The Thursday Think Tank #59 - Grass

You have the key
to a magical world.
Just go
and find it.

It exists between
each blade of grass:
a perfect microcosm
of a perfect system.

The soil sustains grass-
the grass sustains grazers-
grazers sustain insects and germs;
and they sustain the soil.

Insects and germs:
creatures often despised
by ignorant fools
is why this world is perfect.

All that is
dead and useless
finds its relevance
here; nothing is wasted.

Hair

A fantasy 

of long lustrous

layered locks is 

what makes me look

longingly at the mirror.

Hair grazing my shoulders,

    brushing against my breasts,

     caressing my hips with its silkiness:
a distant dream. Now it barely scrapes

      my neck, tickles it with coarse choppiness

         and taunts my efforts with stubborn shortness.

       I do all what granny advises: i oil my hair, comb it

    hundred times, scrape my fingernails and massage it 

        lovingly. Yet it remains frustratingly short. I wring my 

       hands at the mirror. When will heads turn as i walk 

      along? And when will men bump into each other 

   at my approach? Mommy may say i am 

  obsessed but is it wrong to desire 

  beauty? We can endlessly

 argue about this.

The Thursday Think Tank #58 - Nighttime

The full moon 

never looked lovelier;

'His' face was

shining through it.

Dangerous Pleasure

In a dark cave 

of location unmentionable,

pleasure is found. 

The cave is smelly 

like rotten thoughts 

and rotten actions.

Its floor is slippery

like dangerous pleasure
from dangerous actions

And its walls are sticky 

like the consequences 

of those actions. 

The cave can

trap anyone who 

goes too far. 

The Thursday Think Tank #57 - Loneliness

The world that
exists in your mind
doesn't exist in mine.
So we are lonely people,
you and I.

Even when we share
our innermost thoughts,
reveal naked our souls,
there is a barrier
that separates us;
you are you
and I am I.

Perhaps we can understand
each other's thoughts fully;
we can't live them.

Bubbles become
one with the ether,
with each other
only when they burst.

We Talk

We talk to fill
an abyss:
an expansive desert,
a bottomless ocean
of emptiness
with overflowing emptiness.
It occupies infinite space
yet overflows when filled.
What an insatiable emptiness!

The battle cry
pierced the sky;
the sky was an orange red
in the dusk, like the bloodshed
that would haunt
soldiers in nightmares, taunt
them of their baseness,
of their human weakness,
for greed of land
that would stain the sand
with blood, and bleach it
with bones; each
corpse a painful sight,
a reminder of a fight
in vain,
each bloodstain
exemplified what it cost,
of little gained and so much lost.