Would I bathe in a better blue
if I flew my window in what is true?
Though more at times a bitter blue
than some times a sweeter hue,
isn’t a bitter blue, yet a better blue,
where the sour sun is sweetly due?

What if
I dipped my window
deep down my heart
into some nectar
a la carte,
then opened my art
all wide apart
for a marinated
brand-new start?

Say, I opened it to a field of dancing daisies
hailing the psyche in sun-kissed curtseys
in glee, calling me to swim in a skeptical sea;
to seek to be free in gold-petalled inquiry?

Hey, lad or lady!

Swim in our skeptical sea!
Join the merry inquiry.
May it be always your maybe!


Beware the sorry old tree!
Pluck the sun-kissed daisy!
To see what —good or not;
Loves me, or loves me not…

Beware the sorry old tree!
Pluck the sun-kissed daisy!
To see what —good or not;
Loves me, or loves me not…

Or,
would I grow a hole in my bole
if I ignored the daisies’ call
and followed all into a hollow's hall,
walked with shadows in Fortune’s Fall
as sad old stories flicked across the wall,
smothering the ruby embers in me and all?


When you can’t see what you should see;
when there is no wind to stir your quay;
Which is more suitably true—
a window or a wall about you?


When you can’t see what’s beyond the eye;
when nowhere's so high for your wings to fly;
Which is more suitably true;
a window or a wall about you?

Betrothed though to the wall,
doesn’t a window -whether coy or small-
like a paramour join in love
with those who know but to look how?

If only
you truly want to see,
swim in this skeptical sea!

If an unchartered ocean
engulfs all out of all proportion
yet begs the eye for a little notion
craving revelation in each situation,
why curl before the wall?

If a quay, short of mooring vessels,
is thirsty for a visitor with questions he nestles,
why get drowned in lakes?

If a night sky aquiver in sprightful stars
whispers to you on the heavens’ spars,
why wade in shadows?

If the whole world you can tweedle
through the keen eye of a needle

into a dance of daisied ripple,


why ******* the human art,
why riddle the heart,
why rip it all apart?

© Hirondelle, June 22, 2025
    Arif Hifzioglu

There’s a mind that relentlessly rioted
And honestly couldn’t be quieted
Distraught by illusion  
It hungered for fusion
Like Plato’s original dyad did

Amid the clamor of self-assured minds,
Where the knowing parade their truths refined,
A quieter echo hums, profound and true:
The wisdom of those who confess, "I don't know."

Socrates walked where shadows spoke,
Challenging sages with questions that broke
The fragile veneer of their certain lore—
Truth's light reveals we know far less, not more.

To claim "I know" is to build a wall,
A citadel guarding knowledge small.
Yet cracks appear where hubris reigns,
And truth escapes through humility's pains.

The unknowing few, with open eyes,
Gaze past the clouds of prideful lies.
They ask, they doubt, they sift, they weigh,
In search of dawn where night holds sway.

Euthyphro claims divinity's hand,
Yet falters when truths shift like sand.
Crito pleads for escape to the day,
But justice demands the law's heavy sway.

Phaedo weeps at the prison’s gate,
Yet Socrates drinks the hemlock of fate.
In questions that turn the soul to flame,
The unknowing walk a nobler aim.

To know is to cease, to doubt is to grow;
The river flows where the winds dare blow.
For wisdom, dear friends, begins to take flight
Not in the sun, but in yearning for light.

In those late, fragile hours
on those dark, desolate nights
my soul seems to wander the earth
searching for a heart that matches mine

if soulmates do exist
then i'm missing a puzzle twain
Plato wasn't fallacious when he said the soul splits a brace

once you cradled my hand in yours,
our fingers dance, entwined;
I sensed this eternal connection,
that we are forever, intricately aligned

Too much for any single mind
to access, while seeking sublime
self
reflection,
ah, see, I am but one, many
we be,
we read and learn we have been,
all along.

Take me with you to your Atlantis
Where hues of blue glisten in noons
For eternity we embrace in its promise

Are days of sober in crystallic bliss
Are nights of glacial comfort under mystic lunes
Take me with you to your Atlantis

Wash me into a tender kiss
Too soft to be witnessed but the full moons
For eternity we embrace in its promise

Beyond boundaries of mortality at this
ocean, through the skies and dunes
Take me with you to your Atlantis

Volumes and arks fill up the abyss
with painted tales of Atlantic ruins
For eternity we embrace in its promise

When love dreamily left only to reminisce
as the ink of Plato seeped in tunes
Take me with you to your Atlantis
For eternity we embrace in its promise

As Plato stated:
First study sound,
then philosophy,
and finally physics.
So too, in the inner school:
mantra,
then silence,
and finally visualization.

For once all three are studied,
all can work in harmony.