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The Enlightenment Game


Part 1

 While walking

Ahead of my dreams,

A sharpened thought I hunted,

Disguised as an anchor,

Other times as a stone

At the end

Or maybe at the beggining of a hope...

How an enlightened man looks like?

...I haven't seen one yet

And no one would tell me…

But have you?

Taunting thought,

In its dance with no pretense.

Inquest for the sages? Not..

They would fear it,

As they cringe in front of it,

With much too deep,

Wrought humility.

I need to meet this man,

The enlightened man..

Not the one of the day after,

Not the one who will be so

In a year of light,

But the one enlightened


Or a year ago,

Or a life ago...

Before long,

As I am writing this poem,

I am scribing the dust of tomorrow,

Painted in seeds of my own words,

From the day before.

What am I gaining from writing the fate of this dust,

In this second that will never come again?

These words were told a million times afore,

In million ways and more,

Grains of sand on the shores of my sea...

What gives this moment merit above the others,

That I stand in this place, in teasing stillness,

And write these words of dust

Under my blue moon,

In a never fully happening world..

This word to you?

Part 2

So, tell me quiet wanderer,

If I were to take from you

What you praise the most,

To make you lose

What you treasure beyond

The doorsteps of your doubt and conceit...

How would you stand for your enlightenment,

On the sore soles of your thin feet?

Your greatest poem,

That never seen by anyone,

To take it from you,

Before even having been glanced at...

Maybe your most precious message

Sent to yourself by your muse,

Not to forget,

In a fit of wakefulness...

Your most rebellious thought,

That one intended to set you free,

Just lost, taken from you...

That moment when you met the love

And cherished it like a blessing..

Or perhaps that one when you freed yourself from it,

From what was not love to you,

Taken from you...

To make you know that you've unlearned

Your dearest song,

With no return,

The one raising you to the stars,

When your ears were diving into its music,

Taken from you...

That very moment when your soul opened,

From all its wars,

In all its candor, trusting the skies..

Taken from you...

To steal from you the peace

You have fought for,

For so long,

That you've already imagined you truly earned,

In all your dreams about your heights..

To take it from you,

In its first second of bloom,

When anger is still warm and deep,

When it can still take your hand…

To your desert or to your tomb.

If I were to take that all away from you..

Your healing wound,

In the middle of your heart,

From all those lost arrows,

What would the sign of your enlightenment be like,


How would you know that you are the enlightened one,

When your struggle through your dreadful renunciations

Made your trail so forsaken,


Part 3

Playing with the rocks on my path,

My dear rocks of joy and pain.

The rocks of my sky and my rain,

Wrapped in my skin,

Rocks of my flowers and my flame,

Feathers of sin,

Torn apart by sightless griefs,

In the time of blossom,

When just about to grasp

Joys' most tender perfume...

And sip from their bowl of fire..

That is the sun that I taste on my lips

Before being one,


And then, my wandering stops...

No seaboard, nor bridges,

You, floating ship on waves of the world,

How wonderful the freedom of your sways,

Caressed by oceans with no aim...

When you call for yourself,

Your eye is a mountain of stars...

Climb to its peak,

So you can really see the other,

Through the fog of your ego

And the maze of its deceit.

This is the birth of love,

This is the well of peace,

From here on, their roots grow...

With no malice.

This road is the enlightenment,

And our step in its thick mud...

Without becoming attached to it,

To its love, to its peace,

To its humbleness and bliss..

The other is many

And their yells must be heard in your heart.

It is pain to live in imperfection,

And sadness to live with it and know it...

Unbearable how fallible man is

How fast against himself he turns,

His own poison and mischief.

It's struggle to harvest his excellence from it

And miracle to have escaped it,

Before having been consumed by it.

Word of wits for you, wanderer,

Ever would you try to walk this path..

Do know your poison,

Yet dwell in your world

Fear your blessings,

But tremble not.


The Enlightenment Game
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