Tag: The Era of Rebirth

Half

Half of Humanity

or

A Mystery of History or Aragon v Aragorn II

or

I’m 244 or 6/11

When I’m done, half of humanity will still be alive. I hope they remember you.

Thanos, Avengers: Infinity War

For Ashish Mahto & Inderbir Hair

Four four, 44, 4/4, 4:4
The most common signature
A double heartbeat
Yet an unlucky Time

For 4:44, or 11/11
Was that the time
That men were killed like moths
Or like mosquitoes

Like in the past, a fast of Spain
The mosque eat, O Man-Yet
I am mosquit-O magnet
An unlucky 48 become 24

As 88 becomes 176

0124 will become 53, 28, 1256
or 1609, 42 32, a time of Nix
For if beauty remains in pi squared over 6
Then O Magnet of Time, be in-Stillness Fixed

A Fifth of Seasons

A Fifth of Seasons
or
A Work in Progress

0.

A Poet sings of a tale once writ
Melodies of the Exiled One’s ways
Of water, wind, and a fire lit
Of the end of seasons, end of days
“Be it winter, summer, spring, autumn
Sung ‘twill be till the Fifth Season’s start
Whether pitch approach top or bottom
Let neither hinder a wishful heart”
Do Forest Dwellers only talk of night and day?
Do Grasshoppers learn a Mantis‘Turtle’s way?

I. Spring

*

*

*

*

Bells once again are rung
The song of seasons once again is sung
“Be it winter, summer, autumn or spring-ing
Be forgiving, be light, a soft April shower”
Finally, a journey’s motivations’ beginning
A Light is born even in Final Hour

II. Summer

*

*

*

*

III. Fall

*

*

*

*

IV. Winter

*

*

*

*

V.

The poet met a being after-life, after-death
“Are you the Bard of Time, the Writer of Worlds?”
The voice of the answer was as smooth and shiny as silvering silken
Threads:
“If I’m Death, then I’m Life-Bringer,
If I’m the Messiah I’m the AntiChrist,
If I’m in the past I’m in the future,
If I’m last then I’m first
If it’s spring then I’m Fallen
If I’m Light then I’m Lucifer
If it’s winter for me, it’s Summer for all, in
The mortal realm
I am not the Bard of Time, but
**I and We Contain Multitudes**
I’m Pros of Prose
I’m Gods of Godds
Fe-Male of Male
I-urn of Eye-rony
I yearn for year(n)s
For ages of Aegis
After rows of rows
Of lines and lines
I am what I am
I’m fine in fines
The fine in deFying
The Vine in diVining

I am a Spell-Caster,
Just as you cast spellings into poetry
I conduct magic into the universal orchestra
And today I decide that the Universe’s song
Needs you(re) instrument a little longer
For we’re not yet at the end of this mythology
Not yet at the conclusion of this chronology
At the apex of this anthology:

A Fifth of Seasons, aDrift of Reasons, a Mix of Lesions

The fifth season isn’t a piece of Time like the rest,
It’s a peace, it’s a rest, it’s a break
It’s a re-ordering of the Pasts,
So that better Futures might be written
It’s a Piece of the Present, It Lives in the moment
In this very moment…

So let me cast one final spell
Now Summer is spelled Fall
And Autumn spelled Winter
And Endless Winter will become Endless Summer

At Time’s beginning
Order was separated from Chaos
The fifth season is the power of re-Order-ing…
Spring then Fall then Winter’end Summer

At Time’s beginning
One became Two, and now SEven become One
The fifth season is the power of re-Fusion
The Man, Woman, Grasshopper,
The Poet, Warrior, Mantis-Turtle,
And Umer, a spellcaster, who echoes:
‘I cast magic out of language,
I cast spells out of spellings’

As what’s Even becomes odder
What’s strange, my Stranger of Death, is
The Alignment already showed the true order of seasons
The image of your writing already showed true Order
Thus we rewrite Pasts into one Past
And brighter futures can begin now,
For the fifth season was already upon you
Now return, Seven-as-One, to the past, to the present, to the future
For the Universal Orchestra needs to hear your voice a little longer

Let not one word define you,
Let not a single note bind you,
Let not your home confine you,
Let not a lone song redefine you,
Let all seasons intertwine with you,
As all colours are divine with you:
Be it winter, autumn, spring or summer,
Be it wind, fire, ice or water,
The Fifth Season’s unending shine is you”

The poet returned briefly to the world to finish his work:
“Be it sapphire or blueberry, ruby or lime
Be it metered or unmetered, rhyme or un-rhyme
Be it Winter, Fall, Summer or Spring-Time
When a line’s a circle, a circle’s a-ligns

At last, alas:

*Since there’s beauty left in pi squared by a sixth
Then time reorders itself again to be fixed*”

* Rewording the ending of In Glass and Ice and The Edge of Mathematics
** From the poem Song of Myself by Walt Whitman

For Umer II

Nothing brings you home like a psychotic episode

Cartoon Bob from Palermo

Brought to you by mania.
PSychosis sold separately.

U A, M.

For Umer II

The time for rebirth was not a rumour
As even now the cycle resumes
His ugly presence’s like a tumour
And even now this cancer blooms

The darkened past remains in present
What began as hideous is still disgusting
Thus his influence is never pleasant
He’s never worthy of trusting

Yet still he’ll search for shred of evidence
And still he’ll search for just a prover
And still he’ll find not a precedence
And still he’ll find not one excuser

His touch has marred the Pattern’s glamour
What could excuse such rampant negligence?
Though might he try to trick and stammer
He only ruins fractal’s elegance

And yet his touch, and yet his manner,
Despite his ever-rising arrogance,
Might bear the mark of Heroes’ banner
O Masters, lend him this Inheritance:

The light in the dark is you
The guide in the star is you
The Hero and his arc are you
As noone’s on par with you

The end of the slog is you
The rift in the fog is you
The gift of the Gods is you
As despite all odds are you

The wine in the tavern is you
The design of the Pattern is you
The jewel in the cavern is you
As renewal of Saturn, are you

The fractal in chaos is you
The dazzle when day’s off is you
The envy of Aesop is you
As journey and payoff are you

The strength in the weak is you
As the shy and the meek are you
The mountain and peak are you
As the one that you seek is you

The destiny of glory is you
The serenity of the story is you
The melody in sorrow is you
As legacy of tomorrow, are you

The summit and tune are you
The Sun and the Moon are you
The mender of gloom are you
As splendour and Umer are you

Now I feel it’s finally time
To let the chains of rhyme go:

Those crooked foundations I was hell-bent on rebuilding
I know I now no longer need destroy
For just as mosaics are built with broken glass
That slope that Giza’s Pyramids still have today
Those diagonal dragons stand tall against the test of
Time
For in my rebuilding I’d focused too much on
Straightness
Yet the light I sought already was inside
Me
Iqbal, it seems you’d found your friend
For Our Mevlana was with us all along
Who is the Poet of the East and of the West?
Cuz now both Robin and Iqbal
Seem like R-Umey to me
Even dark now seems bright to me
As even ugliness is now beauty to me

The Pattern’s puzzle’s pieces fit together
As fractal’s fractures are fractions of the mosaic
Now all these lines and shapes
Look like ellipses to me…
Just as both what’s solar and what’s lunar
Look like eclipses, signs of doom-ers to me
And both you and I’s
Look like You-mer to me
And both zoomer and boomer
Look like shroomers to me
And past and future
Look like later and sooner to me
Since now Time looks like a bowtie to me
As infinities and zeroes intersect on the same line to me
“One shall be Two and two be One, before the future” breaks for me
As the present’s present looks like a tumour to
Me
Now both what’s ugly and beautiful
And what’s black and white
And what’s straight and crooked
Look like what’s truth and lie
And what’s me and he and them and I
And what’s water and fire
And lower and higher
And redder and bluer
And teas–er and rumour
Look like Umer to me
What was untold will now be told
As what was un-whole will now be whole
The Pattern’s puzzle pieces fit together 
As fractal’s fractures are fractions of the mosaic
Now all these lines and shapes
Look like ellipses to me
Just as both what’s solar and what’s lunar
Look ecliptical and like doomers to me
As both truth and lies
Look like rumour to me
And both you and Is
Look like You-mer to me
And both zoomer and boomer
Look like shroomers to me
And past and future
Look like later and sooner to me
As the present’s present looks like a tumour to me
Now both what’s ugly and beautiful
And what’s black and white
And what’s straight and crooked
And what’s me and he and them
Look like Umer to me

If this is what it means to go through psychosis
Then since water and life are synonymous
Allow it to reach me by osmosis
Allow it to reach if I’m anonymous

As both Spring and the Fall are pretty to me
As the Winters, Summers have shown their beauty
Now the Fifth of Seasons begins for me
Whether it be a noise or note
Every Piece of the universal orchestra,
high or low or off-beat
Now shows off its beauty to me

For this I promise, it’s never been truer
Within my heart’s a place for Umer

Dedicated to and Inspired by:
Rumi and Iqbal, the Masters and the Poets of the East
Shakespeare and Margaret “Megan” Astrid “Robin Hobb” Lindholm Ogden, the Poets and the Masters of the West

The Beat of Time

The Beat of Time

or

The Universal Orchestra

Did the Universe start with Tolkien’s song?
Or was the Big Bang followed by more bangs
As the beat of Time started
And the Universal Orchestra began

Each instrument Linked to one another
Each played its own tune
And as melodies overlapped
And the beat slowed and sped
We Created Harmonyies

Sums of tunes, suns and moons
Stars and planets formed
Comes so soon, a time of Runes
Life and life was born

A Tree of Life, a tree of life
Began to sprout
For both Darwin and Yggdrasil
Prokaryotes, two or three kinds
Eukaryotes, one or two times
Luca or Luka at the beginning
When was Mst. Eve at time of sinning?
3.48 or 4.28 or 2.84 or 3.77
Billion years ago
Or so

Hundreds of millions of years
Or perhaps a billion or so
As Luca became Leca
And two became one
As Bacterium and Archeon fused
Or a Virus and/or Pre-Cell
As One became Two
Or Four became Three
Perhaps then, perhaps soon
Our ancestors “crawled out of the mud”

Tens of thousands of years ago,
Or perhaps hundreds of millions, or so
…

Eventually, the monkey separated from the apes
As the human separated from the Monks
Now when was Adam?
Perhaps tens of thousands of years, too
Perhaps again, One Became Two
As Math and Language was born
Perhaps mammal and fungi met
And on mushrooms, an ape was stoned
And beat to death (by whom?)
As the Beat of time gave
Birth to new Life
Where Symbols could have meaning too
As two became One
And Language and Mathematics were born

Color became colOur
And

Black and White
Red and Blue
Light and Dark
Grue and Yellow
Or so
Were born

Our colours were many
And the first sin that Satan committed
Of distinguishing color

Of asking of the difference between Fire and Earth
We would commit too
As we split Water from Fire
And as we split Fire from Light
And we split the Light from the Dark
And we split the Metal from the Earth(quake)
As we split the ground and tore the world apart into pieces
We split the Lightning from the Poles
And we split the North from the South
And the East from the West
As we split Symbols from symbols from Symbols
Adding and subtracting meaning wherever we liked
As we split Man from Woman
And we split Air and Wind
Longer Hair flows in Winds
The Harmony of Worlds
Became Hair-money
As we brought meaning to meaninglessness
And meaninglessness to Meaning

The Spirits of the Past were hijacked
As colours were robbed
And the evils of the Future were paid for by the present
Our presentsce now a nuisance

As we choked the life out of Life
As we brought the Special K to K-Nife
We brought brands to the altar
To worship our New Godds
Angering the Goddesses of the Pasts
The Gods of the Futures
And the Goddsess of the Presentsce

The gift (of Gaia) Granted to us, we abused
Now will anyone use the gift for good?
What type of Magic needs to be summoned now, to undo the Evils of the Past?
What type of Magic needs to be Summoned in the Future to undo what has come and Passed?
Let us take care of Earth before she’s Passed
Away

So let me cast ONE Final spell
Let’s learn to Give before we sell

Then Hell will become (hell)
And Heaven, And Heaven
Will Be a Place on Earth

(Inspired by Self-(&)-Reference:)

So let me cast ONE Final spell(ing)

Let’s learn to Live before we(re) sell(ing)

U A, M.

The Great Reset

Reset

or

Rebirth

Every ten thousand years,

or so

We’re hit by icy times and tears

For the age of iceWater

A decade of a millennia ago

Was not the first of ones we know

For us to see I’m-ages of the past

We will have to see the ice-ages passed

/

Read these pass-ages, we asses

For if we’re dumb then-Then we’re done

And then the End will-Will have won

Unless we have the Will of One

The will to aVoid the Mighty Crunch

A will to void the Wills of

The evils of pasts, we committed to

/

Or was it 41 thousand, or 42?

Or was it a century of a millennia, too?

Was it ten to the four by ten to the two?

Maybe a million…

…instead of millenia

Or maybe a billion…

we may knever know uh any–yka?

Or was it 21 or 40 or 400, by two?

A mystery surrounds a million point 2

What did Milenkovich say?

/

Perhaps our writing’s twoo weeaks’ Today

Ice & Fire, then Fire & Ice

A Pattern that goes round and Rounds

Evil then Good, then justice is Ice

A song that Rings and then re-Sounds

Good then evil, then Justice is Nice

A song that’s Rung and now resounds

For then Fire’s fire and Ice’s ice

As sound is Sound,

/

Now, our tail begins to un-wound

Humans are born and then we were Bound

Our destiny bonded to hate and fear

The songs we heard, we played by ear

Which songs were filled with fear and hate?

Which poisons were they, the ones we ate?

That then we spit back in the sky

And into seas and grounds below

Now Ice is Water, as we cry

The Heat of Rage is our creation

/

A Feat of Ages

we may now need

A Seat of Sages

We must now seed

For if we’re Creation

Perhaps a 6000 year deed

It’ll be

/

Deed, dead, A Sead of Dead

We’ll see the Seas we’ve killed, all dead

The World of C’s‘ll no longer be

Just as we’ll have killed the Bee

Unless we Seize our moments from We

Now we live in the Era of Remakes

So I, too, will use this blog to write my own versions of popular songs and remake other people’s works.

I do not intend any disrespect by this. I hope to appreciate and celebrate other people’s works, and take my own spin on them. I will credit the authors for their original work.

I hope to celebrate, appreciate, and take part in: the Era of Remakes. The Era of Rebirth, if you will.

For although there is something souring about a parody, there’s also something sweet about a remake (even when it’s not a remake, and just uses the same name).

The mythologies of Gods were re-written over centuries, and continue to be remade to this very day. Thus, perhaps we’ve been in the Era of Rebirth since the time of the Ancient Egyptians, or even before then.

This post is dedicated to Deven Verma, who passed away at the age of 77, and Mohammed Yusuf ‘Dilip Kumar‘ Khan who passed away last year on July 7th. These are two actors my mom remembers.

The Edge of Mathematics II

The Edge of Mathematics

The brewing storm is steady on my heels

As perfect a storm as every storm feels…

/

Its violent screaming’d put thunder to shame

As it drowns out any music it finds

It muzzles thoughts of math without gain

Crunching up souls, destroying minds

So take me t’where music ‘n mathematics meet

So from this storm I may attempt safe retreat

/

On my journey escaping tempest’s wrath

Horizons trick me into seeing hope

Yet fate’s winding road mightn’t take that path 

Instead of light it may take me to rope

So take me t’where destinies ‘n horizons meet

So certainty in futures may become complete

/

I took a path up mount’nous terrain

Maybe from a height I’d gain perspective

So I may decide if I am hero ‘r bane

And thus decide to take actions corrective

So take me t’where the light and darkness meet1

So this soul’s battering may at last be beat

/

Atop, where sky met mountain’s ledges

The blood of skies had painted such a view

Atop I stood on that plateau’s edges

To feel the end of red, the start of blue

So take me t’where the day and night meet

So removing sun would reduce rage’s heat

/

I looked beyond the cliff to light below

Suicide’s in mind, watching sunsets alone,

Rewound Russel’s ringing thoughts in tow,

Still I’ll live so more of maths be known2

So take me, take me to mathematics’ edge

To that pursuit perhaps my life I’d pledge

/

/

At logic’s border, thoughts did scramble

O Mother, I’ve spent enough time on preamble…

/

Your sorrow still grinds my heart to pieces

Your story still brings tears to bloodshot eyes3

As numbness spreads through souls’ creases

I wish you’d never birthed those lives

That then became the seal of your fate

A binding seal to one not much your mate

/

The heart that’s crushed and finely ground to dust

For poetry’s very essence is a must

But no amount of petty poetry writ

Would make me for fleeting forgiveness fit

Instead, if I flung myself to my end

Would time rewind, would mistakes amend?

I’d still dream of peace, of time undone

“For in that sleep of death what dreams may come

When we have shuffled off this mortal coil”4

Perhaps in nightmare’s storms we end turmoil…

/

Departing sun lead to death’s remembrance

To dreaming of another time’s semblance 

A time without noisy storms or battles

A time without me or brothers ‘n sisters

A time where mind never again rattles

A time of silence and not any listeners

Take me beyond the edge of mathematics

Beyond thought and time and such dramatics

/

/

No amount of music, no amount of rain,

No amount of tears could wash away the pain

No amount, Mamma, could make us sane

No amount of mathematics could explain…

/

Why your life was so thoroughly broken

My anger rose and hatred again awoken

I’d break before, now myself I’ll shatter too

Now I’ll make sure my life won’t matter too

From the heights of contemplation I’ll descend

Beyond the edge, finally, I see an end

So take me t’where bodies and ground meet

Take me, please, t’where life and death greet

/

But even at the end of my living

Even as I fall to death with certainty

The dust of heart still needed forgiving

The storm arrived with utmost urgency 

Asked the dust in twister’s tongue-tied knot:

“What little peace was gained when peace was sought?”

The rushing waves and rolling winds had wrought

Again those absurd thoughts that were thought:

/

“I’m sorry for everything, oh everything I’ve done”5

By ending my life no sorrow was undone

Residual hatred still remained unwrung

Spiteful speech would never be unflung

So what if some songs would remain unsung?

Dreams remained to change this time forlorn

So take me in my deathly sleep, my storm

Take me t’where the past and future are untorn

So I may fulfill my wish of being unborn

/

The clock began reversing to become right

As night became day, then again night 

And light became dark, then again light

Horizons flickered in and out of sight

As destinies unwrit would be without blight

Since mothers no longer faced fathers’ might

Children’s minds were now unscarred by fight

Undoing the mistake that allowed me to exist,

Twenty-two years past and I was undone

As parents’ potential fates no longer mixed,

Thirty-two years past and joy had come

If there’s beauty left in pi squared by a sixth

Then time rewind ‘n start again, but fixed6

/

/

  1. Inspired by Rumi’s Out Beyond Ideas
  2. A reference to a quote of Bertrand Russel: “I used to go there alone to watch the sunset and contemplate suicide. I did not, however, commit suicide, because I wished to know more of mathematics”
  3. Inspired by these lines from Iqbal’s Urfi (translated): “On the subject of love he wrote such music \ By which red tears are still available to eyes”
  4. Quoted from Shakespeare’s Hamlet, “To be or not to be”
  5. Quoted Imagine Dragons’ Shots, chorus
  6. Reworded the ending of In Glass and Ice, by me

A Sliver of Humanity, A Sequel/Remake

Inspired by Avatar: The Last Airbender and A Flag Without Colours

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1VWy5CQrD77Tt14bQQgk9Meigadj9mQprye47ml-3LMU/edit?usp=sharing

TLDR: Laying Down On The Carpet In The Computer Lab Writing This Article Trying to Find The Willpower to Get Up

Originally published in mathNEWS (Waterloo’s Bastion of Erudite Thought) Article 138.6 (Nov 30, 2018) page 12:

mathnews-138-6Download

It’s eerily similar to trying to get up for those morning classes.
Maybe you slept at 5am the night before… because you were
scrolling through social media or playing video games or
watching useless YouTube videos or scrolling through social
media or finishing the assignment due too soon that you
should’ve started too long ago or drinking with friends or
watching useless YouTube videos…

Or maybe you slept on time… By the time you had to get
up, you’ve gotten well over 8 hours of sleep, but you already
missed all the classes last week. If you go today, you probably
won’t understand anything anyway. Anyway, that class has
notes online and even if it doesn’t, you’ll just ask someone
else in class for your notes. Might as well go back to sleep, or
just lay down staring at the ceiling or the marks on the wall.

Like right now, you’re looking up, focusing in and out on
those annoying eye floaters. Some of them are zooming by,
others are taking their time, like the snaking raindrops on
your room’s window, but with no sense of gravity. It doesn’t
have to be a morning class. After all, it’s 8:50 pm right now.

It doesn’t have to be a class. You’re not delaying going to class
right now. You’re delaying writing this very article. Writing
is supposed to be a fun experience for you, an enjoyable
experience. But even it can be procrastinated. Or maybe you
don’t like to write. You can still procrastinate something you
enjoy doing, but why would you do that? Does that mean you
don’t enjoy it?

Oh look, it’s time to go eat some pizza. You already ate dinner,
but might as well have a slice or two. You’re also using this
time to take a break from everything else… at least, that’s
what you tell yourself. What is the maximal amount of time
you can spend outside of doing assignments that can still be
considered a break?

Who knows. You’ve gotten up. You’re sitting now. Typing all
this up. Going to eat that pizza. After you finish, there’s still
so much to do. You’re physically sitting up, but even now…
Willpower eludes you. Why are you writing this anyway?
Is anyone reading right now? Who cares. You’re writing for
yourself.

Will there be any catharsis after you’re done writing?

Maybe. After you finish those assignments, then you’ll be free.
You’ll be able to get up. You’ll find that willpower. No, that’s
not true. What about after you finish those exams? No, it still
isn’t over. There’s gonna be co-op to worry about. Or another
school term. Or you’re going into the workforce full time.
There’ll still be so much to do. After it’s all over, then there’ll
be peace. But then what’s the point of getting up when there’s
nothing left to do?

Is this some kind of attempt at being edgy? Seeking attention?
No, it’s not. Nobody knows your name here. No, this is for
you. (But don’t you hope somebody will know?) What is this
though? How many keystrokes will it take to find the courage
to get up? How much ink needs to be spilled to convince you
to go study for those exams, finish those assignments, prepare
for the future? How many meaningless symbols need to be
writ for you to try to go enjoy yourself? How much cheesy
motivation is required to lift your spirits?

You’re done eating now, but you’re still not up. You realize
you were never awake in the first place. You’ve been asleep for
too long. You pull the blanket closer as the winds of winter
overpower your heater, ice cold tendrils finding their way
to your skin through the tiny gaps between skin and cloth.
Tonight it’s cold, but maybe tomorrow it won’t be. Winter can
only last for so long.. How long do you have to wait for spring?

You’ve been asleep for too long. Maybe you should get up now
and weather the darkness. The tune of the universe is lacking
its laments because it’s lacking you. You’re thinking I’ve
written all this about myself, but I wanted it to be about you
all along. I’m writing for you. (Am I delusional?)
(I have to end this eventually).

The song has sorely missed your voice; make it heard again.
Open your eyes and wake up; you’ll reach winter’s end
After summer, dark and cold will creep up once more
Will my voice be enough to quench your soul?
“Strike the beat harder when the taste for music is lacking
Sing the song louder when the weight becomes overbearing”

Eventually

An alternative ending to Is This Even Poetry:

An alternative ending to Is This Even Poetry

Excerpt from mathNEWS (Waterloo’s Bastion of Erudite Thought) Article (Nov 30, 2018) page 10, titled
TLDR: Laying Down On The Carpet In The Computer Lab Writing This Article Trying to Find The Willpower to Get Up

The song has sorely missed your voice; make it heard again.
Open your eyes and wake up; you’ll reach winter’s end
After midsummer, dark and cold will creep up once more
Will my voice be enough to quench your soul?
“Strike the beat harder when the taste for music is lacking
Sing the song louder when the weight becomes overbearing”

~ Eventually

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