I don’t just want to be in the present

—yes, the present, too

but also

many ages all at once, swallowed, whole and in half-measures

by a great, big, engulfing wave

all the times I

never spoke, always talked, and you never saw

how foolish I was, how wonderful you were

how brief we both existed

together and barely as one


… It seems to me
I can’t express my feelings any more
Than I can raise my voice or want to lift
My hand (oh, I can lift it when I have to).
Did ever you feel so? I hope you never.
It’s got so I don’t even know for sure
Whether I am glad, sorry, or anything.
There’s nothing but a voice-like left inside
That seems to tell me how I ought to feel,
And would feel if I wasn’t all gone wrong.

— Robert Frost, excerpt from A Servant to Servants

my heart

why are you crying?

has life not been fair to you—

not been good to you?

have you stopped beating for beautiful things?

are you company-starved—

yet company no longer warms you?

i wonder that myself sometimes…

you take in so much—

you must burst!

but it becomes everything or nothing—


every impression, every notion, every sound

humans turn to moving dots

cold and soft

floating across the fields of vision

while few remain in your heart

will they too float away

like yourself some day—

and then

who ever held yours?

Suffering is not bad. If you understand it rightly, suffering is a cleansing. If you understand it rightly, sadness has a depth to it which no happiness can ever have. A person who is simply happy is always superficial. A person who has not known sorrow and has not known sadness, has not known the depths. He has not touched the bottom of his being; he has remained just on the periphery. One has to move within these two banks. Within these two banks flows the river.

— Osho


i’d rather hear the roar of machines

than the inner beasts of man

i’d rather smell the burn of tires

than the quiet fire of souls

i seek an emotion that must be pure

not conflicted and cracked to splinters

yet i forego notions of completion

to become one with life

is neither one or the other

darkness slips into light

and i do not accept my mind

numbed to the facts of life

but indulge in fantasies beyond my measure

so terrible and alone

and when the last breath escapes

i see my body of work

and silently weep for the pain