Heres Estrella

More Stars than There are

Tag: depression

getting even with madness

shadows crawling, sins go on repeating
as you scantily prop your back,
fighting cross-generational
demons.

years without Transcendence
or pure self destruction,
cut out from the fast and easy
perishing---

do you find yourself now
so needlessly harsh,
morbidly crass;
so stubbornly brash?

would opening your skull,
and peeking in to
snap these tense cords
bring you final release?

mute screams, muffled
between inner ears
reverberate and
seep---

until we are nothing
but knots over knots:

finding ourselves
in a messy string.

But hey now---
hey now, hey now:

If we are so Lucky
as to
Carry On Living...

Remember,
Grit your teeth!
trace the harder
route to Release---

Follow the timeless Patrons
of Form and Patience,

And all the while,
.
.
.

Rage.

Plan with fervor;
Desist; Trample if you must---

but Do---
not try but do,

Toss
until chaos
becomes Peace.

Something to Look Forward to

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Spring is surely a most wonderous time of the year, but it is not a cliché comprised of magical healing, nor does it promise total restoration of all that’s wrong with ourselves and the world around us. One could stand amidst sceneries breath-takingly beautiful, and still be haunted by inner shadows convincing him/herself that nothing is alright, that there has been too much wrong for glimpses of hope to realize into change or mending actions. However, if one chooses to see in symbols, drawing connections between observed physicality and metaphysical connotations, then a natural phenomenon like The Spring has much to offer: look at the Dandelion, never planted with intention, even conventionally seen as a pest, a weed that besmirches the neatness of civilized gardens; yet without any positive expectations, they flourish nearly everywhere, scattering on the sidewalks, swaying underneath interstate speedways, and sprouting in the middle church yards (as shown in photograph)—embodying bundles of wishes, waiting for the eventual breeze make them come true. Now think of us, how similar some of our lives may resemble that of the Dandelion—outwardly without deliberate meaning: we don’t know why we are here, or what is expected us on a grand scheme. We are scattered upon our Earth to germinate all over the place like the Dandelions. But does this  mean we ought not to bloom like them and erect our individual bouquets of dreams and ideals out of the soil beneath? Should we do so regardless of how undesirable or lost we think we are? The Dandelions do…then as their not overly distant relatives on this Earth, could we learn to live more as they do? Make a sincere wish for yourselves this year, and send its silky winged seeds sky-bound—may it germinate and sprout into existence when Spring returns again. 

Household Dystopia

The Sun, without notice, rises
Upon our individual dystopia;
Garden grown amok, overtaken by
Weeds rampant—intertwined with
Floral carcasses.

A fatal reality of decay, brought forth by
Negligence, perhaps coupled with bright
Streaks of depression, and its consequent sloth—

All the while,
Nothing was there to be done;
No unwinding of this tangled,
Graying yarn—

As we spent days chasing bread,
and slip past nights, nibbling on
Cheese, then poisonously chasing it down,
Not sleeping, but passing into
Unconsciousness, ruing our Daylight gone.

A bundle of rotting Roses,
Burgundy and Brown,
Sitting slanted and splayed
Unfittingly in  a vase oversized—
We are.

Yet here, maybe there; somewhere—
Under the caressing of Morning rays
In pastel, there is a vague, indescribable
Beauty to it all.

Crisis in Barren Island

Scars that won’t heal
Pain that cannot absolve
Now

What are you
But an empty crest of
Everything you once were?
Once immaculate, un-clever,
Never mutilated.

Seeking in despair
For sentience
From without—

Blinding lines of lyrics
Taking all your minutes, and
Countless, heart-wrenching
Silver-screen Plots,
Stealing away
All the hours—

Do you remember,
Or do you
Simply fall down low,
Empty
Once again,

When the Show’s over—

Still searching
Voraciously, tears lost—
No hindsights,
For the next wave
Of manufactured emotions?

In The Dark + Self Understanding

Feeling most reassured when I feel nothing at all.

                          Feeling most reassured when I feel nothing at all.

Cardinals

There is a pair of cardinals that would pay their occasional visits to the backyard. Though I am not entirely sure of their flight routines, I am aware that their appearances seem to be bound by a periodic pattern—the details concerning its particular time intervals have always eluded me.

With agile and energetic maneuvers, the two birds would glide up and down among the tree branches and garden furnishings. And because of the vibrant red-orange of their feathers, one can hardly take his/her eyes off them anytime they are anywhere in sight.

Today, for the first time this year, I had the fortune to see these lively, magnificent creatures again. With winter nearly to its rear and spring yet to have sprouted it first buds, at a glance, the yard is still in shades of withered, yellowish-gray. This made the winged guests especially eye-catching, for their fiercely bright coats sharply contrasted the stark hues of their surroundings.

Having spent most of the day like a ghoul, the sight of these cardinals brought forth relief, coupled by a sudden change of heart; their presence rebelled against and defied all that has perished outside: desiccated stretches of grass, leaf-less, snarled trees, and naked dry earth—all void of any vital sign. Yet there they were, alive and in flight amidst the dead, like messengers of Hope, delivering a kindred torch of life to the ones still living in bleak times.