Path to Novelty

 

Random Specific Thoughts

We see the world, not as it is, but as we are – or, as we are conditioned to see it.

―Stephen R. Covey,The 7 Habits of Highly Effective People: Powerful Lessons in Personal Change

There’s a torn tapestry
In a house down the street,
That never stops glowing.
Woven in gold and burgundy
A stream of black streaks
Down its edges and falls
Into a deep abyss of loss.

The house – an echo of pain;
Loud and clear, it tells a story
Of how men lost their way,
When paths still existed.

Radiating life is a poignant hymn
That beats on hope’s rhythm,
Feeding the tapestry of essence
That makes us human.

Photo by Jeff Finley on Unsplash

When the storms fail to cease
And the demons refuse to leave,
This anthem grows louder and
Its rhythm – more vigorous, as
It sends out a message

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A Poem by Ksenia Rogozhnikova

 

The Alma Review

Translated by Nina Murray

loud pops we hear outside
in the new year
is no longer
the sound of crackers

light-and-sound grenades
traffic lights off
the crowd that walks
down the middle of the street
death 
in the streets of the city

we glean news in crumbs
over phone calls
the meager Almaty
allotment
of the internet service
never thought
we'd watch news
again on TV

my eight-year-old
writes in her journal: 
"We have a war here now
and must stay at home,
but the neighborhood store
is already restocked
with bread 
and potatoes"

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A post shared by Ксения Рогожникова (@kseniya.rogozhnikova.zemskova)

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Silence: The language of Chaos

 

Riya Dani

I am troubled and you must be too

The world is troubled and all its people too.

I look around and its chaos everywhere.

I close my eyes and there is chaos everywhere.

She yells, some shout.

They scream, they cry.

They exhibit their chaos,

Decorate it with jewels of pity.

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A prelude 💃💃

In the world, we encounter lots of strangers, but even more strangers stay unknown to us and are kept hidden or pushed outside of view for the world. Mostly it are those strangers who have to live in terrible circumstances and who are confronted with the fact that nobody wants to know about them.

Try to get it!

Let’s sing for the strangers
Who Face terrible dangers
They fight alone
Their names are unknown
History forgot them
Inspite of their clear scent
A scent of fresh flowers
And deeds of great towers
Send them peace and gratitude
In a simple musical prelude
Sohair
Allah says
Chapter 34 Saba سورة سبأ – Saba: Verse
وَمَا أَمْوَالُكُمْ وَلَا أَوْلَادُكُمْ بِالَّتِي تُقَرِّبُكُمْ عِنْدَنَا زُلْفَىٰ إِلَّا مَنْ آمَنَ وَعَمِلَ صَالِحًا فَأُولَٰئِكَ لَهُمْ جَزَاءُ الضِّعْفِ بِمَا عَمِلُوا وَهُمْ فِي الْغُرُفَاتِ آمِنُونَ
It is not your wealth nor your sons, that will bring you nearer to Us in degree: but only those who believe and work righteousness – these are the ones for whom there is a multiplied Reward for their deeds, while secure they (reside) in the dwellings on high
🙏

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Derek Walcott: Love After Love – El amor después del amor

 

Elizabeth Cárdenas - Writer/Escritora

Happy Sunday everyone.

For the past few days, I’d been thinking quite a bit about poetry, and I wasn’t sure why.  Then, while watching my favorite show, Super Soul Sunday, Oprah quoted a few lines from the poem Love After Love by Derek Walcott. My curiosity led me to google it, of course. By the time I finished reading, my eyes were filled with tears. 

Over the past 11 years, I have been going through a spiritual awakening. This poem summed up beautifully what I have not been able to express. I hope you enjoy it.

Love After Love

The time will come 
when, with elation 
you will greet yourself arriving 
at your own door, in your own mirror 
and each will smile at the other’s welcome, 
and say, sit here. Eat. 
You will love again the stranger who was your self.
Give wine. Give bread. Give back your…

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Sand in my Hand

 

70x7perspective

There’s something about grabbing a handful of sand and observing the combination of patterns and colors on the tiny rocks and seashells.

“Hey! Look at these colors. Aren’t they mesmerizing?”

Just to think that there is a wider color spectrum that the natural eyes cannot see.

There’s more? More colors you say?

I can’t think of a color that doesn’t exist. Why won’t you give it a try?

None. Right?

It’s said that the skies declare the work of God’s hand.

God knew our faithlessness. He uses the sky as an example because it is untouchable and full of mystery. Our minds don’t need to work hard to wonder.

But it was the sand in my hand that inflated my faith and stirred up this reserved excitement in me.

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Powerful Prisoner

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Related (by the same author)

• My First Blog Post
• People Watching Explained

70x7perspective

Don’t try to be like me.
Instead, use my mistakes.
I cant show you my defeat.
My pedestal might break.

It might seem like I won this battle.
The one that gives status and might.
I’m just a prisoner of war.
Their hands holding a knife.

If I try to bend,
Their hands grip tighter
If I try to break
They’ll swing the knife higher.

Don’t try to be like me.
Instead, use my mistakes.
I’m not allowed to fold.
I’m not allowed to flake.

What is my mistake you ask?
The one mistake I was allowed to have?
It was to climb a ladder called status.
I pushed to climb it the fastest.

It was the right thing to do, right?
To become someone with power and flight.
Now the people below hold me captive.
This shouldn’t even happen.

Don’t try to be like me.
Just use my so-called…

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Reinvented

 

House of Heart

The trees are filled with blossoms
they wave beneath the pale sky
like pink hands of impish children.
Meet me in the orchard
before summer slips away,
I want to dip my hand in
the cold brook just to feel
the ache.
Naked among bird of paradise
sun-drenched thighs wet with dew
feed me sweet red apples
while they are nothing more
than fruit. 

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More morning poetry

 

Writer's Block

As I have mentioned previously on this blog, some mornings I leave ridiculously early to go work on the train, and for some reason this seems to result in little haikus popping into my head. Maybe it’s having an empty stomach, or just seeing the sun come up over the city, but I think I’m coming to quite enjoy these relatively quiet moments in a busy day.

Here’s a few more for you to take or leave as you will.

Faces downturned

A seething speeding capsule

Passions on their laps

Balloons in the dawn

Pinned improbably still

Hanging like dark stars

Cold sky fire

Charcoals graceful branches

Before speeding train

Possum on the wire

Racing electricity

Towards morning star

Blur of morning fog

Jealously hoards the light

A soft eraser

New colour and form

Scribbles bloom on railway walls

Illegible fame

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Early morning haiku

 

Writer's Block

I’ve been getting up ridiculously early to get to work lately. Here are some of the words which have spilled out of my addled brain in those dark hours.

Black dawn silhouettes

The hoot of a waiting train

Square of lilac sky

.

Glimpsed from a rocking train

Balloons hang improbably

Fire shines within

.

Indigo morning

Cold light pools at the station

Runner shuffles past

.

Hard white stars greet me

the air cools my sandalled feet

Hurrying to work

.

Musselshell sky

Fleeting shadow puppets

Birds in bare branches

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