sweet clouds in red skies
tell me what became
of those alternative paths
the untold stories
that my choices left behind
Whatever we call reality
Even if such a thing exists
Will forever remain elusive
A truly hard picture to paint
Partly objective and measurable
Partly interpreted and beyond form
Whatever we experience and remember
Whatever we tell others and ourselves
Goes well beyond events and things themselves
And delve deep into the intricacies of the self
With our story, upbringing, environment and brains
Steering up swirls of joy, fears and hopes
Forming myriad of mental images and verdicts
No matter if right or wrong
Without ever telling us a thing
We frenetically spun those stories
That we will tell ourselves
Oh! How on Earth are we going to communicate?
How can I tell you the way I perceive my world?
So you see the same thing as I do?
How can we reach a common ground?
How can we steer away of conflict
And reach that dreamed of future
Of peace, understanding and love?
infused with the fury of spring
a mighty young river flows
powerful and hopeful
with the buoyancy of youth
although unbeknownst to it
whatever rocks it may move
wherever it goes at the end
its force remains deeply constrained
by mountains long ago built
by framing ideas that persist
thick influences lingering past their due
as it happens to us as well
deeper than we can know
we keep flowing ahead
sometimes meandering around
towards a vast and distant sea
Fragile and ephemeral.
To those unaware eyes.
Crazy flickering lamps,
trembling in the wind.
But appearances are superficial!
See! on the inside there is a mountain,
and within the mountain a deep lake.
Genuine and unique,
self-reliant and authentic.
Behind the veil of softness,
there is an iron will,
a soul committed to the truth
and a spirit no one can defeat.