I was at Pub limerick for their weekly Poetry Slam. This time I tried to recite 3 short poems instead of one.

The last week I went to an exhibition in Barcelona called Black Barcelona Fiesta. Interesting enough, they touched the argument of how humanity has collectively decided to save and propagate the beautiful over the ugly. Collectively enough, we have become superficial. I tried to take that a step further, at why we have often chosen to question truths with “Why?” rather than “Why not?”.

A black summer.

Too much reading, a couple of errors here and there.

The creator was sitting on the top of the universe.
Being omnipresent, omnipotent, omniscient,
Too bored of her life she got.
Let’s bring some excitement, she thought.
Let me destroy my powers,
And go back to my creation

And so she did,
She came back to planet Earth,
At the same place from where we came.
She went to Africa,
Being a black man.

In the depths of the forest,
In all abundance,
He found no one.
The animals crying with fear,
The trees shivering nervously.
The substance of creation
Rejected the created.

He walked past, past the greens,
Past the rivers,
And took an unlikely boat ,
Across the Mediterranean.
And before he made it to the other side,
A blast, a boom and a shout.
“Your boats don’t come here”

He stayed in the desert,
Lost by his confusion.
Very thirsty,
He nudged his nearest neighbour.
“Don’t touch me,
We are different kinds” came the reply

He teleportated himself,
To what we call Europe.
Only to be considered a refugee,
And denied the right to earn

He flew past the oceans,
Ended up in the Americas,
Where he ended up in prison.
For flying illegally.

He swam all the way to China,
Only to be detected by a camera.
“Pledge for communism,
And you shall live”
He died once again on the inside,
Refusing to be budged by his own creation.

And there he flies back to Africa,
Only to see water walled by corporations,
Only to see weapons cheaper than houses,
Only to see sex sold for peanuts,
Only to realise that he had no place

What has come out of this creation
Where lives have only the value that they were born into,
Where sustainability works for the sustained,
Where the impoverished,
Are lost in their cycle of death
And where the poverished,
Profit from their death.

Where is the karma,
Where is the Dharma?

Frustrated,
he became herself again,
To get back to work ……
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And that was that. That was a poem that I wrote on the train ride to Barcelona, from Cerdanyola. Earlier that day, over lunch, I had written another one. This was was inspired by a documentary called HyperNormalization. This is about truths in general, and how a small battle between facts vs opinions takes place, while humanity in general tries to keep society together.

An Ode to Truth

In a when do we live in?
In a where do we live in?
In a why do we live in?
Questions lost in a sea of reactions.

Information in ready availability
We don’t worry about its malleability.
While we reject the voice of others,
We happily accept the text of others.

It matters not, your accuracy.
It matters only, your contextual similarity.
It matters not, your love for the fact.
It matters only, your patience to scroll.

We are lost in a world,
Where gossip was the source of evolution,
But likewise, is a cause for revolution.
Where lives are made with pretty headlines
Where is the truth?

The truth is buried,
Under your search results,
Under your reactionary bubble,
Under your life’s blankets
That you refuse to exit.

But in the end,
Does truth matter?
In a noisy world with amplified messages.
Your laziness to scroll,
Your inefficiency in rejecting,
Your limits of possibilities,
Your satisfaction with the unknown,
The truth does not matter, for an accepter,
It only matters for a seeker.

The truth is everywhere,
For a seeker of nowhere.
In a world of contextual limits,
The answer is to bury oneself.

To bury oneself,
In the depths of information,
In the lack of context,
In the negation of perception.

From the sea of fallacies,
Will you arise,
Naked, from the loss of purpose
Hurt, from the lies of reasons.

Naked and hurt,
You will seek.
Not for dopamine pieces,
Not for facts that complete the puzzle,
Not for the simplicity of attainment.

What you will find,
Will not pleasure you,
It will fill you up with joy.
We are seekers, after all.

Our genes are aberrations
Of multiple generations.
We are a society of the earth,
We self organized ourselves,
Based on our immediate truths,
Not on an ideology from the sky.

Our survival vessels,
Come not from a command from above ,
But instead,
From a decentralization of our genes.

We are inherently dispersed,
We are inherently waves.
And so is our truth.
We are decentralized stargazers,
Born out of decentralized star explosions,
And so is our truth decentralized.

We are collectively our future,
We are collectively our past,
We are collectively our reason,
And the decentralized truth lives in each one of us

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