The next step

On this sunken soul
I stand firm, with feet of brain -
each moment sinks me down,
as I palpitate like my heartbeat.

To the land of logic, I stand, 
deciding each event of the future.
What's next: drives me, haunts me,
she pulls me or she pushes me - I'm torn.
With no flesh and no blood, still I stand,
brain engulfs me, yet I am sinking down.

Submerging into the abyss of my soul,
my brain diminishes and droops down.

But what's soul all about?

Soul is a vast grave of logico-emotions -
silence, gaze, eyes, tears, and poems.

But the question still remains,
What's the next step?
Where are you heading?
Is this a place where
a brain is no more, before it sinks down the soul,
or a brain still working but in this grave new world.

Metapoetry

 A thunderbolt of thought,
so striking yet years apart
gave me a piece to write - 
something that you might call "poetry".

A poem is what your brain is,
you can't predict, you can't describe.
The moment you describe, it slips away from you -
like the slippery something you want to say, but it slips,
or the rational thought you want to stick on, but it slips.

Each thunderbolt comes in and goes away,
you've but few seconds to see it, say it.
Why is the first fiery thought the special one?
If you really forget it, is it really the special one?

It seems like special as it excites you at glance -
the way, I met her, dated her, and got excited at glance.
After a while, as that thought get stagnant and stale,
the love gets boring and the relationships start to fail.
Is there something which is special and keeps you ON,
or the notion that to be on is to be afraid of loving all.

Loving all is to not restrict yourself to rationality,
to not be with ONE and but to be ONE with everything.
That is to be open for everything alive and around,
waiting for it to strike you and poetise you down.

Utopia

That moon or that equation,
submerged me into it,
like a a dead body sinking down -
bones, earth, bacteria, and consonance.

A consonance with the universe -
stars, galaxies, or the stardust infinite.
Are you really conscious?
Or your thought is the thought of stars.

The stars might not think but still,
they are close to other stars so they don't care - 
they act the way you can't describe,
the way you can't describe how she loves me?

She loves me the way I don't know-
her smile, her gesture is so spiral and secret.
Secret are those movements of stars,
they yearn to submerge deep into those stars.

Sumerge as in they kiss her -
make love and destroy what they truly are.
To destroy what you really are
is to love someone and to not be who you are.

Are we really someone or are we "love"?
Do we really exist outside your heart?
Imagine walking around with no heart.
Feeling nothing but knowing all,
and still knowing nothing what you feeling are.

Logico-emotional art: 1