Friend from the West
27 October 2011, 08:09 PM
SHOES
Piles and piles of shoes, black, dark, dark, and only dark.
The divide between the dark and the Supreme, so stark.
Souls, souls, so many souls had been part of each shoe.
I sense each of their anguished hearts, hear their cries for what... mercy, love, hope, understanding? I feel their panicked breath.
I cry because of their death.
I ask, what is true.
My heart, so heavy, so sad, so blue.
Nation State, Gypsy, Catholic, Indian, Jew, Greek, Muslim, homosexual, rich, poor, divided, others.
Breeds hate, offers lies, we are not each sisters and brothers.
Piles and piles of shoes, black, dark, dark, and only dark.
I always return to the shoes and stand. And I stand.
All for our version of the Fatherland?
Sadness flames to hate. Burning, burning, boiling hate. STOP! Before it is too late.
I am not only the souls of the shoes. I am them. These. Those that I now hate.
We are each one. Even those that I now hate.
Before long, I hear a wordless song. A wonderful, beautiful wordless song. This path you tread will only help to create shoes.
Piles and piles of shoes, black, dark, dark, and only dark- before long.
The Divine sings and I can only follow this lovely wordless song.
The wordless lyrics are not hollow, No more blues.
The song resonates with the promise of a precious battle being fought,
not with hate, but a rare passion that is highly sought.
The Nightmare Disappears
Sri Hanuman appears
Nightime, full moon shines, snow falls, smell of pines.
We sit in posture on gentle slope
Now only hope.
Minutes later, nothing amiss.
No more lines.
Only Bliss.
OM SHANTI
Piles and piles of shoes, black, dark, dark, and only dark.
The divide between the dark and the Supreme, so stark.
Souls, souls, so many souls had been part of each shoe.
I sense each of their anguished hearts, hear their cries for what... mercy, love, hope, understanding? I feel their panicked breath.
I cry because of their death.
I ask, what is true.
My heart, so heavy, so sad, so blue.
Nation State, Gypsy, Catholic, Indian, Jew, Greek, Muslim, homosexual, rich, poor, divided, others.
Breeds hate, offers lies, we are not each sisters and brothers.
Piles and piles of shoes, black, dark, dark, and only dark.
I always return to the shoes and stand. And I stand.
All for our version of the Fatherland?
Sadness flames to hate. Burning, burning, boiling hate. STOP! Before it is too late.
I am not only the souls of the shoes. I am them. These. Those that I now hate.
We are each one. Even those that I now hate.
Before long, I hear a wordless song. A wonderful, beautiful wordless song. This path you tread will only help to create shoes.
Piles and piles of shoes, black, dark, dark, and only dark- before long.
The Divine sings and I can only follow this lovely wordless song.
The wordless lyrics are not hollow, No more blues.
The song resonates with the promise of a precious battle being fought,
not with hate, but a rare passion that is highly sought.
The Nightmare Disappears
Sri Hanuman appears
Nightime, full moon shines, snow falls, smell of pines.
We sit in posture on gentle slope
Now only hope.
Minutes later, nothing amiss.
No more lines.
Only Bliss.
OM SHANTI