OUR SOCIETY

Our society has painted it's mark indelibly,
And deeply curved itself onto our future.
Our society has built itself on the idea of lust,
Watered our brains with it's desire,
And cultured our growth on it's glorification.
So we live to lust.

Music, our most powerful conveyer of cultural growth speaks not less,
Over perfectly formed beats, lust is proudly preached,
Our media, confidently share the gospel in tune,
So we praise these songs' _'perfect'_ words,
And encourage our own to sing along,
Actively inviting their minds into this sea we drown in.

We keep scores of our lustful exploits,
And with them seek superiority,
We brand the less lustful less mature, less normal,
We build a culture where even infants appreciate lust,
So I blame neither the clothes we wear nor the thoughts we conceive,
Or how our bodies react to it,
Because it has been hot wired into our system,
I know, I sound weird because we believe our actions are our own personal choices,
But do we notice that those very actions define our immediate society?

I'm not a pessimist, neither do I aspire to be one,
But how can a society learn to grow when it's primary desire is so vain?
We can recreate our culture,
We can choose what to share more,
How to act more.
We can choose.

By: Allan Irrow

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LET'S BE, ETERNALLY

I used to hear the vibrations,
And see their's align in dance,
I used to hear the melodies,
And wonder why the notes sounded so blunt.
I used to tune my strings too tight,
I used to bruise strings on each strum,
And break them on each pick.
For I knew not how best to listen,
For then I couldn't feel the music,
For to me the music was just a show,
And the players futile hunters of their souls as I was.

But when I met you,
I found  clear notes in the lines and the words in a perfect fit,
When I met you my fingers softened each turn,
And found intimacy in our strums.
With flawless vibrations of your strings we created this priceless melody.
My body learnt to listen,
To feel each vibration as a part of a whole,
To gently execute the strums,
And softly pluck your strings,
For you made me own the music.

So let me caress your strings with my bow,
And lovingly tickle them,
Let me sink in this melody we create,
And let our bodies flow with these pockets of pressure it creates.
For my bow has mastered your strings,
And my body has grown fond of this melody,
So much that it knows not another way to live.
Eternally let the music be ours alone.

By: Allan Irrow

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