You ignored me in the elevator because I wasn't your destination floor.
You ignored me in the corridor because you didn't have to pass me to get to your office.
You ignored me in the supermarket because i wasn't your favorite brand.
You ignored me while riding the bus, because I wasn't your destination station.
You ignored me in your poetry, because I didn't rhyme with the rest of your lines.
You ignored me while looking out the window, because i was below your field of vision.
You'll always ignore me since I'm always available, I'm always reachable, and always there.
You ignored me just because you're never content with where you are, what you want, and that which is at your presence.
Will you stop by someday? Will you touch me sometime? Will you glimpse at me just for a moment?
I am the flower in a corner of your resident's backyard.
I'm a butterfly in larva.
I am the painting on the other side of the wall.
I am the candy ready to be unwrapped.
I am the hour that just passed you by.
I am the music of the silence,
The flavor of the tasteless,
The fragrance of the pure air,
The essential ingredient of nothingness,
The quintessential essence of the ignored!
That which the traveler in his journey experiences will eventually shape his identity. So, here are the events as they unfold ....... © copyright by firstcomet
9/6/08
The Dreamland (by firstcomet)!
Looking at the clock, going tick and toc … I want to start a new poem. Then I’m reminded of the absurdity of lines, verses, and rhymes. Somehow we collectively managed to reduce the complexity of human life into a series of economical and political equations wherein poetry has no place. In reality, we have become obsessed with utility and the commercial relationship of "me" with "them", and I’m no outsider to this world. Flowing smoothly in the background is the music of a forgotten yore. It’s a nostalgic theme, though. It seems like art, in general, can eternally leech off sadness and despair. The crashing of the symbols and the march of the battle filed goes contrary to the state of the modern man’s mind; depressed and sinking ever deeper into slothfulness. The curse of the modern man is repetition:
The feather pillow on the bed
Head on the pillow,
Bird in the head,
Flying to the dreamland!
The clock is ticking,
A distance light is blinking,
And I’m thinking …
Another day has gone!
And the breathe-ins
And the breathe-outs
And the roll-lefts
And the roll-rights
And before I know,
The ticking clock
and the blinking light
Are all gone!
The catamaran standing tall,
The Great Wall,
And the Niagara Fall,
I hear them call!
The caul is torn
The baby is born!
It’s Time to sail
To the land of whales!
And then the ticking clock,
And the bright light,
And the apples jam delight;
A new day has begun!
The feather pillow on the bed
Head on the pillow,
Bird in the head,
Flying to the dreamland!
The clock is ticking,
A distance light is blinking,
And I’m thinking …
Another day has gone!
And the breathe-ins
And the breathe-outs
And the roll-lefts
And the roll-rights
And before I know,
The ticking clock
and the blinking light
Are all gone!
The catamaran standing tall,
The Great Wall,
And the Niagara Fall,
I hear them call!
The caul is torn
The baby is born!
It’s Time to sail
To the land of whales!
And then the ticking clock,
And the bright light,
And the apples jam delight;
A new day has begun!
9/4/08
The conversationalist:
Do we ask questions to extract meaningful information from others? Not necessarily, sometimes we ask questions to smooth out social contacts by eliminating those awkward moments of silence. To what category the question “Where are you from” belongs to? What kind of information does a person’s nationality covey about him/her? What are the characteristics of a lazy conversationalist? How about the question “Tell me about your background”? It sounds more intimate and an answer to this question tends to be more informative.
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