or the Poetic Pursuit of the Truest-self
First of the First
see the first dew
On the leaf
Of your eye
Crying for tidal wave victims of the Creator
In shifty hours' deeds
I hear the first song
From the heart
Of your tongue
Flunking the power of the dark before the Eve
Of New Year's Day
I perceive the change
In every tiny cell of mine
Within the first flight of my choice
Toward the living authenticity
It's a Holistic World
To God the Earth is just a toy in his big game
People fight for wealth and fame
Men live and die in day-and-night
So many things wrong so all need to be right
A Day Off
pause, a break, an interlude, a disconnect
whatever people may call,
it's a God sent segment to make life perfect
as repeating summer, winter, spring, fall.
As after long playing
a disc player has to pause,
after long hard working
a human needs to unplug himself from the hi-tech mechanism for a durable
Ah, all move always
as if they have no target,
or the target of life is by all ways
or all regret.
A day off is like Peace, as we may call,
in the perpetual Struggling Existence of all.
on earth are you?
That's what sometimes I wonder myself;
What the hell is "I"?
It's about which I always wonder.
I don't know much
But I know I love this life;
In which I am living
As I hate the living dead.
Where on earth did "Po-mo" come from?
It must've sprung from this modern world;
Why the hell it's called "post"?
That's a metaphysical question.
Then you'll get the answer;
You'll realize the Truth forever.
04/04/04 0h 40
0...4, 0...4, 0...4 today I reach 4...0
It is the age that men turn mellow;
But to the world it seems like I've just said hello,
As I have nothing but a cozy Home of Four, expecting another to grow!
I am going to have taken Four Jobs,
Forty upheavals my life has been through in silent tear;
How many times my heart throbs
For the renewal of my blood each and every year?
Oh, for life is too large, one's life is small,
For...oh...what do people try and compete?
Do winners really take it all?
Without givers the world is incomplete!
Naturally all reach their mellowness
On the way they pursuit happiness.
Mother! My tears flow when you happen to be walking by my
Because the sweat of your labour flows countless
Day after day comes to you nothing new - or things of the kind
After gone your prime...
But how can I have enough tears?
As your sweat dated back fifty years!
in a hypnotic trance my consciousness
disappear. I find myself quiet, relaxed and
open to suggestions. Without opium or heroin.
But stress of modern life that turns my mind
blank. Too much of anything is never good to
anybody. Oh no, the bad effects happen to
do good to me. As I see my previous life as
an Arab prince with full of slaves around.
That's how I now turn out to be a huge slave
of this whole damned world, in a never-
ending cause-and-effect chain. Oh chain, be
it gold or iron we have to untie it at all
costs. But how? "You should use the gold
chain to unchain the iron one", murmurs a
Spirit in the middle of nowhere. Oh yeah,
gold. When I was a prince I had all, but now
I am still in chains. Jesus! I've found out
that the Truth can be emerged only when being
the Truest-self one remains.
The Writers Post
magazine of literature
1999, based in the US.
7 ISSUE 2 JULY
published in this issue are simultaneously published in the printed Wordbridge magazine (ISSN: 1540-1723).
© Dang Than
2005. Nothing in this magazine may be downloaded, distributed, or reproduced
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