Carpe Diem

Alongside posting my own poems I made the decision to start sharing any other poems that captures my attention. This is my way of appreciating the art of poetry and keeping these poems and poets alive.

So I begin with a poem depicting Carpe Diem. To anyone who does not know what that means it simply means “Seize the day”. I’m a great advocate towards living life to the fullest and making the  most of what I have. Live for today, live in the present as tomorrow and that future we so desperately cling on to and seek to achieve may never come to pass.

To The Virgins, to Make Much of Time

Robert Herrick

Gather ye rose-buds while ye may,
Old Time is still a-flying;
And this same flower that smiles today
Tomorrow will be dying.
The glorious lamp of heaven, the sun,
The higher he’s a-getting,
The sooner will his race be run,
And nearer he’s to setting.
That age is best which is the first,
When youth and blood are warmer;
But being spent, the worse, and worst
Times still succeed the former.
Then be not coy, but use your time,
And while ye may, go marry;
For having lost but once your prime,
You may forever tarry.

Today’s Ramblings

Ageless but older

than the prehistoric years.

Devised by men

but has existed long before then.

It mocks us,

by giving us the illusion of eternity,

when all we get is a fraction of the whole.

Fools we must be for believing

that we have complete control .

We are merely puppets within its endless play.

It selfishly rushes forward

while we wither away.

It’s almost laughable;

How tomorrow’s plans

may never leave today.

Tick tock goes the clock

There goes another day.

With every passing moment we blindly

Take one step closer to our graves.

Tick tock,

Can you carry its weight?

Do you hear the ticking?

Do you hear that chime?

Do you feel the skin thin?

Do you feel the presence of time?

Thoughts & Emotions

To those who search for me, just know that I sit at the very edge of that rugged headland; a place where I can peacefully watch the ocean hurl itself against the granitic rocks and drag away the broken pieces into its deep blue care. Truth be told, there are days when I wish that it would do the same to me. But until that happens, I’ll watch the waters trickle down those slippery surfaces like solitary tear drops and revel in the feel of the cold wind against my skin. I’ll breathe in the sea-side aroma and keep on living.

This place, a place that had once brought me solace, now only evokes great sorrow. From here I see the horizon and witness as the sun kisses the ocean. I see the sky change from baby-blue to yellow gold. I watch as it takes up the colors of sunflowers and candle lights and then turn somber and dark and for the first time this unworldly sight is painful to bear. The feeling of weariness is hard to ignore and the reality of my current situation has become heavy to shoulder.

It is within these moments that I find that I miss them the most. I am no stranger to solitude. On most days, I find great comfort and calm in taking long walks along the coastline and immersing myself within the sea of a secluded beach; my thoughts being the only voices that I hear. I think clearer and would normally feel the weight on my chest lighten. But these waters have now turned chilly and the silence of the sand seems to speak with a deafening loudness. Indeed I am no stranger to solitude, but these meaningful walks have become meaningless and I find that I am a stranger to that feeling.

But at the same time I am in no rush to meet new people. Perhaps it is the introvert in me that makes me reluctant to do so, but it would be too easy for me to blame it on such a common trait. I feel that it has more to do with my belief. Some say that those who come into our lives, only to leave it eventually, are bound to leave behind a valuable lesson and from that you’ll learn something, become stronger or wiser but I tend to see it differently.  I feel that with every person you allow into your life, you give away an important part of yourself and with their leaving you lose that part until eventually, after everyone has had a taste of who you are, you are left with nothing. So perhaps I am that rugged headland; the incoming waves being the people who enter and affect my life, but waves were designed to recede, and with its leaving it breaks and takes my pieces until eventually I will be reduced to nothingness.

More

I refuse to accept that this,

this suffocating miniature world

of robots, ants and mindless sheep,

is the life that I get.

I know that it isn’t the life for me.

I refuse to settle for the easy;

To passively mold myself into the shape

of a square and fit within its edges

when I was clearly born to be a circle.

I want more.

I want what lies beyond that blue shimmering depth.

And I know that somewhere, out-there,

that more is patiently waiting for me.

Homesick

It has become a cycle. She would find the strength to hold on, and grasp on any speck of hope but the heart by nature is an impatient child and love itself a fickle dove, and grows weary with the lack of success. She then decides that the best solution would be letting it all go, but doing so would be like walking across a bed of hot stones. She would bravely take the first step and recoil almost immediately, only to realize that holding on was much easier than letting go. Nothing has felt more right to her than fighting for him. If moving on is what she must do then why does it feel like a mistake? Why should she willingly submerge herself into the murky waters of emptiness? She has heard tales of great warriors who have followed their hearts and attained bliss and she is listening; to every beat, every whisper and every sting and it has led her to one place and one person. Was she expected to walk away from that? The homesickness is almost nauseating, constantly weighing her down. She has known happiness, and she has known greatness. She has tasted freedom and bathed in its delight. She has seen her future and turning away from that would only break her.

Excepts from a book I’ll never write

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Dreamers & Deceivers

I am tired of the Dreamers;

these no-good aspirants,

spouting off their fruitless desires,

And empty do they remain

for never are they attained.

Exhausting has it become

listening to the hollow promises

made by these callous deceivers.

They give birth to the monstrous creations

we know as expectations

and pave the route towards disappointment.

So thus I must say

I am tired of myself for I am

known to be one among the sinners.

Who am I to judge,

when I have senselessly spoken

of moments that will never come to pass.