- Mandeep
From the script of ‘i’
THE POET
Yeh Henry, that’s the crux of it
for the I now, me myself, is to
create the poem, to create
something that will echo into the
whole of time and space. Who knows
if it will be life or death or the
killing of eternity.
HENRY
When you become fully conscious of
your powers, your role, your
destiny, you will be an artist
again and ceases your struggle with
reality.
THE POET
It is as if the light of a thousand
suns can shine through us. I think
the frequency is just outside of
the reach, where the subconscious
and the conscious meet. That echo,
that frequency is the hardest step
to cross over... to swim through
the moat of that flesh and
mechanisms attached to our body.
Most ideas and even art live in
that first heart.
HENRY
Who but the poet has the power to
open man up, to set free the
imagination?
(The others - priest, teacher,
saint, statesman, warrior, the
company men - hold us to the path
of history. They keep us chained to
the rock, that the vultures may eat
out our hearts.)
It is the poet who has the courage
to go against the crowd; he is the
unrecognized “hero of our time” -
and of all time.
The Poet
We have become a culture of extroverts
We have lost our center
I have to find that center
- Mandeep
From the script of ‘i’
#FollowTheStoryline #ArtisticRebellion #IndieFilmmakerJourney #WriterAndDirector #CinemaLovers #ArtThatSpeaks #FleshAndMechanism #PathOfThePoet #PhilosophyInFilm #HeroOfOurTime
“Letter unsent to a lost muse”
Mandeep
I sent you a letter, no echo returned, I waited as shadows of jesters adjourned. Inside the theater where reason withdrew, I thought you’d recall what sincerity knew.
But lost you became in reflections’ deceit, In whispers and masks, their allure bittersweet. The words that I wrote stayed hidden, concealed, The truth folded tight, its edges unsealed. Your photograph faltered, a pixel askew, And left the full story denied to the view. For truth lies in silence, where time carves its mold, Unseen in an age where the heart is sold.
The horns of the beast sound a merciless call, Where meaning is fractured, and spirits may fall. And yet, I believed—though I knew in my core, You’d favor the handsome and close your own door. Still, I thought that my words, with their simple refrain, Might pierce through the gossip, the doubt, and disdain. But the heart on my sleeve, worn open and raw, Was mocked by the company you chose to adore. Now I linger as memory, faint and displaced, A relic of hope, now tarnished, erased. For love plays its games on the fringes of pain, Yet beauty once lost can be sung back again. For love is a gift that’s not bound to the past, It lives in the giving, unbroken, steadfast. So I leave it here on the threshing floor, The door left ajar for what time may restore. Perhaps in the silence, the truth will take wing, And the muse I once sought will teach me to sing. Not for you, but for me—for the light I retain, A song of redemption that love will sustain.
Mandeep
A letter unsent to a lost muse
#Poetry #UnsentLetters #LostMuse #LoveAndLoss #PoeticSoul #Vulnerability #InnerJourney #ArtOfExpression #HeartfeltWords #Resilience #RedemptionSong #theverse #SpokenFromTheHeart #LoveInTheSilence #MuseAndMemory
For now I dance on 23rd street
The curious mutalations of the
Human mind stroll by
The ones who have been utterly left behind
I mark their faces and
Hold on to their cry
I hold all in my heart
Which is large
Which is wide
As now I stop
To turn around my pride
That which has been
Cut by the sharp edges
Of her disguise
Through some fault of Hers
But mostly circumstance
It is that we can rely
Now lost upon the ruins
And the temple under siege
By the lush tress
And moss that has spread
Across the marble steps
Mother has taken it back
I comply to the order
You can take me in,
when you can …
Sincerely mandeep
From my book - Letters To Leonard Cohen
There was a way
Ahead of time
Behind the stars, in place
Falling and shinning
In the nights sky
The cowboy poet, closed
The book of metaphors
Distilling the story
Down to its core,
Once was
A Liberated sky
Free from the chains
That which bind
Liberated were all
All were one with the Devine
A land where difference
Was the right
And love was the light
All served and all ate
Every golden sky
Was the humans fate
There was no time
For all was there to create—- Mandeep
….. I was loved in these times, hidden away mostly from the cyborg elites, mostly trusting of the local chapters of Alcoholics Anonymous halls, but there love was something to rely on and easier to give to without much Fluff, there attempt to rise to universal meant more becuase perhaps they would never reach it.
Ok, I told her take your time and take your photographs, even though the reflections were as much an image, in these days where the cyborg industry had allowed for endless data, so all these revelations were held prisoners amongst the ill-repute, there search, again the search, was hard conduct for most. ‘PROGRAM OR BE PROGRAMED’ understanding had yet to mutate the entertainment culture and even art, was catering more to that vacancy— it was assumed that it was through entertainment, or being a brand mattered most and the aesthetic was compelling enough to hide behind ..
The permaclass of people had tried in the outskirts but the operative word was the outskirts, they had escaped far enough. I thought that if anything perhaps to build a new ‘Darpa’ for these said communities was a chance but, I wasn’t sure if they had built the fortitude that was required to first walk through purposelessness or randomnes, and how they would adorn the armor in a battle to the death for true life of humanness in cyborg world.
Everything effected me deeply. In this time where the spear of the age had its spikes deeply inside my flesh, I was no where wiser for it, wisdom was left for the pop sages that were now all the rage.. I only wanted to escape it at times, like leo who had at least attempted it and showed some results of the journey that which seemed to fill the hole of said randomeness of the grand universe that was expanding constantly.. By mandeep - from “cyborg industry”
I remembered
what I told you in that first letter
“If i want the poetry
I must
participate in the poetry. “
To make contact
Was the only way
long ago in that time
When I had been
Running for the
money and the flesh
And at once awakened
I could not die
But choose to kill god instead
You had arrived
from the mountain top
Not too long hence
A man had stolen
What you built
And now
It was back to boogie street
Back to the show
back to the desire and the need
I held your words
Perfectly
I rearranged them
Somehow,
to then, first, understand
If the poet lives and dies
At the front, by his hand
But is also reborn
In the shape of a new form
In that surrender
Of oneself
To the reigns of the wind
To allow that thing
That sings
Like Picasso and Braque
To reduce it down
Like Hank Williams
Did
(in your tower of song) I arrive soon
To a redhead
In The French cafe
on st marks its all on display
Not much I have left
But the strains of a
Of a poem undone
I left it there by the bedside
Along
With a dream for lady moon
She said she would be home soon
But was to never be seen of again
And I herald through life
most of me broken
but a part of me in joy
For there were sidewalks
And streets to walk upon
And so I wrote down a song
As i stepped and saw the humans
In embrace and in dismay
To crave what they could crave
And I stayed at the table
Stating my facts
And she said, ‘well
Most of the stories
Are pre told
But I like what you display
you have some taste
Usually, I prefer the easy kind
But for you, I can make some time ‘…… by mandeep (from: letters to Leonard)
Yesterdays tears
Are all which remain
In this windless place
Where the shadows and memories
Scream
And the rage sustains
Yesterdays tears remain
the photograph of you
now on the mantle
Inside a frame of silver and black
With a rose in your teeth
I remember you well
Your smile and your tough
Shell to break
you were a wonder
Of many eyes
That are now displaced
Yesterdays tears
Are all which remain
In this windless place
Where the shadows and memories
Scream
And the rage sustains
Yesterdays tears remain —- mandeep
Letters To Leonard Cohen
I forgot to mention
They built a freedom tower
Down the block
To replace the lost symbols
And the human cost
To raise the flag of freedom
As if to say
We are free
As you see
From this building we have built
That they may take our tower
From down the track
But we will attack back
with our symbols
of glass, steel, stone
And our guns will be held
By the young of our land
They will cross to your streets
And then hell fire shall Regin
We will not turn the other cheek
Your ground will shake
For the day which now lives in infamy
When wisdom fell like a stone
And glass and the metal
americas broken bones
The ripple from the stone
So it went, so it goes
Once it blew
And now it’s always
just close to blow
—— Mandeep
