rising up, you float outside yourself

The clouds are // following each other // Into Eternity

Posts tagged poetry

"I think I love you
because you remind me
of a temple lost in a fire.

I think I love you
because you remind me of
what it’s like to be touched
whole, rather than in pieces."

Reblogged from maza-dohta

Pavana पवन  (via maza-dohta)

"I want you to know
that the way the sun rises
over your naked body each morning
reminds me of how she used to rise
over the Tirumala Venkateswara Temple
back home, how I would ride my bike
to work before dawn and stop to watch
her first rays of light slowly climb the stairs
as if on pilgrimage for some higher meaning.

My grandma used to tell me that I would
miss this place once I leave, that
people come from all over the world to
climb the summit I ride past everyday,
as if all of them carried questions
on their backs only the top could answer.

I told her they were foolish for doing it,
she told me I was like the sun
that is raised in the East only to
settle in the West.

There’s a way in which you wake up
each morning that reminds me of more
than just home; you remind me of dawn
breaking like a dark cloud, of bent backs
and softly folded hands, of Sanskrit chants
and hopeful hearts, of believers and of
those who no longer do.

I asked my Grandmother once, what
do all these people expect to find
at the top? she laughed and
said ‘nothing; they come out here
to leave their questions behind.’

Now I know that you and I
don’t believe in deities as much as we
believe in the sky and everything she holds,
but the way the morning hides in the corner
of your lips refusing to come out
until you smile has me thinking -
that maybe we are all on a journey to answer
the heaviness we carry upon our backs;
and perhaps the journey is in leaving it all behind.

I guess what I am really trying to say is,
I think the sun goes to sleep every night
with a new question tied to her back,
and I think that you have always been
the place she goes to find her answer."

Reblogged from maza-dohta

Pavana पवन  (via maza-dohta)

"بين منطوق لم يقصد
و مقصود لم ينطق
تضيع الكثير من المحبة"

Reblogged from ipurangi

Between what is said and not meant

And what is meant and not said

Most of love is lost.

Gibran Khalil Gibran

(via ranjhana)

(Source: hadeiadel)

"I long for you
the way an empty home
longs for company,
I fill myself with dust
and pray for ghosts to leave
their fingerprints behind."

Reblogged from maza-dohta

 Pavana पवन (via maza-dohta)

"I’ve been hurt so bad
and loved just as hard,
so what does that say
about the heart other
than it bleeds and beats."

Reblogged from maza-dohta

Pavana पवन (via maza-dohta)

Reblogged from darksilenceinsuburbia

vintageanchorbooks:

Literary Word Count Infographic: http://shortlist.com/entertainment/books/literary-word-count-infographic

"Most days
I wish I never
met you so
I would stop
finding pieces
of you in the tangles
you left behind,
in my hair,
these words,
in this bed."

Reblogged from maza-dohta

Pavana पवन (via maza-dohta)

deathofastylist:

soon…

Reblogged from deathofastylist

deathofastylist:

soon…

Walk Slowly

If you should go before me, dear, walk slowly
Down the ways of death, well-worn and wide,
For I would want to overtake you quickly
And seek the journey’s ending by your side.

I would be so forlorn not to descry you
Down some shining highroad when I came;
Walk slowly, dear, and often look behind you
And pause to hear if someone calls your name.

- Adelaide Love

(inspiration for i will follow you into the dark, perhaps?)

A telling analogy for life and death:
Compare the two of them to water and ice.
Water draws together to become ice,
And ice disperses again to become water.
Whatever has died is sure to be born again;
Whatever is born comes round again to dying.
As ice and water do one another no harm,
So life and death, the two of the, are fine.

- Hanshan, Tr. Peter Harris

Water

Pressure of sun on the rockslide
Whirled me in a hop-and-step descent,
Pool of pebbles buzzed in a Juniper shadow,
Tiny tongue of a this-year rattlesnake flicked,
I leaped, laughing for little boulder-color coil—
Pounded by heat raced down slabs to the creek
Deep tumbling under arching walls and stuck
Whole head and shoulders in the water:
Stretched full on cobble—ears roaring
Eyes open aching from the cold and faced a trout.

- Gary Snyder

Thousands

Out of the thousands
who are known,
or who want to be known
as poets,
maybe one or two
are genuine
and the rest are fakes,
hanging around the sacred precincts
trying to look like the real thing.
Needless to say
I am one of the fakes,
and this is my story.

- Leonard Cohen