The Voice Within

Woken, from oblivion, with a racing heart,

By a voice, subtle, that speaks from within,

He rises, squinting his heavy eyes,

And strains his ears to hear,

He struggles to hear what it means to say,

For he has no choice but to hear it,

Inescapable is that which the soul speaks,

For it speaks from behind the ears that one can shut,

And so he defers to this call, this incessant speech,

Shutting himself from all else,

And the voice of the others grow dim and soft,

As he slips further within, in his hunt for this,

He finds it's the voice of his heart's desires,

Such desires that feel so pure, so real,

Desires, inescapable, that only grow stronger,

Desires that promise to become firm purpose,

The kind of purpose that life must hold on, to live,

Purpose that moulds, that shapes that life itself,

Thus drawn, he listens with all his heart,

To the intimate sounds of its own beats,

Kept awake by this loud whisper,

His eyes stay wide open behind closed sheets,

Dreaming bright colours, blind to the dark,

While this voice, now clear, begins to sing,

It's a moment of pride, of triumph, a win,

When he finally hears all that it says,

For his pursuit, his dive, his long conquest,

Has finally ended, yielding its fruits,

Knowing he's listening, the voice speaks more,

Decorating, flowery his once vague, wordless wish,

Ah, it's a sight to see him thus,

Rapt, like the man, looking, dazed, into his lover's eyes,

It's a pride to see a man win thus,

Losing himself in the search for his soul,

Nay he's not lost, for he's found himself,

The one who hears, clear, this voice,

Or so they say, who haven't known truth,

And who haven't heard a sound within,

It's strange how a win blinds one,

Like when a thought is spoken, another, within, dies,

For it's hard to believe that a search for one's soul,

Has ended forever, with the sound of a voice,

For, no matter what it means to say,

It's still a mere expression of a mouth not seen,

Despite being intelligent, deep and aligned,

And aware of what he truly wants,

It's a pity he sees now,

Merely a voice, albeit within,

He stops when he's heard the words in its voice,

And doesn't seek to find the source of its sound,

Perhaps he's tired, for he's searched for so long,

And chooses to stop, when he's found a little gold,

Ah, they say it's truth, the voice of the soul,

But is that all that comes from the chambers of the heart,

And if one must judge and measure even words from within,

How deep could truth, really be hidden?

Why does Nature seek to have its way,

By hiding a man's soul, deep,

Behind desire that takes so long to find,

And forsaking him on an eternal search for it,

And as per its ruthless ploy, he searches,

In the desperate hope to quench his dissatisfaction,

And, digging, deep enough to find desire, mistaking it for himself,

He feels it's his own, like the rest of his herd,

Vowing to obey, to fulfil its whim,

Oh, how can a voice, be it without or within,

Be yours, my friend, unless you choose its words?

Tricked thus, by the Father who hides,

Within the soul whence speaks this tongue,

He walks, naive, to do its bidding,

Claiming to act out of free will, independent,

And so he nods his head in rhythm with this song,

Humming along, now and then,

And as it grows louder within,

He dances, in a trance, to its compelling tunes,

He waltzes in circles, but spirals in,

Drawn to the centre of a field unknown,

Bereft of reason that he once prized,

Defending, somehow, this new trend,

He nods, in a trance, to the whims of this voice,

Cheered by a crowd that once reasoned with him,

They all rejoice, imploring that he speak his mind,

Twisting lines from the wise, the fools, even his own,

Aah, it's strange, this world of ours,

That fights for bread on hungry nights,

Speaks words of reason to earn nods,

And feigns logic when their bellies are full,

And now, when a thirst rises, of a different kind,

Logic dissolves in hungry preference,

And he moves, swift and quiet, fuelled by intent,

Lest reason or society attempt to foil his ploy,

Propelled by this desire placed by an unknown hand,

In the innermost chambers of his soul,

He's stirred into action to fulfill the quest,

Like all the others, to find peace,

It's strange to see how the momentum within,

Defies, easily, the science without,

With inspiration building from within one,

Sans the need for another's hand,

Know, my friend, that behind this voice,

Could lie, your soul, untouched and pure,

Who knows, there's more perhaps, hidden beneath,

The depth that's soaked in darkness sans light,

Like life, I'm sure, there's both brightness and dark,

Treasures, hidden, alongside horrors,

Doors that, when opened, could change who you seem,

And somewhere there, your soul too,

Know my friend, like you know of the world,

The good and the bad that the depth within, holds,

Know to dig deep to know true joy,

But know ye more, to stop,

At the level of depth that grants you peace.

Hopeless

Flushed outwards from a realm holier,
I lie 'pon the surface of a depth I once rejoiced,
My heart filled with untold agony,
That fills my eyes with tears,

I wake, heavier, day after day,
Clinging onto the thinning rope of hope,
As the pain of being forsaken weighs me down,
And the nimble heart grows brittle and dry,

They see me dance and deem it joy,
But know not, in truth, that I writhe in pain,
Unable to share the pain I feel,
I drag my corpse through the tunnel of the day,

My nights are dark, long and damp,
Getting colder each day, on my poor skin,
And yet, I pull my sheets and sing,
To distract my soul, so I live another day,

Help will come but there's time still,
Time that's valuable, yet time to kill,
So come my friend, sit by this fire with me,
Let's share this warmth and sing a song.

The Song

As the grim bells of doom grow louder,
The heart gets ready at last, to turn inwards,
Each second readier than it was the last,
To accept the arrival of impending death,

And as the soul accepts its dark fate,
Sets in, within, a tranquil state,
The eerie silence of terror unclouds,
Giving way to peace that's loud,

And within that silence, I hear a whisper,
A feeble sound, a squeak, a faint murmur,
Listening further, I found it was a hum,
The sound of a tune I'd heard since I was young,

'Twas familiar, yet new, this tune, this song,
A tune I hadn't heard, but my soul knew,
Like that cafe you'd walked past, but never noticed,
Like the letters of a word you'd never observed,

This song, I found, felt cool and warm,
Cushioning my angst in this dark, lonely realm,
It soothed my soul and eased my pain,
Whispering words of solace and calm,

I saw, now, this was the song of my angels,
Locked within the deepest chambers of my soul,
It'd sung ceaseless, throughout my life,
But hidden by the noises of the without's strife,

I see it's played, this tune sacred,
Beside the beats of my now slowing heart,
And while death draws closer than ever,
This song, my song, plays louder,

I wished I'd stopped, when alive, for a while,
Paused, for a moment during my busy life,
I wished I'd heard this song divine,
So it'd have made me feel less alone,

And now, I sent my thanks to the Divine,
For bringing my focus to this gentle sound,
For now, as darkness closes in, ruthless and fast,
My wounds hurt less and I'm at peace at last

The Object of Desire

I stagger, dazed at the beauty I behold,
Rapt, in that beauty of which I've only heard,
My heart throbs in leashless desire,
As my feet move, unhighed, towards her,

She holds something that draws me close,
An object that pulls me into a pit bottomless,
It's something unique, that which she holds,
And it makes her what she is, to my eyes,

And I wonder, as I'm pulled closer,
If I've fallen for it or for her,
Do I see her for all she is,
Or am I blind to all but this?

Am I limiting all that she is, to a small possession,
Be it her beauty, her body, or that great profession?
Should I see her as that dark form she sees when she pictures herself?
Or as even more, the parts even she doesn't recognise, of her self?

And then, as I come close, I see,clear,
That none can see another, no matter how near,
I chose to stick to what she says of her,
And wait, by her lips, conscious of what she utters,

I swear to learn from words and not,
And learn of her, the way to be known she sought,
After all, a person sees only a part of even their self,
And in love, I ought to love what I liked and not,

And as I wonder, holding my gaze,
My thoughts shining through the darkness of my daze,
I see, clear, I'd put myself in her hands,
Be they arms of care or evil clutches,

But alas, she sees not me, nor my soul,
For she's lost, in the pursuit of another,
I watch, hurt, as she staggers like me,
Struggling to look and be the best she can be,

And then, when she courts, she offers him her soul,
And the object I sought stands beside others baring its all,
She bears him her soul, awaiting his call,
Her arms outstretched, seeking to love his all,

And then I see, now vivid and clear,
That she's no angel, but not evil either,
That we're both toys of a soulless desire,
Dancing to the tunes of the music of nature.

Fear Not

Fear not, my friend, when your legs give in at last,
Unable to bear your weight,
Fear not, when the world darkens,
And fades away each sense,
Fear not, when you see,
That you're more alone than you've ever been,
Fear not, for this path you tread,
Has been walked upon by countless,
Fear not, for shall follow countless more,
And so shall I, my friend, my day's not far,
So let your head slide, as you lean back,
And smile, graceful, while you breathe your last.

A Mirror’s Reflections

Oh deem my name independent and complete,
Sans the need for a man's with it,
Care for the health of my supple critter,
For though fragile, she's borne more than you hear,

Spare a true word of praise, that drops from thy heart,
For not just the extras, but each day's effort,
For we take it all and fail to see,
All we've done and all we could be,

Oh share thy burdens, at work or at home,
And lay thy head on my arms, as I have, for years,
And hand me the pleasure of partaking your pain,
For in that, lies the highest honour I can gain,

You've come to see, how we were oppressed,
And you've laid a crown on our heads,
But pay no more for your fathers' sins,
For the torment they gave to our kin,

Pray, just see us, just us, for who we are,
More humans, just like you are,
Pray, place your hand along with mine,
And let's walk together, for all time

Living Life

I stand, lost, upon the brink,

Staring through holes on this critter's face,

Woken, decades ago from the slumber of naught,

Dressed in a body with a name and face,

And pushed, unwilling, into this strange existence,

And before I can discover what's what,

To learn the way to live and reflect,

I'm pushed again, now by the speed of the crowd,

Into the realm of the so-called real,

Forced to run by the fuel of fear,

A dread of starvation, of pain and death,

I run, unwilling, in the race of men,

A race not to win, but to avoid being trampled,

And while I run, I turn and stare,

At those around, who dash, oblivious,

And while we sprint thus, tired and breathless,

Time gallops ahead, forever in the lead,

To catch my breath I stop and bend,

And see a pattern, a distinct trend,

‘Tseems familiar until watched with care,

Like the strangeness of the letters that make our words,

Life’s a thing sans name or form,

A blank sheet with some dots, to draw upon,

To fill with shades of colours we choose,

And space to use the way we please,

It’s a simple design when you observe, aware,

A pattern that repeats, strangely symmetric,

A construct that defines beauty, irony and honour,

And shows what you’ll find and where,

It’s a case of a feature buried in its opposite,

Of honour hidden deep within shame,

Of greatness in the subdued,

And unseen beauty in the ordinary,

Of philosophy and logic on full stomachs,

And of irrationality when driven by hatred or desire,

Of surprise behind the curtain of seeming knowledge,

Of love behind utter hatred,

Of noblest intentions behind unfriendly face,

And of great ones’ fall from grace,

Of happy ones bestowed with short lives,

And of those in pain, cursed to live long,

And while death is certainly the inevitable end,

We’re also forced to live and fend,

Life’s blank and untouched, yes,

But it crumbles when unattached to purpose,

And so, to avoid the hell that kills will to live,

Our hands are forced to forge life into meaning,

We’re not rational beings as we claim to be,

And while reason’s a language society approves,

We function, truly, on emotion besides hormones’ rage,

And forge reasons for our simplest acts,

And so we must live our lives,

Terrible lies, though they may be,

Feigning understanding of all that’s around,

And feigning pleasure at acquired tastes,

Falling in love with a maiden pretty,

Deeming sacred, a feeling petty,

We add more to our assumed purpose,

And live, aligned to that of hers,

I learn, as my beards turned grey,

That the least I can lie is to myself,

Accepting all that cannot be,

And choosing to live, forced, ‘til I drop dead,

And as the hooves of truth pursue my tread,

Threatening to sever hope’s thread,

Clinging dearly onto the armour of hope,

Choosing to resist my fall to purposeless abyss,

For I see, now, that the inevitable shall come,

But to live these days I’m forced,

I learn to give in, to life, not death,

Not to fight, but to cease to resist life.