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
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
We are all passing by
Dancing through this life
Skipping through the Milky Way
And yet when everything seems to make sense
We lose sense of it all
We age, we grow, we wither
And beyond the silky skies
The mysteries of existence
We cannot look
We cannot see
We try to peer across the corner
We catch our breaths
But yet again death catches us
Empty handed
It visits us in our homes
With no invitation
It enters our families
Makes friends with our friends
Parades through our lives
Uninvited
Claims us all
Claims everything
This whole entirety is up for grabs
Continuously claimed
Destroyed
And then
There’s room for more creation
The newborn is as much a murderer as my sickness
The seed sown deeply into the ground
Drinks from the blood of its predecessor
It could have not existed
Without a death
In search of meaning we say
We’re all connected
We switch our thoughts
We say it had to die
For life to be brought forth
But no,
There is no meaning in life
We know that
And for all we know as well
There may be even more meaning in death
So we are wrong
It is the other way
Its life that kills not death
And so, only in death can we be set free
Monstrous tentacles ploughing through my veins
(To be rambled very quickly)
Regardless of the debate regarding
the effectiveness of international legalization,
one cannot deny
from a descriptive point of view
that the cultural values of the renaissance
and enlightenment eras in Europe
act as the building blocks
of our modern international liberal order.
To the extent in which
the international normative environment
is contingent on the sociocultural values
of a specific form of polity
(that of Europe to be precise),
an anomaly arises
when such an international model is used
to govern diverse polities
with different understandings of social values.
One could assume
that only when an international order
that better reflects the notion
of uneven and combined development
comes into existence,
then such an anomaly can be solved.
In this respect we may conclude
that the current liberal order is anachronistic
with the logic of social evolution
and of humanity as a whole.
Combined with smiles and laughter I release
My inner anger spreads into the air
The stench of fear is overcome by peace
The calmness of an empty dragon’s lair
A smile so innocent from her lips so pure
Unclothes the pieces of my inner gloom
The more she smiles the more I feel secure
Undressing me as spring bursts into bloom
She shakes as I exchange her gentle touch
We mate and I ascend into a haze
The fire burns as we lay whole and clutch
Our passion keeps the dying flame ablaze
Forever seems to linger far away
All I ask for is another day
The countless thorns we try to pluck
We count and pluck and throw away
Have made another bush beneath our feet
And now the thorns we once had overcome
Are sounding bells for our own sad defeat
When plucking thorns it is a must to think
Beyond the pleasure of the pain
of plucking our own plights
What of the thorns when they’re discharged?
A harmless little lifeless thing we think
But soon enough we come to learn
That as we march towards victory
We drown in our own reckless pride
For such a future prickle pickle
Remember to go against your instinct
Don’t pluck the living hell out of yourself
Instead just treat the wounds and wait until
Those thorny bastards fall off along your way
Pestilence in our imagery controls our sight
And everything we sought to have falls short
Of what our fingertips can reach for
With impaired vision and obstructed touch
We yell out loud to rip apart the void
That engulfs our entirety but alas
Our sounds bounce of the thickness of our cage
And we end up victims of our own decree
With bleeding ears, incapable eyes and severed hands
We rest on what we used to call our home
Turned into something of our grave
Appliances and rooms just objects in the yard
And compounding our ordeal we’re left with taste and smell
The taste of misery and smell of a decaying corpse
bohemiaspeaks 