I hear the babble of the world

I hear the babble of the world.

I try to discern something, a word, anything, that will indicate that the world is awake. But most of it is asleep or keeping the awoken part very well hidden.

The news is heartbreaking no matter where it comes from. Violence fueled by an obtuse sense of self is on the rise, both in speech and action; while so-called political correctness actually impedes free speech, the one where humor and laughter are allowed. Remember?

Trying to be original has become so common that it is… you guessed it, no longer original.

I do look around. I do observe and I do try to avoid judgement. But at times, I wish there were less brashness and a dash more of elegance — intellectual elegance I mean, the one that opens your mind and makes you want to pursue a conversation. The one of knowledge and simple straightforwardness, not the one of vulgar (as in vulgaris) information and complicated pretension.

The world is in dire need of consciousness, of ideas and concepts beyond the confines of the known, of dreams and of those things that are only accessible to the mind. If only mankind would realize that what he can do is far far greater than what he has made and what he thinks he can do.

There are more than 125 trillion synapses in our cerebral cortex, that is more than there are stars in 1’500 milky ways. And yet, look at the world.

Thank you for reading.

Kenza.

The world entangled

The world entangled.
I used to want to disentangle it,
to loosen each knot.
Oh! I was patient, very patient.
At times I succeeded and was rewarded with a smile.
Now that white hairs mingle with black ones,
now that lines draw themselves under my eyes,
I have stepped aside.
I see the entanglement,
I even know where it comes from.
Pride, arrogance, envy, and more,
all those attachments that people persist in pursuing —
the constant call of the ego.
I have learned to let it all be.
I still shed tears because the world is hurting,
but I no longer try to loosen the knots.
Now I just come here and write a few words.
If you do not understand the compassion in my poetry,
it is fine by me.

Kenza.