MARIETA MAGLAS

 

Fascinating Truth

 

This fascinating truth comes out of

your mouth to surround

my feelings like the lights that touch

the darkness in the underground -

optical fiber sensors in the smart

fields with heat, vibration,

bending or squeezing.

 

This truth is a thing I know for sure, a thing

I know I can live for it.

It makes me understand

our relationship from the inside out. A new sun

is in this secret world

of our little garden situated

in front of our cave temple,

and I spend time fleshing

out precisely what 'embodied' signifies.

Optical fibers

always pick up ground tremors.

Even so,

I am the only one trying to do

something good

around, but I am growing up in slavery

on your love plantation,

which is ruthless and

has turbulent waters. The sun disappears

there, nor its rays can heat the floods

to make them disappear.

 

This truth is like a holm. It makes you rethink

what you know about the Creation,

and what love means,

when you are still alive

at the edge of your thinking

 

between certainty and denial,

and when God is

out of your vision. It is about overcoming

the idea of what makes you 

so fearful. I fell in love

with you the way you fall asleep: all at once

 

while standing

as the sun stands

in the sky

 

before the sunset. Clean and uncluttered,

this truth belongs to a twilight time

and makes you do

absurd things.

 

We are inside this plasma,

and plasma is inside

everything. It is incandescent

in the sun, and I am curious to know if

you can stop orbiting yourself around it

even for a second.

 

No, you are not able to do

this, but you are able

to stop the truths from being spoken.

 

All the absurd things are cool. Their spirits

lose their oxygen ions

to generate

that matter in no pain. The Spiritual

things are pulsing

metamorphosis

to break into the pieces, or

to turn back after

a long, complex, but reversing process

before becoming anachronistic.

 

Immeasurable Dream

 

Your dream is existent.

It is a galactic spin;

it is electric, rhythmic,

resonant, and lunar,

a red Skywalker.

You're never present

in this dream of yours∽

a complex analysis of

your image in the mirror.

 

This kind of images

never looks like you.

 

Tathagata waits for us as long as

we want to be there.

Maybe Tathagata is only

an illusion coming to be.

 

Your dream is a square

for heart sacrifices-

fundamentalism, principles,

harmonic convergence,

paradigm, and philosophy.

 

 

You should not be

that soul yearning to quench your thirst

with something you cannot have.

It makes me think

of a river.

Generates a loud, low scream

when you need it to be existent.

 

 

Who can imagine that

the blue color of the sky

is not a real, true one?

 

 

Hope is like landing on Gliese.

It is not the moon

reflecting

on the river.

Thinking while living long

and while longing for freedom,

you are resentful toward

everything that

shouldn't make you dissatisfied.

 

 

Like the moon

hiding the same half from view,

it is this suffering in togetherness;

swamps the disillusions.

Yet, it remains unchanged.

 

Why is everything the way it is?

 

I don't know whether or not

we are existent

because Someone wants us to be extant,

but maybe we need firstly a reason

to be existent-

the first cosmic truth.

 

The mind thinks of that eternity

that doesn't have chains.

We all have the right to think

whatever we want.

 

Eternity is not equal to the Tathagata.

It looks so real out of it.

It cries out of nothingness.

In the womb of the Tathāgata,

grows its embryonic essence.

 

All the bluebirds

fly freely in the serene sky.

 

The more we understand God,

the more He reveals Himself.

We thirst for those heights

with a will to be children.

 

Poem For Bob Dylan

 

 

Painting with beautiful words.

 

Lyrics within the music,

questions,

and beautiful answers Blowin' in the Wind.

 

His life portrait, an ice cube

in the watercolors,

floating on the river of time.

 

 

He looks like being angry with himself.

A need to reach perfection.

I think he wants to be a witness

and to testify to the truth of music.

 

It is about that kind of music

named in French ``hymnes anti-guerre``

during The Times They Are a-Changin'.

 

His poems, pools of light,

in which the readers

can feel his divine fever,

a spiritual paradise

called Gates of Eden.

I think Bob Dylan is

a miracle.

 

MARIETA MAGLAS