Nothing really to whine about this time
Throwing out your past does wonders for the mind
Almost done dwelling on what doesn’t need to be
Organized stacks of fantasies...clutter free
Premonitions poured from the heart of me
I couldn’t comprehend love til now
Been meaning to burn old written words
and release their content away
The day has come that all of me will allow
the desecration of the unrequited days
dragged too far along in life
because the idea still remained
Stopped loitering on too many side-thoughts
Got caught up with the right train
Been warmer in the cold this time around
These days, I don’t mind rain

What do I want in life?

The wind in my hair,
The sun on my back,
The sounds of drumbeats
And rustling trees in my ears.
A well-loved book nearby,
And a pen in my hand
With a blank page before me.
A creek running over my toes,
Its melody blending with the trees,
And the grass beneath me.
The arms of the one I love around me.
That is all I want
From this life.
With only this,
I will be content for all of my days.

We all crave that Permanent happiness you know

            it can only come from inside though.

Not from eating ice cream,
                                        buying new shoes,
                    hearing a joke,
Kissing a mate,
                                         Swimming in a lake,
Living in a bigger house,
                     Or Driving a fancier car.

*The more we rely on the material world for happiness ,
the further we dig ourselves into an endless pit.
For when one thing is gained, example that car,
you are temporarily satisfied.
Then a new want arises ,
a new goal that makes you think
" okay when I get THaT THEENN I will be happier"

And so it continues until you never settle with your idea of happiness.

Thus it is good to realize sooner rather than later- that true happiness is just a misleading term for absolute contentment .

Such Contentment that you learn to take the bad as you take the good. Always remaining in the middle, unaffected by any external matter.
You always looked pleased.
You never desire more.
You take what you get, enjoy it gratefully,
if you get more you are pleased-
if you do not get a single bit more,
would you know it-you're still pleased.

It is brilliant really, and so simple.
The goal is never to be happy.
The goal is be contented.
At least it should be.
Me thinks..

There is a place I think of last
Before each night and day,
Where night is green and never black
When all else turns to grey.

Here the river flows as if
Each gurgle were its first
And bamble sleepy insects might
Adance, alight, athirst.

The moss-hugged giants curl their toes
And lead them down to shore.
Ta-woo, Ta-woo, the tawny goes
Before he hunts for more.

The fullest moon, or thinnest yet,
Contented with its fill,
Grows fat on sight of river night
And lets its bounty spill.

And, lo! Take care! Don't scare it so...
The pearl of heaven falls
And leaps about the laps and waves
While the 'hopper calls.

Sparkling droplets take their rests
By friends lost in the day.
Chatter, chuckle, laugh they will;
Happy, oh so gay!

They wind around my feet, aflare,
Carrying their gifts.
Given all to waterfall
As my mind becomes the drifts

As my breath becomes the wind,
As my eyes become the deep.
As shadows o'er the shallows skip
I shall live and never sleep.

I had coffee on my breath when our lips first intertwined.
Short,
Detached,
But not urgent.

Our second was a surprise-
Something that quite literally caught me off guard.
A whirlwind of emotions soon followed.
Happiness.
Relief.
Confusion.
Everything, but a sense of contentment.

He treasured every inch of her skin
As if he was responsible for putting together her body structure and curves
Every detail was well thought, a result of numerous hours of unsharpened pencils and sketches
He has done this before, maybe even to the point that every stroke became less and less meaningful
When he wasn't preoccupied, leisure consisted of admiring buildings, edifices and towers that touched clouds and reached skies
He contemplated and wondered if he would ever come up with a design, so great that it would represent perfection
During nights when he would close his eyes,
He imagined a bare lot with overgrown grass, enclosed with trees
He pictured the process of construction, men moving back and forth, drenched in sweat,
And heat that showered on them like hovering bees
He never knew what perfection looked like, no matter how many times he would lie in bed at night with closed eyes
But she came to him like an idea, an inspiration that walked through the door
Yet he did not recognize that perfection looked beautiful in lavender
Nor did he know that she loved soft rains and ice cream during winters
He did not acknowledge such existence until she tore down her walls for him
And she became his favorite sketch, a structure he would always keep building
An assembly of the most appealing interior, countless hallways and staircases
A concept that needed more explanation and could not be written, spoken or expressed as blueprints
She became his favorite design, and a treasure he valued way more than any of his work

He loved her.

n.j.

We put together these words we think can suffice how much we feel about things

"I love you"
"You're beautiful"
"I miss you"
"I hate you"
"I don't ever want to see you again"

But what is that word? What is love? What does it mean? When we want to express words more than what they seem

It is not love when you look past and beyond that
It is not a word that can be found in a book, hidden in a shelf at the back of a library
It is not a combination of words nor letters put together
It is not a piece of paper filled with paragraphs back-to-back,
It is not a question of whether, who loves who most

It does not exist

It is not a lyrical embodiment
It is not ink
It is not printed
But it is here somewhere, tucked underneath our skin
It is a feeling, a tingle, a chill to the bone
It is an action expressed
It is art
It is me and you who are worth

But no matter how deep we dig
No matter how much we chase the sun and the moon
No matter how many offerings we think are enough to prove

Nothing will ever be enough to express the words we have for each other,
And me, for you

n.j.