Most of the life got spent in maneuvering through cricks
From getting away quickly enlarging shadows
Sometimes a part of a queue
At others, smelling for food
It was always accumulating for a peaceful time
Hurrying sole spikes stabbed me one day
Pressed softly against the ground I resumed
No bones cracked no blood spilled
l just inflated back on
Self esteem multiplied
I could stand such minor lapses
At another, I was collected with infected tissues dustworms and spilled sugar
That wasn’t the place to be
It smelled and hurt
How could you not see,
I lived amongst thee?
What about my dignity,
My entire journey?
I crawled back
Back to the garden
Would rather be lost in mounds of mud
Than pace on smoothened walls
Would go on fragrant adventures on the petalled bush
Than smell for sweetened delicacies
Would slide on misty fruit skins
Than slip on scrubbed wet floors
Lost in thought I saw light
And another like me coming closer
Collided with myself in the reflection.
I wish to see you there
At that place in that moment
Just as when I do with my eyes closed
And it is not enough
Nothing would be ever enough.
We would stay there longer this time
Forever this time.
I am here again
Same place. Another time.
Another me? Another you?
It would never be the same again
Not without you.
I miss every bit of you.
Where are you?
Waiting for a moment almost desperately and seeing it finally not achieve any sense of fruition is one of the biggest possible disappointments. It is probably the best place to locate the painful cavity between desire and fulfillment.
Whatever lessons might be learnt in the process are only a salve to the unconscious state of the insomniac being, forcing yet another series of desperate attempts to feel positive and gay.
Sometimes it is good not to feel positive.
Sometimes it is good not to feel.
The collection of fables
The cherishing of dreams
To the liveliness of hearts
The instinctive connect
Years after too
There’s someone you would like to see
As expected, it is not me
You would see and ignore, would be obliged if it wasn’t me
And I would be happy to see you came, would smile to the defeated me
I worked to change others’ perception of you
And you do not know
I stood to condemn others’ opinion of you
And you do not know
I trusted appreciated nurtured
And you know
I scolded criticised questioned
And you know not why
You could not see I cannot complain
You were a child I could not contain
I am passionate I go overboard
And someone else had you anchored
At least you come, and that’s a solace
You will always remain undeniable part of this place.
There’s something weirdly quirky about the change of day.. of being away ..
A forgetfulness I cannot explain
An erasure that makes me stay
It punctures the experience
Obfuscates the memory
Stirs the longing
Pushes the barriers
Makes me wait
Bubbles up vocabulary
Lights the eyes
Is it evolving or adapting or moving on
Or just persistence and dragging along..
All happened when I was lost in you
You are the reason for everything.
What are these landmarks to me
The lanes do not connect.
Never did I try to remember the way
The paths do not intersect.
Too narrow n congested
Too dusty n corroded
Too many n crowded
Air folds n thickens
Water gathers n stares
I guess this the reality then
Of ephemeral dreams
Of unrealised themes
Of divergent stories
Of perturbed memories.
No one cared to ask
Not even you
The rest is the rest
It is the easiest to forgive you
For you in my head
A series of contradictions
For you there blossoms
A spectrum of emotions
For love takes prominence the rest is forgotten
And there’s no way out from this world we’ve begotten
A world in your words
A glide in your rhythm
An intensely poignant pause
For an inventive innovative prism
Allusions and allegories galore
All too aware to unlearn
Too well read to be amused
Too experienced to try new
Too familiar to be startled
The world within words
Has it lost the common touch?
Is that smirk smile grimace or grin I see
No longer your muse I, too, should feel free.
Too many faces
Too many hearts
Looped and relooped
The sheer cavitisation
The vacuum of sorts
The insulation of emotions
Home is home.