Understanding The Dream


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This is my dream

A caricaturized truth woven

In spiders’ web and

Pulverized veins, warm

And squirting, molded

With the flesh of the living, watered

In blood, kneaded

With reality, a dream

Nevertheless, steeped

In the illusion of Life, sticky

Like saliva.

Do you constitute as real, or are you

A figment of my imagination? Worse yet,

Am I a figment of yours?

I do not know and I doubt that I will ever find out

Does it matter anyway?

Because,

This is my delusion, this is what I chose,

Trapped in a hallway of mirrors,

Ensnared in hapless eternity, because

There hadn’t been a choice, there had never been.

I dictate your terms or you dictate mine

And it is my decision to accept or reject

Because it is my dream, or I

A figment of yours.

But as all dreams go, we cannot control the circumstances

The instances are inconsistencies that revel in deeper calamities

But I can choose to wake up too early and let the dream end

Dissipate, disassemble, disintegrate to crumbly little nothings

Before its time is due.

For I am but a single drop

In an immense filthy ocean

Of pollution, corruption, unscrupulous exploitation

I dream of emancipation

From this insipid, vapid satire in which

We eat, drink, fuck and fall away

Like flies.


Goodbyes are


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Good byes are meant for healing,

For retrieving the tiny bits of self, scattered

Along the milky way that you built inside your head

Loving mirages, a lifetime’s work

Taking minutes to dismantle, the loosened bricks

That had crumbled over the years.

Goodbyes are meant to bleed they say

First in gushing torrents, then little streams

And then in sad trickles turning to drops

To dried canals along the cheeks.

Goodbyes are empty canisters

That you fill with little memory shards

Nasty little ‘could have been’s, those nagging ‘what if’s,

Seal with the possibilities of wasted years and bury

Deep, deep down in your backyard with little twigs of remembrance

As markers of what had been.

Goodbyes are pungent, like camphor

Lingering and sticky, just a whiff

Can paralyze with helplessness.

Goodbyes, those necessary evils, those ambiguous plots

Sudden death, like murder

Distant lightning without the thunder

Whispers without the tenderness

Punishment without reward

A dainty hope to kill in the womb,

A gentle touch to forget

And forgive, if you can.


Acceptance


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I don’t want to count the stars,

And wonder at those glistening points

Nor wander through the untouched thicket, Pffft!

Who has time for all this!

Well,

I don’t ask for much. Never have.

There is

Simply not enough time, nor patience

For self is the centre of it all.

Minutes fall around me, hours roll

Away, like pebbles

From the hands of a child

But do I dare whimper? Or shed a tear?

Negative.

Thick skin as they say, like cow hide

Beaten down, so many times

I hardly feel the pain.

Sometimes,

Those you love the most are the ones who enjoy watching you bleed. And

sometimes you need to ask yourself

Have all that love been in vain?

Hours roll, unfeeling, just as years have rolled before them

With the heaviness of machines, well oiled

Tired eyes, tired heart, spent and alone watch on

Indifference.

Where did it begin?

Where to end? Should it end? Questions

Those painful hooks, tear into the flesh

I don’t wear white, for it shows off the red

Of a wounded bleeding skin.

Haven’t you heard?

Simplicity is the hardest thing.

Less is more, more is less

Who makes these rules, where do they bend?

Can they bend?

Questions. They know

No answers. Life

Is such, as we constantly tell ourselves.

But is it really so? Who makes these rules?

Where do they bend? Can they bend?

No one knows, does

Anyone care?


Something like a love poem


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Oh won’t you stay,

Let the midnight weep your absence

Run into my arms, fall unto me

Like a ripened leaf in autumn, weary

An exploding star, in all your darkness

Your rage, your light, your fire, I admire

Your vividness

Your undefined depths, I am aware

That you are, but dust

In all your magnificent glory.

But oh, won’t you stay, linger on

Like the sting of too much pineapple on sensitive teeth, or the dull pain in feet

After a long, happy walk. You are

But human, and beautiful,

In the way you stand alone amongst your own debris.

Let the midnight weep, let

The skies simper and mewl for your cruel niceties

Butterflies disguised as mice, scuttling around the corner

I see beneath the veil, and still

Stand amused, feeling

Strangely loved.

Walk into your heart people may and

Leave solid footsteps, a fleeting trail of summer blossoms at times

But sometimes all they leave is

A muddied, bloodied mess, strewn with carcasses.

Cleaning up is a bitch.

My heart longs to retire, into the

Cool, mossy embrace of the woods known

The jungle path well traveled, but what use

Is one’s comfort zone but to rot and reek of remains?

A rustle of leaves and a soft sigh of wind brings back your breath

Upon my cheek, a silent kiss

So sweetly wrought

With the subtle pain

Of parting.

Yet I recoil, rewind, wrap myself around me, sink

Unto myself, instead

Of reaching out and touching your face,

Every single time.


Donkeys


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Clocks have stopped but time has not

For time knows no dust, it barely sits still

And is impatient,

Like a little girl at the sound of the ice cream truck.

Time is gone, like sifted sand through my fingers, better yet

Tap water, treated with chlorine

Like days in your lover’s arms, like hours

Gazing at the sea. I

Sit impatient, legs swinging

Hitting the sideboard with a dull thud-thudding

An irritating awakening.

Life had been pushed into suitcases, bundled up

Like dirty laundry, tangled and misshapen, I am

Forced to run, run once again

Passport shoved in hand, I protest

I never asked for this. But

Does it ever occur to you that all you get in life are what

You didn’t really ask for anyway?

Morning falls like a burden upon one’s back, yet

Another weight for you to trudge along with, I crack

And bend, but groan and push on

Because we all are donkeys. Donkeys of time.

Nothing less. Nothing more.


Long distance


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Here I sit and

Spin hours away, as days

Drag their feet across the floor making

A terrible racket.

You, in your acheful distance

Tug at my veins squirting

Purple blood, blue

With longing.

I pine for you,

You pine for me and

Somehow we

End up in each other’s arms

Sooner or later. Not bad

For real life. But,

Right here, right now

My soul longs, for a scent of you.

Minutes fall around me, like shrapnel

From a splintered dream, if

I pay attention, embrace the shards for a moment of comfort, I

Always end up bleeding, tending

To my own wounds, with

Old rags of memories.

Utter nonsense, this distance

An unwanted boulder, in the midst of our warm, tranquil sea.

A beautiful yearning, yet

A crippling hunger that

Feeds on strands of happiness, falling through the blinds of absence.

This won’t do.

I miss you.

 

 

 


Regardless


I sleep, like a log, no

More like a woman, craving sleep

Clutching desperately,

At the last wisps of dreams, breaking

My nails as they flee

I always wake with a start, sometimes

Like the sky falls down, no

Like I fall down from the sky, it is

painful. Sometimes I bleed

Inside my mind.

Floating about mindless

Recuperates, it

Sticks to the senses, lulls you

To a dream-like state

Blissful, and blue, yet

Never satiating

Why must I always wake?

For duty calls, life calls,

No, what we’ve made our life, that’s what calls

It always calls, whispers like the fiend,

Clings to the skin

Like the nasty smell of vehicle smoke, like

Other people’s sweat, after a long day of work.

Impatient tsk’s

Jut into your gut, like elbows

Patience snaps

Is wafer-thin

At this time of the day

Stagger on cocoon-ward, blood bubbles

Toils and troubles inwards

Dreading yet another day

Darkness falls regardless.

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