Calling of the Inner-Voice

The tune of my soul is sort of psychodelic and atmospheric which makes the whole song orgasmic and that’s what I look for in music, music for me has always been a kind of drug which can take over your brain making the reality more bereable for the duration of the song ( at least).

I usually keep this part of myself locked tightly in the box in the corner of my mind. This part should remain open because it’s a vital piece of my Inner- Self and the Inner- Self is mainly who I really Am- the Inner- Self is my unscattered soul. I have conformed to the rules of society to stay afloat in order to survive and build a fort which would protect me from people who don’t understand me. My soul is wild and relies on the artistic stimulants, it craves nature, looks for the meaning of life which resides in Buddhism, it misses howling wolves in the deep dark wild woods, the true home is out there in the middle of greenery covered with the blanket of dew drops among the crimson red twigs which joyfully pierce my shattered soul preparing it for eternal rest where it belongs.

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Dear Life

Dear Life as you may know 

hope  exist together with peace.

I know I’m lost 

in the forest of poisonous thoughts.

I look to Mother Earth for guidance 

of how to survive.

I thrive on a dream 

that occurred to me last night.

I was a plant blooming in the woods.

I thought to be a rosette 

with a diamond like crimson petals.

I turned to be a wild weed 

with yellow and wilting leaves.

But I was a I troublesome bustard 

, a rebel at heart and soul. 

  

  

My Sweet Dream

Dough balls made of flour, water, salt
and sugar previously mixed together into sticky mixture. I compare dough balls to the life of every human being. In my eyes, the existence begins similarly for all of us (except the privileges of using extra organic flour or double filtered liquid heaven in o2 state). We choose if we want to fry, steam, boil or roast our balls. We have the opportunity to pick the toppings- I like my balls with chocolate dots for a sweet addition among stupidity of others. Sometimes my batch of balls gets burnt but then I magically put myself together in to one whole piece (again) and cook another one. It’s like a vicious life cycle. I feel like a hamster trapped in a never ending spinning wheel. In my dream, I live in a wooden hut, decorated in a vintage style with natural materials, in the main room, there is a fireplace with two old, tactile  worn out armchairs, and a rug with shredded sides just in front of them. There are two cups of tea and coffee made in a peculiar way, carefully placed away from the edge of the trunk of an old tree which poses as a coffee table. I’m surrounded by sweet and wild nature in the company of my amazing man, cats presenting natural poise, and a confident German shepherd. I don’t serve anyone above me. I’m free like a bat chasing a mouse. I grow old peacefully and at the end I float out to serenity.