Philosophical Poetry

The Soul's Canvas

memory

  • Bag of Moments

    Bag of Moments

    Let go
    Or don’t let go,
    Same choice.

    Let the past be the past,
    And the present be the present,
    Same choice.

    Live in the moment,
    And forget the past,
    Same choice.

    Carry with you,
    The moments from the past,
    That are in the present.

    Those moments
    Can lift you to new heights,
    And can descend you into a deeper hole.

    Look around you,
    What reminders do you see? Why?
    Echoes of yesterday in today’s story.

    Look inside you, who do you see?
    If not you, then who?
    A gallery of selves, past and present.

    Moments of past,
    That are present in the present,
    Like stars whose light reaches us
    Long after they’ve passed.

    In the end, we are not defined
    By what we remember or forget,
    But by how we use each moment
    To shape the next.

    So let go, or don’t let go,
    But always, always choose to grow.
    Some outfits may no longer fit.

    Filed under: 🜁 Self – tracing the inner landscapes of thought, feeling, and becoming.

  • Just Wandering

    Just Wandering

    Have you ever felt
    As if you are standing
    In your own space
    With your hands open
    And every person you encounter
    Tattoos you,
    Writes on you
    With permanent ink
    Before moving on?

    The marks glow
    With a stained-glass-like luster;
    They form an intricately
    Beautiful pattern
    Made out of memories
    And accidental encounters.
    Some run very deep;
    Others just scratch the surface;
    Nevertheless each one
    Does stay
    In its own way
    However, faint it might be.

    Would you want to look at yourself?
    Can you see yourself beneath these marks?

    In the looking glass,
    There’s a kaleidoscope of reflections
    Looking back at me
    A live screen
    On which countless stories appear.
    But beneath all these;
    I feel a heartbeat pounding constantly,
    A central self-crying out
    For recognition…

    I feel as if I am losing myself
    Within these entwining paths
    A life’s true maze.
    Which scars deserve
    Our appreciation
    And which ones should be forgotten?
    It could be that this decision
    Symbolizes the very essence
    Of the soul.

    Just
    Wandering.

    Filed under: 🜁 Self – tracing the inner landscapes of thought, feeling, and becoming.

  • I Visit

    I Visit

    I visit
    A domain within me;
    Just mind,
    No walls or doors.
    Painted by time and
    Emotion are landscapes of memory.

    I visit,
    I visit always,
    Every reason but none in particular.
    Sometimes I go to cry.
    Tears on fields of regret fall
    Watering seeds of ‘what-ifs’
    that never seem to bloom,‌
    But always present to visit

    I visit.
    A roundabout of the mind
    I turn and turn around
    Different horses but the same journey
    I start and finish in the same place

    I visit.
    Sometimes I visit stars
    Of missed chances to make my wishes
    Sometimes I visit to thank
    Ghosts of days gone by

    I visit.
    This familiar cage,
    Which will never let me go.
    I carry this place around
    Even there on bright days are its shadows.

    I visit
    Here as a captain and crewman,
    Difficult journey through stormy thoughts,
    However much I try to find a way back home
    But am caught up by drifting currents.

    I visit
    When I’m lost
    In the maze of the present tense.
    Sometimes I visit
    Hoping yesterday will soon
    Become today.

    Repeating the same thing
    But expecting different outcomes
    It is a memory of visiting
    I often do.

    I visit.
    I always visit.
    For in visiting, I am,
    Both lost and found again.

    Filed under: 🜁 Self – tracing the inner landscapes of thought, feeling, and becoming.

  • An Aprioric Perspicaciousness

    An Aprioric Perspicaciousness

    White paper and a pen
    wish for me,
    on a birthday of many returns
    passed, yet to come.
    So a thought I will,
    and a thought
    I may, descend
    into self,
    my self-maintained, renewed self,
    my pattern of self.
    Together and with,
    I feel out
    an infinite creativity,
    I do now
    experience my stability.

    Ever change,
    never never.
    Am.
    I am dependent,
    Yet I am identified.

    One in once.
    Always a memory,
    always a surprise.

    Scenes change,
    familiar feelings.
    Known to life,
    stranger to my own.
    Allowed to feel all,
    but not my own.
    Hold on
    known stranger, hold on.
    I hold on to my breath.
    I hold on.

    Filed under: 🜁 Self – tracing the inner landscapes of thought, feeling, and becoming.