human race.
How do such technologies look like? What is the rationale behind their development? I do not know. But we need to start asking these questions. All that I can say is that I feel immense joy while watching those post-apocalyptic movies in which humans use crazy-advanced technologies but still walk barefoot in their village and climb trees. So the real question is I guess, how can we live in a post-apocalyptic world without an apocalypse? Good luck answering that.
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The children gathered by her side, that gray haired lady spoke above the sound of crackling firewood. And as her squeaky voice filled up the room, a solemn silence creeped forward from the dark. Our shadows cast upon the wall, it seemed that we were stuck between two worlds. Unable to escape this mesmerizing tale, our ears were captive to her lips that somehow softened as we listened more. With every word her youthful countenance unmasked, fluttering in the paleness of the flames. She spoke:
It is in grief
That we bond
And in happiness
That we disperse
So question
Every time you smile
Are you happy
Or sad?
The anomaly of life
Is this
Billions wired to
A painful smile
Fighting to conceal
Their inner fears
And happiness
Becomes an act
of solidarity
Forged by the flaws
Of self-fullfilment
Who would want
To live alone
in this cold world?
We’ve flipped the dials
To choose a life of smiles
Interrupted by a thousand tears
And nothing is
Nor ever will be
What it seems
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A humiliation I can’t describe. That monster that can hide inside the carelessness of those we cherish most. A trans-Siberian railway roaring with emotion never stops. In nature bound to locomotive paths of steel. Tearing at the tracks below its feet, stacks of metal longing to be scratched. Mine is a life of stations in the distance seen. Stations fleeting bidding their farewells ahead of time. Stations bleeding with contempt of what they are. Stations whistling signaling the advent of a purge. And as the passengers stand their turn, a trans-Siberian monster preps it’s appetite. Feeding off mementos of a clueless throng. Feeding off their love and hope and dignity. Feeding off their memories so that we can live in peace. And prosper on what they have to leave behind. Before our train arrives.
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I float and fall into the morning showers of Bethlehem. And nest myself like mist on every blade of grass divine. Crawl into the olive trees and soak into their barks and leaves, a thousand years of memories with every harvest and every savored meal. A drop of water, wiping faces blank. Dripping windowsills, rinsing stains of yesterday for us to see our home before it wakes. And after sunrise, a sparkling tapestry revealed across the land. A town reborn, sprinkled with a sense of ease. A joy so damp, you can taste it. A belonging blood can never wash away. For everyone to cherish and for no one to claim. This is my home. That’s all that matters. Whatever you call it, is just a name.
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I see this castle here
Water flowing
Above the sand
Greatness down
To the very last
Golden grain
Time is flowing
Underneath my feet
Waves dancing
With the sandy shores
And even the sharpest rocks
Lose their temperament
And become glossy
Like the sea
An eternal patience
Eating slowly from the land
From our homes
From our lives
From our dreams
Testifying to a universal truth
That nothing is what it seems
The world is a broken hourglass
And we are just its means
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Let the winter come
Let the storms hit bay
Let there be no innocence
In the month of may
Let the bleeding cry
And the darkness reign
Let the cold take every heart
A thousand years of pain
Let the fields go bare
Let the hungry die
Let there be no stars above
To guide a moonless sky
Let the music play
And the artists paint
Let there be a time for us
To cherish every saint
Let the singers sing
And the writers write
Let them make a meaning of
These tragedies in sight
And why were those words ever said
Let there be a light
What good has light brought to this world
When all we’ve done is fight
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bohemiaspeaks.com/about
in memory of Nelson Mandela
Slow footsteps, but sure ones through the morning mud. Mortimer was awake and waiting for us to save him. But as we walked around the mountain tops the day fell victim to the dark. What cometh then, we could have never known.
Long winters hibernating through our memories, spring cleaning for a braver day. The cold inside was profound. The darkness bleak like raven skin. A thousand pies would never make me smile, a thousand winds could never take our ship to bay.
And in the jungle of that island land, a thousand days of rainfall. Pounding drops of a saltless sea falling from above. Dampening the mud below our naked feet. With every step a squeeling ooze of muddy throngs yearning for deliverance.
I turned to Annabel, she was dead. Our chains still binded us as we dragged her corpse along the way. Our horde was destined to work the land. Towards that quarry we walked with dying footsteps counting down the days.
I turned to Mortimer, he was awake. Waiting for the morning sun. Waiting for his friends to save him from the coldness of his home. And when it was my time, I bathed inside the mud. Stripped naked, dragged along an endless line of misery. I closed my eyes and slipped away hoping that the load of my decaying corpse won’t be too much a burden for those who chose to live another day.
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http://bohemiaspeaks.com/about/
Winter is at our doorsteps. Trees turning a raunchy gold setting all their leaves afloat. Free salads showering through the air. This is no golden shower, for all those trying to picture something nice? No. But ease your mind and you can see an alternative truth to that which is presented.
Our brain is no muscle, but like a muscle feels. Its churning up there day and night, neurons like soviet era assembly lines working across the clock for a greater cause. It comes in handy to have a brain. Even more in handy these days when its actually working. But sometimes using that brain or being mindful means letting go, sizing down, laying off some people in that cerebral factory of yours.
We are all born as mental entrepreneurs, tasked to bring order to our faculties upstairs. We choose drugs, alcohol, sex, aggression to cut down on unwanted staff. We choose art, love, hope and compassion to bring our ranks in order and keep morale high. And all the world is churning in this unreal space. An industrial revolution of desires. An invisible war of nervous impulses. From control economies to economies of control, what difference does it make. Flyers, banners, slogans, ads, rhetorical conversations interacting across a space of minds.
And all we need to realize is that everything is packaged in our skulls. Quite the image if you could see it. This economy of the physical world, this marketplace of ideas, its happenings and fate are attached to our mental sweatshops. Cooperatives, lobbies, unions of contemplating states formed between our friends, in our community and across the world.
Point is, life is a state of mind and those minds are ours to oversee. Despite the dawn of liberal age, relics of a darker past stand still and unchanged. With empty humanism and fake notions of self determination we are forced to live. The machinery of our desires unrefined and geared towards our own self destruction. To make things right, calm your thoughts and treat your workers well. All it takes is a bit of faith, persistence and imagination to build the ideal home. And Mr. Francis, history by no means at all has ended!
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http://bohemiaspeaks.com/about/
I am becoming more inclined to share more of myself on this blog. Especially with all the great support and words of encouragement from many of you. I will no longer hide behind my poetry or mask the messages so that I can satisfy the hubris of being shared.
Today I’d like to share a video of a team that works in the World Bank and that’s trying to start a website like Kickstarter in Iraq. The project will allow young students and NGO members to get funding for any crazy project they may have. People that have dreams can actually make them come true.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CeqMNAHSvJw&feature=youtu.be
There is no mobile internet in Iraq. There is no online banking. By using simple text messages, this project solves that issue. People with ideas post projects on a website. In return people that want to donate text a special code on their mobile phones and a small amount of money is taken out of their phone credit and transferred to that project’s fund.
Just by sharing the video and showing your support, this team could get $68,000 from the World Bank to fund the project. A simple idea that could possibly really make a difference.
A poem is a state of mind that manifests itself through words. But what is poetry if we lack the boldness to make those words manifest through our everyday actions.
Love you all,
JK
Sun melts sky
Burning curtains
All that’s left
Are sprinkled stars
Across a day
Called night
Twinkling truths
Sexless constants
There is no black or white
In light
There is no darkness
There is no bright
My home this world
And all it’s living things my life
Your face is all I see
Your eyes a gateway
To a better world
A better self
I learn to lose that self
And join this greater good
I smile and laugh and cry
And hurt and live
Until my every moment
Is an act of love
And like a sunset there
Lifts a dawn
In some place else
I want my soul
To lift this world
Towards the sky
So that we melt togehter
Into that burning truth
And join the stars
Making concious love
Freed from tasteless
Immortality
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http://bohemiaspeaks.com/about/
I walk barefoot, this urge I have so strong. Not because I’m naked nor poor nor in need of shoes. But because I’m curious. To feel and reconnect. From asphalt sidewalks to muddy fields of grass. A voyage through the unforeseen, that’s seen. And we all wonder, why the poor are seen.
We walk barefoot. And as the blades of grass caress our heels, the sunshine rains between our toes. I feel I know you more. Back home we dance. I witness all your life. Your past and present and what’s to come, as you sway your feet across the floor.
And in the morning, our feet cold from loneliness are touching slightly. We’ve left the world behind. We’ve left the places. We’ve left time itself. A sobering stillness melting from below. Bare feet touching anticipating another day.
No words are needed. No sounds. No smiles. We mold our dreams from clay. Making shapes, telling stories, and painting footprints on our way.
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http://bohemiaspeaks.com/about/
I by no means whatsoever claim nor ever will that what I write has any special significance or inherent value to anyone but myself. I do not claim nor ever will that I am a uniquely talented writer and do not really think so. However, after recently attempting to publish some of my poems in the form of an E-Book and failing to attract that much interest from the world I realized that most writers these days and people in general are constantly thriving for the approval of others and for some sort of recognition or appreciation for what they deem so great and worthy to share.
The bottom line is that throughout history the greatest artistic creations were rarely recognized or appreciated only to be picked up many years later by revisionists – analyzed and dissected. Added to that of course, is the great amount of competition writers are forced to acclimate themselves with these days in the realm of publishing.
I found myself thriving to craft my work and package it in a way that would sell to the average buyer on a virtual store that sifts through hundreds of book covers. Consumerism is eating away from our ability to share valuable information. Consumerism has made our minds more geared towards idiosyncratic gratification that is not in line at all with the difficult and sometimes unpleasant messages that result from inspiring works of art.
So a creative mind today is faced with two options. Either go rogue and write without caring about being recognized – and recognition here (for the record) is for the sake of sharing and not vanity – or allow yourself to compromise the quality of your message in return for higher chances of dissemination. Packaging, toning down, addressing certain issue areas and styles, digital marketing, graphic design, keywords, hash tags, artistic approaches, trending genres etc. are all noble ways to reach a wider audience.
However, is there a way to maintain that raw message resulting from pure inspiration and that desire to share with as many people as possible? No, and that has become clear to me now. There is no value judgement in this statement. Those who wish to reach a mass quickly and effectively have every right to do so. I do not think that the quality or value of their messages are less relevant or of inferior quality. But I do think that true and raw inspiration cannot be packaged and disseminated widely at the click of a button. It needs time to mature and slowly grow organically into the everyday lives of people.
That said, after more than 2 years I’ve decided to refrain from publishing and turn this blog into a virtual scrapbook in which I share any message I feel I need to share, any poem or couplet, any prose or thought or image. A virtual scrapbook of a person that honestly and earnestly appreciates beauty and longs for inspiration in a world that is in dire need of both.
Love,
J.K.
Does it end here?
Or begin
Bubble gum
Without a flavor
In my mouth
But I still chew
As I clean my gun
Same flavor on repeat
Planes revving
Rockets loading
Ships aligned
Seagulls waiting for their cue
Distant sirens
Executions in the dozen
Dusty roads empty
Throbbing cities silenced
This ancient place
Once so green and lively
Disconnected from its course
In history
Foreign thoughts
Values foreign to our ways
Occupation, bloodshed, wars
Dictators, mullahs, crazy clerics
Oil, gas, Jerusalem
Crimes of conviction and interest
Intertwined
Let us rest
Let us be
Let us live
There must be something
Fundamental, wrong
With this world
That so much hate and chaos
Can materialize
In this space and time
As if the universe
Churns its problems
And spits them in our mouths
So much commotion in a simple grain of sand
Blown across the world
Prompters, cameras, media lights
Particles colliding, merging, separating
In cyberspace
Sub-atomic wars every day
In cable lines and simple air
But all we see are dunes of sand
And huffed up speeches
So much commotion everywhere
In this world
Of material form
How can we be so beautiful?
When we’re condemned
To this commotion
Invisible disorder
Inside the fabric of our universe
And so we kill and rape and fuck
Bound by creative chaos
Until we die
Until we’ve been replaced
In sandy dunes
A few oases
Can never make a home
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Poem 105
What’s that on your hand?
Too long a story to be shared
Longer than a boat ride then?
I don’t know where to start
Where does your heart take you?
Everywhere
But now its hovering around your lips
Its floating around the crevices of your smile
Trying to understand
The stories behind that pensive look
Shrewd remarks
Laughing but shy
Humming but not carefree
Who are you stranger?
I’ve told so many lies
I feel I know you well
Have we met before?
Impossible
Why are we so different then?
I could never tell
Are you afraid of water?
It’s cold and I am tired
But yet we are so young
What’s your name again?
No need
How could we sometimes feel
So connected, just for a bit
And never have the courage
To ask for more?
Accustomed to being who we are
And with who we usually are with
I may have met my soul mate
We may have shared
So many early morning laughs
But now that’s just another story
To be told
Thought about at night
When reflecting about the day
As I’m getting old
And nearer to the bay
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Poem 104
Sidewalk cliffs
Beauty bounded
But smiling still
Her fingers wrap around
A cigarette
Her phone pulled out
From skinny jeans
Pockets ripped
I can see her skin
She takes a call
And walks on still
She looks both ways
And falls away
Forever
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Poem 103
It’s sobering when sitting by your side
A heavy presence laid upon my heart
Just like a whistling kettle I am free
To drink the fire of our love at start
Then burn inside consumed with my own doubts
Until I spit it out so uselessly
An old affair with passion and some clout
Is nothing but hot air before a tea
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Poem 102
I slide through this world
Just like that jam dripping
From edges of the jar
After breakfast
On cold kitchen tops
Turned up side down
Sticking to what I know
Falling reluctantly
Towards a frying pan
Watered down
Evaporated all around the room
Until I smell of everything
And everything smells of me
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Friends, I have no idea how to continue this blog, this experiment, after creating 100 characters/100 poems. I have decided to practice free-writing for some time. Hope you enjoy it as much as I do. Peace and love to all.
After spending around 2 years writing poetry about fictional characters from all around the world, I asked a friend who is more in touch with the geeky tech world to put together a WORD CLOUD from all the poems that featured on this blog.
As many of you know, a world cloud is generated based on the number of times a word happens to be in a given body of text. Out of 100 poems and around 25,000 words the more a word recurs the larger it would be in the cloud. So looking at the result for bohemiaspeaks in which characters from all walks of life are pouring their hearts out in poetry is sort of a mini-exercise that tries to capture the essence of human nature and emotions.
Lo and behold, the result is a beautiful portrait that I will have to hold on to for some time and think about. I will not try to make sense of the exact recurrence of words in this cloud, I do not think that we need to. But I think that we can just look at it, enjoy its randomness and beauty, and be grateful for any word inside that resonates with us.
This word cloud is the common denominator between: the sex worker in Amsterdam, the Child Worker in Hanoi, the Taxi Driver in Manhattan, the Investment Banker in Calcutta, the Plumber in Buenos Aires, the Soldier in Baghdad, the Gypsy Weaver in the south of Spain, the Pop Star in Tokyo, the Woman in a Burka in Kandahar, the Painter in Lima, the Whirling Dervish in Istanbul, the Female Activist in London, the DJ in Ibiza, the Cancer Patient, the Sailor, the Sociologist, the Pilot, the Eskimo, the Suicide Bomber, the Swahili Hunter, the Pigeon Keeper, the Scriptwriter, the Gravedigger and the list goes on and on covering 100 characters!!!
This is a visual testament that there is no difference between us all. Across races, nationalities, professions, religions, political affiliations we can still find so much words in common. Words like “love”, “life”, “together”, “dreams” and “truth”. Or words like “fear”, “pain”, “empty”, “darkness” and “burn”.
In conclusion of this experiment, I guess our lives are nothing but a word cloud in progress. It is up to us to decide which words will appear with greater weight. If we take a snapshot of our lives right now, what words would be counted most? What words would be counted most if we took a snapshot of the world? And based on this knowledge, how will we act accordingly?
A famous poet called Rumi once said: “Let your words rise, and not your voice. For it is the rain that grows flowers and not the thunder”.
Just some food for thought.
Sincerely,
The Author of Bohemiaspeaks
bohemiaspeaks 