How often do you sit down, and think about your life?
Do you find a tiny space between your thoughts to think about you, You?
Did you check on your heart lately to see if she is happy?
How are you treating your body?
How often do you trace a bad emotion and discover its root?
Do you connect with yourself before you wait for someone else’s heart in handy?
Is it fear or love, deriving your decisions?
Is your self-love based on the reaction of others, what they do for you and what they don’t?
Are you still reading the previous page, overlooking the next, or writing the one in your hands?
Do you enjoy your own company?
How often do you explain yourself, and what do you feel about it?
Do you feel guilty when you do something for yourself?
What is your first thought after you meet someone?
What is your last thought before your head meets the pillow?
Do you cherish the ordinary things, the little things?
How do you deal with a mistake you made, do you accept it, do you knock yourself down?
Is your pain telling you something?
Is the concept of death preventing you from life?
Are you dragging yourself through life, or are you creating it?
Start living from within.
I am kissed
By a promising vision
It wounded its way to me through
I now discern
The difference between
And open grave
I tell an aura
From a stain
The universe is knitting my story
Colliding the vibes of
And floating stars
The flare is tempting
A river flows within.
I am pulled
With home on my shoulders.
Here is a sneak peek to my bookshelves in all their glory.
It’s interesting to go through all the books I’ve adopted through the years, let alone their smell.
On the upper shelf, there sit the poetry books in all their majesty. The second one is for the self-awareness, healing and spiritual books. I owe them a lot! The third shelf is for novels, a corner for originality and creation. Finally a space for the elegant French books.
What’s really exciting to me is the fact that my own book will soon be tucking itself there on the poetry shelf!
They said I’ve outgrown your bosom
That I, myself, became a mother
With a brand new bosom
Warm and ready for my little ones.
They said I had grown my own roots
Bursting with answers.
Mama, didn’t you tell them
Your little girl still flutters
In her forties
Pulsing somewhere in between
Rain and sunlight
Haven’t you told them
About the little girl with a mole on her left cheek
Looking for your smile
Through half-open doors
And half-spoken truths
That loves me anyway
Did you have to go
You wait for it
your entire life.
You seek it
and urge it
to invade you,
to rejuvenate the joy.
And when you surrender;
Do you hear
the sound of rain and thunder?
An overflowing nothingness
and you swim in its fragrance.
Nothing matters anymore,
things are things.
Nothing belongs to you,
you belong to Existence.
You’re at ease;
you forgive people.
You turn your face
towards the exhilarating sun,
the letting go
and the rebirth.
You enter your own temple..
You are present..
the lotus flourishes..