185cm, Trilingual; Content Creator, Curator + Published Writer, Media.
www.AainaA.info
On earth there are so many forces, so many attractions that draw one to the right or to the left, illusions that cast one into misery, glamour that takes one from the path. There is the constant struggle with the idea that success consists in dominating another, exploiting another, conquering another.
How can the "existence" of waves be mentioned while all the waves of knowledge return to "non-thing-ness" after emerging from "non-thing-ness" at every moment?
On one hand, I am ascertained that I blog for myself in my modest yet magnified world within the Garden, of the Kingdom
"I am not sure exactly what heaven will be like, but I know that when we die and it comes time for God to judge us, he will not ask, 'How many good things have you done in your life?' rather he will ask, 'How much love did you put into what you did?'"
— Mother Teresa
The thing is who is going to implement it, and if it had been implemented why isn't there one solution that embraces all?
Un jour, à l'éternité I trace the hardness of the heart A thought, unconsumed, an embrace "... Que je vous aime" Succulent Affair Dark, his skin beckons Me to taste and slice the meat Off, enriched with goodness Only the heart can savour Though through the tongue Its bitter-sweetness reigns Alike a king Sweet, pungent and killing Acidic, the flowing juice, a Reminiscent of past joys Sweet renderings, tis sweet as honey This love I miss amidst tasting pleasures, none have I miss amidst displeasures the groins of nature plucked like raisins sweet ready to be squashed and trampled like bodies intertwine How beauty colours the brazen Jars in winter pure, hardened Embracing juice in dark cellars A succulent affair That drenches the body warm to Silent madness of twirls, spirals And dances… meshed between Blood and soul 15th January 2008 © AainaA-Ridtz A R | 24th January 2008 © AainaA-Ridtz A R
A heartbeat, between split-beat of
Breath how burn the heart within,
Crying out a name, missing in silence
Only Gods feel, angels eulogize between
A man, a woman, between now
And then… amidst veils, shadows perched
Cast like a play between Sun, and night
Between life, and death
Within flows the blood encircling aliken
Moths towards a flame, beating in prayer
For none alone, in conscience care
Of a past remembrance, of promises
Unwept, beating like drums at dusk
Unfulfilled, sealed in words unspoken
Prayers, implored as eyes dart across
The darken skies, unlit like a blanket
Disheartened, as tears cull in eyes
Wrenching a revelation pleased
Only a Soul may express
A flower doesn't turn toward the Sun because it needs to, but because it wants to, and so the process is effortless and joyful
Wisdom ?
