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This poem is pure bliss…created out of nothingness.








Poem: Soundtracks of life


It’s not a movie

Life has its own music

That plays nonstop

Throughout the course of existence

It’s not music born out of loneliness

It’s the purest vibrations of freedom

That openly inhabits the freedom squares of life

I tried hard to ignore the loud cymbals and squeaky noises of these freedom lovers

Who happily inhabited the top most branches of life

It’s not a coincidence that their choir is profusely loud

It’s a celebration of the tree of life

A sacred song is not composed

But flows from the innermost vibrations

Captivating the soul with its natural beauty

Like the sounds of the waterfall

That openly dances with the fabric of tranquility

The soundtracks of life are fully loaded with nourishment

To feed the poorly kept spirit

To provide nutrition to the soul

At the bottom of the hill

I found a valley of silence

There was nothing to hear

But I heard the absence of sound

I was pulled by this apparent anomaly

To investigate and search through the crevices

I listened to the fine tuned sound of silence

Trying to pry open the secretive code

That inhabits this ancient phenomenon

In my foolishness

I held tight to the fabric of Silence

Forgetting to fasten my senses

I got lost inside the realm of Silence

It was not a scary place

It was made up of the fibers of peace

I could see through the body of Silence

It was the most beautiful sight

Captivating my unconscious soul

Awakening the consciousness in me

I was pregnant with happiness

Inside this labyrinth of nothingness

I had found the womb of existence

Encapsulated inside the Silence

Existence was free to germinate

Away from the prying eyes of man

I found myself staring at the naked truth

That inhabits the umbilical cord of life

I had broken the code of life

Piercing through the fabric of Silence

I had seen the emptiness

That holds life still

And allows existence to flourish

It’s the most beautiful experience

To hold nothingness in one’s palm

And feel the delicate fibers of existence




Kenneth Maswabi









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