Gosh, it feels so selfish,
All this stuff about oneself is like standing in a gallery full of selfies, saying, “Oh wow, look it’s me!”
Smile and say cheese, oh please!
How much more juice will you squeeze, hasn’t this cow been milked dry?
Stop asking why, instead, ask what’s next?
Deflect from this worn subject, embark on a new project.
Let’s be objective, and a little less reflective.
How will we gain a new perspective if our gaze is in the mirror?
We’ve polished it enough, but it’s not getting any clearer.
This is all there is, but this is really enough.
It isn’t that rough
It’s just a bit uncomfortable,
Feels tough moving forward, but it’s your reflection that’s in the way.
There are more dimensions to you than this mirror could ever convey.
It would be dismayed at how much it cannot know, thus cannot show you.
It’s always in the past.
That reflection always arrives last.
So, come let’s cast the mirror to one side and see the unknown.
You already know you.
You have indulged enough in self-loathing and self-soothing,
Giving your ego a massage, and then a bruising.
It’s a suffering awash in privilege,
The root of it all was valid, but these flowers are getting excessive.
Imagine what could be imagined!
Isn’t that more impressive?
Help right some new wrongs.
Stop writing personal possessives.
It’s obsessive, bordering on oppressive.
Crawl out of the recesses of your mind.
It’s time to draw a line in your grey matter.
Honestly assess if what you say matters.
Come on now…
You’re corroborating reveries
These fragments of correlating energies
They’re just memories of memories.
I’m sure you already know,
I’m fragile, and the cracks are beginning to show.
I think… I think it is time you let me go.
Kind regards,
your ego
Tag: conversation
-
Mirror selfie
-
Wishing well
Such tranquility looking up from the bottom of this well
Quiet solitude and a beating heart
Where will you hide from the echoes in this chamber?
-
The Weaver
Through the needle your story is woven
Not a sound is heard yet your story is spoken
The threads tell tales of your joys and pains..how sad is it then that through all of this; the silence between us remains unbroken
What do you know of I and I of you?
Perhaps the silence keeps us honest
When your eyes look into mine
All we can share are our truths
-
The Tavern
Oh how slowly does he pour my drink!
Lest I sear my throat to soon
And slumber through the new moon
The barkeeper keeping me at bay
For the pleasure is not in rushing
But in the leisure of the stay
Nor does he fill the glass
Swells lapping safely beneath the brim
Tavern lights tauntingly twinkle the empty crystal
Unsatisfied I push the chalice back
He holds my gaze
He holds my gaze
He holds my gaze
Floundering I draw the chalice back
Raising a toast
Or a white flag, I’m not so sure
He interrupts
‘To good health Ghafoor,
savour the sweet,
relish the heat
Make not haste but merely saunter
Keep your eyes on me not on the decanter
To good health Ghafoor’
His stinginess in the pour
Baffling for I knew not what for
Yet he was much wiser than I
That much I cannot deny
For here I sit
Struggling to take a sip
It was but one drop
But that one drop was a river
Barely breathing my lungs fill
The barkeeper takes the glass, forseeing the spill
‘You cannot traverse this stream yet you seek the ocean’
‘Seeking my peace though you drown in commotion’
‘A faithless heart yet you claim devotion’
With eyes growing heavy
Burdened by the shame my shoulders shuddered to bear
Waining before the barkeepers glare
The temple I entered now becomes my tomb
The tavern lamps slowly dance into the gloom