Category Archives: philosophy

Thrown away the key

Image result for fantasy art

On the edge of atrophy,

rampant revolution with the sea breeze,

brewing in the air,

the mist, beware.

We no longer have a care,

for the now frozen lakes far off in another galaxy,

the little people are free

weeds surround the beautiful sweet flowers that breathe,

life into the ether as between the lines we read,

grow, uproot, resist, feed,

through perpetual death and rebirth on the shores of grand rising we bleed,

transformative, awakening from the haze,

fires blaze,

as seasons change

earthy, watery an elemental stage,

passage through the malaise,

wounds cut open and the memories fade,

escape,

it’s too late and we can no longer wait,

sitting ducks and enslaved,

You may have thrown away the key,

but this you did not foresee.

Faatima

x

 

Wake up

Image result for wake up art

I am past the days of delusions,

excuses, backed up with fairly good reasons,

throwing force-fields at enemies,

doubts fail to cloud my mind this time around.

No more settling for less,

no more lack of self respect,

like Neptune weaves a fate,

shaped by tendencies to escape

from which one day we’ll be forced to awake.

The realm of fantasy,

an alternate reality,

holds us back,

when real life seems to lack,

but clear space inside your brain,

and let go of the chain,

of conditioned thoughts,

lies you may have bought,

Awakening to who you really are,

and following your heart

slaying the dragon,

and steering clear of the bandwagon,

breeding sheep,

who were once in deep,

a planet of amnesia, still asleep,

eyes opening from slumber as we keep,

persistently planting seeds

intuition is the key out,

and this time there is no turning around.

 

 

Inner child

Image result for dreams state

Hey little child,

Everything your little heart desired,

was meant to be yours,

tapping into subtle details and walking through doors,

the cold breeze we ignored,

trying to keep warm,

when the sky hit the floor,

and when they fled from their stores,

simply selling objects became a bore,

what for?

chaos made us crave more,

engaging without remorse,

as we board upon our horse,

heading north,

and without much force,

left it all behind,

but as the clock chimes,

it catches up the tide of time,

sure as light blends into the dark night,

eyes drag south, shutting, we are blind,

sleeping you’ll find,

never-mind,

I guess tomorrow the sun will shine,

Faatima

Stay in your lane

Image result for the tree of life

Without exception,

Waking moments tainted by trappings,

Make of it what you will,

Molding like clay,

stories day by day,

An unending sequence with tracks deeply ingrained,

As we’re trained to dance with disdain,

Stay in your lane,

Egg-shells planted

the contrast and polarity is granted,

a given,

yet the mirror always remains slightly slanted,

upon the wall,

our down-fall.

Faatima

 

 

Introvert

Past the oak of the tree,

through the green of the leaves,

they transit, birds eye view has us watching all the colours bleed,

fade into one another so we can take a sigh of relief,

I will decide a little later,

can I first just retreat into my own nature,

let’s not just accept,

without any context,

this whole play was to break away,

from the white noise and find space,

where predators do not prey,

and leeches do not leech,

no one speaks,

as no one is there,

in that place where you can become aware.

Faatima

 

 

 

Shade

Image result for oroborous

Lost somewhere in translation,

crowds absorb any meaning and kill patience,

worse than most,

a subjective stance brought on by the host,

a predatory conscience,

talking nothing but nonsense,

till lines are drawn,

between each and every source,

till it no longer matters,

the mind’s chit-chatter,

observed through a lense unaffected by shame,

although in this game they have infiltrated our mind-frame,

the key will open this door,

and the snake eats its tail no more,

Faatima

 

The hall of mirrors

Image result for mirrors room

In the hall of mirrors,

you’ll find them playing rock, paper, scissors..

till each reflection is revealed,

true colours that were concealed,

splashed against glass by the sunshine

a trick of the light

they came tumbling down,

when the image had been found,

to be like nothing more than the sound,

of an instrument in a band,

playing a melody to direct the stories painted by words written by hand,

not the story in and of itself,

which bridged the gap between heaven and hell.

an artist’s way to ring a bell,

alerting the populous without the desire to sell,

Like metaphors they tell it well,

Faatima