Ode to Yove - VI
People live on their lives, people like me, without yove, crying, in torment. And I want to break free and get entangled in your yove. Otherwise I shall go on living in the living hell with no hope of recovery. I want to get out of the question and live in the answer.
What am I to do with people? People who come and go - like seasons - stolid and free. I am to do with myself and my yove, that what I ultimately shall come to possess, that which I shall come to possess once I do away with people. Do away with others from the heart, place of love shall be created and such a space shall be created others will fit in easily, comfortably.
Oh yove, you have no time, no date, no day. You are forever, every minute, every moment. How soothing you are, dear friend. You are what I have not, you are what I thought I got, you are the one besought, you are what I still have not. Yove is each moment, you are each moment; constant as the waves of the sea, as the sheen of the sun, which exists latent or sensible.
It is the best of times, it is the worst of times, the worst of times. I am so smart, so I thought; I know now, that I'm not. I am so smart; I am such a fool, such a fool. I am so strong; I am so weak, so weak. I am so firm; I am so brittle, so brittle. I am so quick; I am obtuse, so obtuse. I am detached; I am so attached, so bounded, so bounded. I am compassionate; Compassion is a choice by those who're free. I am so compassionate; I am so miserable, so harsh. I am so pure; I am so diseased, so blighted. I am so modest; I'm such an ass, such as ass. I am so sweet; I am such a hypocrite, such a bloody hypocrite. I am so deep; I am so hollow, so shallow. I am so noble; I am vile and wicked, vile and wicked. I am so truthful; I'm a liar, always a liar. I am so lovable; I am perfectly hateful, perfectly perfectly hateful. I am perfect; I am so broken, so broken, so broken.
And I expect love. How, tell me, am I worth it all? The noblest thing extant desired by the lowliest of the characters. How do I expect ambrosia after sowing poison? How presumptuous of me. Oh please, how can the poor I find my way of out this. The poor I is capable of nothing. Most ignoble, stubborn and exceedingly ugly, I find nothing to my cause. I depend of the perfection of the heart, the nature of yove; I trust in my being human and accept all that is endowed. I need yove though I'm not worth it.
What am I to do with people? People who come and go - like seasons - stolid and free. I am to do with myself and my yove, that what I ultimately shall come to possess, that which I shall come to possess once I do away with people. Do away with others from the heart, place of love shall be created and such a space shall be created others will fit in easily, comfortably.
Oh yove, you have no time, no date, no day. You are forever, every minute, every moment. How soothing you are, dear friend. You are what I have not, you are what I thought I got, you are the one besought, you are what I still have not. Yove is each moment, you are each moment; constant as the waves of the sea, as the sheen of the sun, which exists latent or sensible.
It is the best of times, it is the worst of times, the worst of times. I am so smart, so I thought; I know now, that I'm not. I am so smart; I am such a fool, such a fool. I am so strong; I am so weak, so weak. I am so firm; I am so brittle, so brittle. I am so quick; I am obtuse, so obtuse. I am detached; I am so attached, so bounded, so bounded. I am compassionate; Compassion is a choice by those who're free. I am so compassionate; I am so miserable, so harsh. I am so pure; I am so diseased, so blighted. I am so modest; I'm such an ass, such as ass. I am so sweet; I am such a hypocrite, such a bloody hypocrite. I am so deep; I am so hollow, so shallow. I am so noble; I am vile and wicked, vile and wicked. I am so truthful; I'm a liar, always a liar. I am so lovable; I am perfectly hateful, perfectly perfectly hateful. I am perfect; I am so broken, so broken, so broken.
And I expect love. How, tell me, am I worth it all? The noblest thing extant desired by the lowliest of the characters. How do I expect ambrosia after sowing poison? How presumptuous of me. Oh please, how can the poor I find my way of out this. The poor I is capable of nothing. Most ignoble, stubborn and exceedingly ugly, I find nothing to my cause. I depend of the perfection of the heart, the nature of yove; I trust in my being human and accept all that is endowed. I need yove though I'm not worth it.
Kaala Kavva Strikes Again!! Beware!
8:46 AM
1 Comments:
like you said, people come and go ji. so take it in your stride. when in rome, do the romans.
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Anonymous, at February 25, 2007 7:43 AM
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