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Jivana's Memoirs: 39Pulling out with my car I heard the crunchy sound of dirt on tires. Looking in my rear view mirror, a cloud of dust masked the already well camouflaged lair.
Hazy memories of the films and the happenings fogged my mind. Concentration was not an option. Instead, I felt compelled to just allow myself to watch all the different thoughts, like projections on my fog, fade in and out. Finally, it struck me I popped my head above the clouds and I knew what we had to do. Well, sort of …
All I really knew is, I had to do something. I had the power to do something. I couldn’t wait for them to tell me what to do because I’m not sure they knew themselves. That was clear. They just kept telling me they knew they needed me but never once for what. Everyone has their own part to play and mine was at very least to figure out what mine was.
Everything in the new world was about marketing. I had to do something with marketing … Mark
Jivana's Memoirs: 37“Let’s get you some coconut water. You’re probably dehydrated” said Zoe.
“I was mostly dry heaving” I said
“Um, yeah well I think I still have something to clean up” she joked back with me.
“Regardless, we should all replenish our electrolytes. Lovely idea Zoe” said Paris.
The girls escorted me back into the debrief room. It’s like the room carried a strong and swirling essence still, or perhaps it was just the memories of what had just happened, that made me want to fall over. They brought me to the bar, got me on a stool, so I could at least sit upright but prop myself up on something.
Zephr was in the room with her back up against the wall and one knee up. The timeless tough girl stance. And she was so comfortable with panty shots I just found it remarkable, although I said nothing.
Without anyone asking she said “It’s a Kombucha”
Zoe smiled and then I saw her look
Jivana's Memoirs: 38My eyes popped open. I don’t remember dreaming anything but when I woke I felt refreshed and clear. The film was off. It seemed like everyone had resigned to nap time.
Zoe and I were back to back, curled up in opposite fetal position like spinal fused Siamese twins. I couldn’t remember any specific message from Dr. Rave’s film but I had this clear sense of what Zoe might have meant before … with this being so much bigger than myself. We were part of something not just here and now but almost like something that has been going on for eons, perhaps since the end of time. We represented something, some aspect of the human spirit that continually emerges. The tribes we saw in the film, their customs, are endangered. Even though we risk losing them, and knowledge we might never gain? Somehow part of that was being reborn through us.
With that thought, I felt the needs to sit up. I did my best to not disturb Zoe. This t
EmergenceEcho chamber, my darkness
I perceive movement and sound
Weaving through invisible sheaths
My thoughts bounce around
SurvivalThere may come a point
for the best interest of our species
And the existence of this world
That we not turn away from religion
but set it afire
From the ash
On equal fields of peace
Strange but fertile seeds
As magical tools
let them live again like vessels
filled with liquid mystery
dousing our lives
for shimmering potential
Then, lighting a match
setting old systems on fire
with our renewed inner light
like blazing flames
freeing our World for Grace
Yelling Written Words
If you write me a letter
with your heart full of hate
your words will burn away the paper,
leaving ashes in its wake.
Please keep your written voice down,
the yelling hurts my heart.
Just please don't ask my secrets of me,
it will only make this
that much worse.
Delving deep inside myself,
I push you far away.
These wounds mean nothing to me,
not a feather or a sand grain.
My hands are burnt,
my heart is scarred,
just leave me be,
I'm too far gone.
You gave me bread on a rainy day
Such goodness took my breath away.
You told the world how you felt.
Through shallow confusion my heart melt.
We grew close and drifted apart.
I still love you with all my heart.
I found you hurt and to a cave we fled.
I could only kiss your lips but I watched as you bled.
I had to go to save your life.
I broke a promise that ended your strife.
You found some berries and ended a life.
We heard a cannon; a dog was near.
We ran for the Cornucopia and fled our fear.
Climbing the metal, making it safe.
Cato appeared but I had faith.
He grabbed you up, said it was over.
I had more luck than a four-leaf clover.
He fell to the dogs and they chewed him up.
The Capitol said, "YO MAN, WASSUP?"
"Only one victor can win in the end!"
I told him I wouldn't go without him.
So we grabbed our berries, sorry Prim.
The Capitol wailed, "NO STOP!"
"The winners are Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark!"
The Simple PoemThis poem will begin from here.
It shall start with a dusk and a child. Trying.
Trying to fly a kite in the rain.
The sunrays have just dimmed out.
Or mellowed down, surrendering to a dark azure.
The pitter-patter of rains
Drenching the fingers of the child on the roof. Fingers
That hold on to the thread that connects, quite shamelessly,
The dark skies to a kite, blue coloured. Throughout.
The dusk. I would have thought of writing a poem.
And only thought, when the thread shall snap
Taking the kite down. And the child too.
Let's watch the two as they progress downwards
Let's watch the two and see if down's the place they'll be.
Let's watch the two.
One spiralling down through the open air, not knowing
Where it shall land. The other
Climbing down the stairs
Running down the stairs
To a place,
To a land where
The first one promised to land.
I should have known, is ants.
It shall eat through a poem I should have written.
A simple poem, it would have been
Losing MeI find peace in loathing
I suffer pleasure from pain
I feel comfort in dark clothing
Whether judgment or acceptance is my bane
I have cried all my tears
Still in darkness I am bound
Wandering desperately through the years
The true identities never to be found
Lost is all
A blanked out, thrown out memory
From the abuses that do appall
Hope and love was my every
But now my life will soon dissolve
Into a screaming dark place with no resolve...
There was Once A Butterfly - PoemThere was once a butterfly,
too fragile - forbidden to take flight.
to see up close,
what had, before long, won plentiful foes.
There was once a butterfly,
timid and shy;
too quiet yet to be blinded by the sky.
The others watched
carefully and close,
he was to fail as the monsoon blows.
There was once a butterfly,
learned and strong;
too tired yet to sing his own songs.
His liquid wings
of colour and light
caught eyes of envy every night.
There was once a butterfly
confident and sure -
almost broken but not tired anymore.
before his eyes
and led him to his own colours' demise.
There was once a butterfly
too afraid to admit that he was alone.
His wings of paper,
were met now only with sights of scorn.
And so that butterfly
with teary-blind eyes,
awaited the end of eternal black skies.
He was to fly
but that desire died,
with his will and nerve to stay alive.
Once, his predicament
I knew and saw,
so anxious to rid him
Empty Souls Empty Souls...
The night is black
Nothing but broken stars
And empty dreams
To frame its d.a.r.k.n.e.s.s.
The book is
Its pages numb & mute
It is empty
Because what is a book
Without majestic words
To make it feel
W H O L E
The wind is cold
It speaks lies
With an all-deceiving tongue
It dances with the trees
The lonely moon
With its scent
And I am
My BrotherI watched my brother go through the door, wanting him to stay with us for more.
He's too young, he has too much life,
to go where death comes on swift wings.
My mother cries, my father is silent.
I stand as a vigil on our doorway, watching as he fades from sight.
I look through the newspaper, seeing if America won against Iraq.
I see soldiers who are only boys, who have seen more bloodshed than most old men.
I look through the page of the dead, praying I don't see my brothers' name.
He is not, but I still don't sway,
because my brother is still away.
I pray for the day that he comes home,
safe and ok.
Amrita Awakeningstill and silent in the purple silken night
the city smiled in twinkling lights
making night clouds still glow white
i sat before my pool, i knew not really why
with a crystal in my hand
still and asking, i looked to the sky
no answer -i close my eyes
and go deep within
tapping into the darkness inside my skin
so much pressure, my forehead tense
i push against dark walls hoping to make them...
but pushing doesn't make your shadow friend
i realize that -
relax and breathe, sink deep, be sweet
the night became more silent
sound dropped out all around
high quality, empty, profound.
a piercing quiet
an acoustic knowing...
i let go of my fear-
a thought emerged
it was so clear.
my being felt the crystal's plea.
and I knew now what to do.
i let it's knowing enter me.
it shot me with energy
a rising heat-
amrita rushed between my knees
hot and reaching for my heart
i fall face first into my pool (of new me)
mercurial –beautiful rainbow reality
held under by bliss, col
Volpi.You will find that the story you tell
is very rarely your own. In Lucca,
even the smallest pebbles
breathe in the warm sunlight.
Knotted stones and cobbled roads
beat out a paper-dry heartbeat heat
my city breathes in and out,
inhales sparrow air.
It's writing a story.
You are the pen.
You will find that in Lucca
the daisy chains forge fire
in side streets and back alleys.
Teenagers intertwine. Tell me,
odd flower, are you still closed?
Here we are colored wax;
the heat of the city melts us.
We run into each other, rhapsody
of pigments. Operas are our specialties.
Open up; feel the reds.
If not, try and see them. There is a place
of deep knife marks, a street
long as midnight
you may learn something there.
Valentina's voice glimmers like red wine.
You may enjoy intoxications. Still,
know alcohol has no story
and will swallow your own.
Find the sign with the wolf on it.
You'll know the place. Epiphanies ring true as church-bells.
Lucca still guides the wanderers
to well sp
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