El-Branden Brazil

Photographer, Writer & Mystic Traveller

Posts from the ‘Poetry’ category

Beyond The Threshold

Like a breeze
my mind whispers at my passing,
“That it is neither
here nor there
if you exist or are departed.”

I quake deeply
at the thought of dying.
That I would leave
no legacy
and be bereft from living.

Has my life
been void of value,
except a cog within a system
that neither cares
nor even listens?

And in grasping
on to every pulse,
hoping for life
to continue,
I scream in silence:

“Do not forget me!
For I did have
some worth.
That my life
was not for nothing!”

But no response returns,
except a paradox of thought:
That “I” was never really here,
therefore I’ll
never disappear.

And through this realisation
I see with vision pure,
a sacred revelation,
that I would remain forever
inseparable from the stars.

“I” sighs
one final time,
whilst it dissolves
into the Cosmos,
transcending near and far
away from delusions lost.

– By El-Branden Brazil

On The Banks Of The Nile At Twilight
On The Banks Of The Nile At Twilight
Photography by El-Branden Brazil

The Moment

In a brief moment,
I peered out upon the stars
And knew that we were one.
That seeming separation
And that vast distance between us
Was as relevant as non-existence.
That I was never ever alone
And even “I” was mere illusion.
For in that passing, fleeting second
I realized time was just delusion.
Observing the cosmic splendor
I remained humble in ecstatic fervour.
Recognizing momentarily
To appreciate all that is sacred
And to exist without burden.

Sunrise On The Nile
Sunrise On The Nile
Photography & Words by El-Branden Brazil

Reality Insecurities

The following two poems were written in 1998.  The second poem, Alternative Realities, is an abridged version of the first. The painting, Birdman, was also created in 1998.

REALITY INSECURITIES

The Aria ascended –
Claiming Rights and Giving Honour
To my Visions and Conjectures
In all its graceful turns:
Its pitches, its rises, its fluctuating rhymes –
Bound my mind from doing painful solemn time.

And yet, how foolish is my mind
That I can think I know
Not what is out beyond the hills,
But what lies out beyond the eye?

Reality twists from back and forth
In its cylindrical, distant tangled webs,
While the River flows, tingles, ebbs
So quietly on beyond all sense.

– El-Branden Brazil

ALTERNATIVE REALITIES

Fluctuating Rhymes –
their time,
their signs.

My mind I know –
the hills,
the eye,
and forth
the webs of their deceit.

And forth and forth
the distant river soars.
And forth and forth
until there is no more.

– El-Branden Brazil 

Bird Man

Painting by El-Branden Brazil

Forgiveness

It is true
That as I lie here
In my final throes
I recall with painful clarity
All the suffering I had caused.

It is true
That I regret so much
And if I could
I would resolve right now
Every hurt, every scold
Every pain that you endured.

It is true
My life is ending.
How I could have lived it well
If I had listened
Been a friend
Instead of selfish, mean and cruel.

It is true
It is ALL true
That I had done you great wrong
And now as I lie here dying
With you sat there
By my side.

It is true
That your kindness brings shame
As you talk and hold my hand.
For if our roles had been reversed
I doubt
I would have done the same.

It is true
Your compassion helps me
Understand all that I have missed
And in my desperate fading moments
I have this chance to make amends.

It is true
I beg forgiveness
As my body begins to fail
To which you gently inform me
That you forgave me long ago.

 – By El-Branden Brazil

Photography by El-Branden Brazil

Photography by El-Branden Brazil

Shattered

Shattered dreams shredded
Upon a stage of broken glass:
Beneath lies crystal shards
Disintegrating on mass.
Above the dark abode of night
Hangs low upon the hearts deceased.
Talons grasping at tearing flesh.
Mauled corruption released.
Poison clawing into the minds of those deposed
In coup detat by generals.
And for a brief glance
Upon the winding frosted path,
The prisoners of life abound –
Their shackled minds executed
Like slaughtered beasts in an abattoir.
Death delivers gentle whispers
Into the torn ears of each,
And the Blind Man on a distant perch
Observes through punctured eyes.

– El-Branden Brazil
Copyright 9th. September, 2002 –

Drawing by El-Branden Brazil

Drawing by El-Branden Brazil

The Day Has Come

The day has come!
We knew it would.
We waited patiently.
The birds have stopped singing.
The skies have turned black;
Within the clouds we see.
What can we do on such a bleak day?
What can any of us say?
I sit,
I lift a violin for a melancholic tune,
While television continues to drivel on
And the radio tells us how to tell.
A signal bursts forth to assert
Conditions of life in the Afterworld.
Now materialistic folly observed;
Why did it take this catastrophe
To tell us what it’s really worth?
And all that we have built
Has become worthless, pointless, short of Spirit;
An aimless hording of all we value;
A failing the cause of our reckoning.
And now it’s here upon us bare –
The Inevitable Day:
The Foresight of Aeons.
The loss of one is always startling;
The loss of all is desperately overwhelming.
The cultural ego of our race
Broken, torn and to be erased.
Nothing can save us –
Nothing will,
While our minds visualise their final resting place.
 
– El-Branden Brazil
Copyright 31st July, 1999 –
Painting by El-Branden Brazil

Painting by El-Branden Brazil

The Awakening

“Shh! Shh! Shh!

Don’t awake the sleepers!”

The government speaker cries,

As the men in blue uniforms

Abidingly obey,

Whilst slapping their batons

Upon palms awaiting prey.

 

The Sleepers…

Intoxicated in their woven fantasy,

Dressed in lies and hidden myths,

Enslaved unwittingly

By protocols, routines and laws

Pretending to be reality.

 

The Myth-Builders…

Since that bleak Autumn’s day,

Have spread lies of conceit

Without conscience or refrain,

As blood is spilled

To justify their claims.

 

The Eagle Dream-Weaver…

Staring down upon the global minions,

Callously permitting poverty without refuge,

As green-stained paper

Drips conditionally

Through talons of subterfuge.

 

The Government Agencies…

Spying and snooping upon the masses

With no oversight nor scrutiny

As they eavesdrop,

Store emails,

All privacy is now erased.

 

The Greed…

Seeping, oozing like disease

Into the pockets of elites.

A contagion airborne by the banks.

Uneven symptoms of discontent

Among the peoples of the world.

 

The Activists…

Awake and speaking out

Against those that enforce silence

And who would let the sleepers sleep.

Wake-up and thump the drum!

Stand-up for all that’s right

And connect with life!

Take to the Streets, Revolt, Resist!

Your time is NOW!

How do you wish to live?

                                  – Words & Photography by El-Branden Brazil

Photography by El-Branden Brazil

Photography by El-Branden Brazil

 

 

To Love

To be mindful of others

To treasure, respect and worship others:
The distant brothers and sisters
We pass everyday.

Each and everyone of them
A story at play
Of love and disappointments,
Hopes and pleasures,
Hardship and despair.

They, like you,
Have experienced life:
The love of parenthood,
The love of feeling praised.
The love found in suffering.
The love of losing ones.

We, as humans, just want to breathe,
And look out upon the stars,

Love,

Love those we bring to bear.

Love those who inevitably cross the threshold.

Be sacred in experiencing
Our brief moment of existence
Love, love, love…
Because that is All
And nothing more.

Words by El-Branden Brazil

Photography by El-Branden Brazil

Photography by El-Branden Brazil

The Dead Man’s Mass

The light of Twilight opened:
Bruised in orange inclination
Below a dark blue cascade
Of starlit elevation.
He lay down to ponder
Upon the complex folly of descent
And all the foolish hooded lies
That embraced all human incident.
His breast released a fearful sigh –
Exasperating all clear smoke
From deep within his ancient lungs
And pushed out from hidden throat.
And his eyes became wide open –
Gasping at the visual splendour
In every moment passing on,
As life evaporated yonder.
His memories caught in bloodied fever
And seeping from every pore;
He felt ecstatic recollection
For what had been before.
And no where had this Dead Man seen,
The golden sunrise of the Night –
Transcending high in earnest dream
And drowning him in Holy rite.
And vanished by forsaken moment,
Reality’s gates were closed –
Elyseum of ancient myth constructed
While his abstract mind composed.

– El-Branden Brazil
Copyright January 12th, 1998 –

image

Painting by El-Branden Brazil

 

 

The Performance

War is waiting
In the darkness of the wings.
His improvised performance
Awaiting crowds to please.

Gun and sword in hand,
He lifts in battle readiness
For pouncing out aggressively
Upon the flood-lit stage.

The music rises, rises
More violent in its themes;
As his entrance approaches,
The horns play their patriotic phase.

Ever closer,
He listens for his cue,
As Peace decides to exit
With her failed Diplomatic beaux.

Adrenalin flowing,
War anticipates his role.
The stage director prompts him
Suddenly to go.

As the spotlight hits the ceiling
And the sirens begin to squeal,
He leaps out in a frenzied fervour
Towards the seats below.

The audience alerted;
The women start to shrill,
As they watch transfixed the master dancer
Behead the local mayor.

The humour, oh so Grand Guignol
As the blood runs down the aisles;
The show has yet to finish
And a massacre ensues.

At last, the big finale;
The show-stopper of them all.
The music fades.
The curtain drops.
And he waits for his encore.

– El-Branden Brazil
Copyright 17/10/2000 –

image