I came to
pen another poem for you,
but even every unwritten poem
I came to
The reason as to why a human cannot give birth to himself is because he needs someone to help him. We are altricial, or helpless at birth, because we have to depend on others so that later in life when we are capable, we help those in need. And this is very much part of the circle of life.
Name and form are simply illusions of separation. Love doesn’t make us blind; rather, it erases the illusions so we can see clearly.
How is it possible, you ask, for love to be greater than the person who does the loving? That’s because love defies the rules of reason. It is the only exception.
For what was it about books that once finished left the reader in a bit of a haze and made them reread the last few sentences in order to continue the ringing in their hearts a while longer, so as not to let the silence illumine the fact that reading, they had gained something – distance, a lesson, a companion, a new world – but now, after the last full stop, they had lost something palpable and felt a little emptier than before.
Of course, I am religious.
I worship love.
Enlightenment lacks any form of judgment.
Don’t say to yourself, ‘Everyone argues!’ to justify and normalise your fighting, when the most natural thing is to love.
We all live but a hundred years.
When I am with you, I live it in a matter of days.
I searched everywhere for love.
I knocked on every door
and turned over every stone.
But it was only until I returned home
that I found love
waiting for me.