Monitor the way you speak to yourself,
Catch yourself
In the midst of your own delusions.
You have mirrors
And a light in the middle
And you bounce off surfaces,
Weaknesses and solutions.
Confined in a body in a body
Revelling in a cognitive dissonance,
As you recognise within you
A drop from the divine,
You cannot ignore the infinite distance.

Swimming in the ultimate void
With many other souls
Walking blindly on the path of life
Looking at trees till they leave my peripheral
Life is pointless even with a positive outlook
We are more intelligent animals
With the tendency to make false rules and expectations
Nothing more nothing less
Floating through space in a sea of consciousness
Never the option to leave
Hopelessly in love, hopelessly in fear
No change or flux
To each their own.

It is me - Azerbaijan!
The hero of the history
On the shore of The Caspian
living manfully and free!

Many times enemies tried
to destruct and divide
Among three aggressors
we defended our pride

And the 'world community',
full of all shames and pity,
Just tell me a rotten lie
that support my integrity!

Let me hear your cry
for Karabakh, everyone!
Respect the real history!
Will we hear anyone?!

For centuries we were wronged
Will you wait for another?!
The son of my father's killer
Is beating my brother!

We faced through the history
Armenian hypocrisy
Put your hands on your conscience,
just show your democracy!

We condemn the historical aggressive policy of Armenia and the insensitive attitude of the world community.

Karabakh is Azerbaijan.
Stop believing provocative and fictitious history.
Research, respect and support the real history!

“His fingers wake, and flutter up the bed.
His eyes come open with a pull of will,
Helped by the yellow may-flowers by his head.
A blind-cord drawls across the window-sill . . .
How smooth the floor of the ward is! what a rug!
And who's that talking, somewhere out of sight?
Why are they laughing? What's inside that jug?
"Nurse! Doctor!" "Yes; all right, all right."

But sudden dusk bewilders all the air—
There seems no time to want a drink of water.
Nurse looks so far away. And everywhere
Music and roses burnt through crimson slaughter.
Cold; cold; he's cold; and yet so hot:
And there's no light to see the voices by—
“No time to dream, and ask—he knows not what.”

asking me if im the ****
god inspiring, streets got me perspiring
history filled with regrets love no chst
water to wine bread and fish miraculously
how blessing be arriving
religiously havin a picnic
religion just a language of faith
i aint been in a church for a while
not aetheism but how to live with this
change is how? come to church with us
not on ones doesn't mean u down
and the addict aint fly name
thats gravity im humble in pain
hunger for a plate after came home late
food for the stomach you aint know
hunger the **** n the fungus
athletes feet infecting the youngest
ball rap or trap to the kids inna struggle
ball rap or trap if you a kid in a struggle
all that cash you want cannot not hustle
first hundred then the commas cometh
momma crying kykle in trouble the jungle
codes cold as jermane under hov

with the wrongs done upon youpracticing making perfect

Swim in the ocean
Of rebirth with me
Resonating in
              The Stream
Of what I call
      Clear conscious.
Melody you sing to
                    On its waves
Matching its duality
Is like frustrated blur,
A hum of drastic stakes
       We are to make.
But I like you
In whatever shape
You desire
               to mold me,
Until the end of the day
I am your plasticine.
          And tomorrow,
I am as well you brick,
Your indulgence delusion,
A glass of aspirin water,
Therefore, your immutable side.

The vibrations shake,
as my eyes awake,

 and realize,
 as I visualize;

The cages bolted up
around me, minds corrupt

 with lies of the honey,
lathered on this dummy.

the scars cling on,
Reminders thereupon

enlighten the subconscious,
 as I live among the conscious.

The last breath is taken,
As from this trance I awaken.

I'm a poet, but not a conversationalist
All these thoughts going through my head
But really, I don't talk a lot
"Why you so quiet"
My tongue is caught in a knot
I'll probably turn into a different person
After another shot
-
I'm a thinker, not a speaker
If you want to get know me
You'll probably have to dig deeper
Analyzing my every response
Before finding a simple one
That might hopefully reach you
-
I'm a poet, I'm a thinker
I'm not a conversationalist, I'm not a speaker
If you approach me
I'll probably keep it brief
Maybe it's a blessing or maybe it's a curse
But if you want to get to know me
I'll have to let you into my conscious first
-
Lowkie©

Corona created chaotic choices.
Crumbling and collapsing decaying capitalism.

Birthing conscious awakenings in all corners of the world.
Kindness became the new currency.

The spoon fed fear, once zealously swallowed.
A Grimm bed time story for children grown up
Always thirsting for more,
having known nothing else.

Before the tide turned.
Before the silence.

And the old ways, became the old ways.
And the new ways -
Free will.
Still feeling like dress up clothes
not yet feeling the fit.

But with the courage and curiosity of pioneers,
We learned to feel comfortable in our own power.
We grew into our new skin, as we shed the old.

Conscious awakened.  
Now flying freely.
Free birds flowing on clear currents.

Skies of infinite possibility
Illuminating landscapes of love,
Dancing in footsteps of joy
Draped in New dreams
and hope
On a newly
birthed Earth.

We called that time,
The Beginning.