The descent


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It starts with the small cracks

pushes through the crevices, tiny ugly blobs, remnants

of unconscious sighs.

Tar-black and reeking

of discarded hope, it whimpers

snuggling into the wounds

like all the puppies you’ve lost as a child.

In moments of loneliness it whispers

Coaxes you to feed, to nourish yourself

From its dark, dreary milk and

You gnaw, half-hearted

Like you do at cold food

A day too old to eat, but too much of a waste to throw out.

It starts from within

Swirls of disappointment, internal chaos and black, black death

And before you know it, you are all topsy-turvy

Too mangled and ugly for anybody to save

Like a mouse hanging from cat jaws

Like a forlorn napkin, held by a single peg

Against a raging storm.

 

 


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.


Mopping up


The city clothed itself in sombre robes

The trees stood silent, leaves no longer

Dilly-dallying in the wind

Respectful reverence, or was it

Petrified fear?

I saw your face through the haze, petrol fumes

Clouded my judgement. You

Touched my hand and smiled

Into my eyes. Cue – this is where I melt, into your arms

Helplessly, aimlessly wander, let you engulf me, liquid

Like water

But something had frozen. I guess I do not melt anymore

It was strange yet comforting, I needed you no more.

Yet words splatter the walls at unforseen moments,

At the absence of a janitor, I am left

Mopping up the walls in silence.


Living inside my head


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Gnawing at thoughts these tiny little creatures,

Scuttling all over, pricks sometimes

Those pointy meddling feet, numerous

In composition. Hurt

Comes at unexpected times.

Somewhere drips bleeding, and I

Think to myself that

People are meddlesome insects and I

Find solace only in my thoughts, so

Loyal and so intimate.

Walls have been built and I

Wouldn’t know where to begin to

Dismantle them, nor

If I would ever want to, the

Naive and trusting thing that I am, the

Humble clay walls that I’ve built,

Often misunderstood

For Citadels of pride.

I

Find my thoughts to be my friends and they

Keep me occupied enough, conversing

In varied tones, I

Live inside my head.


Nostalgia


I remember those

Rainy September afternoons when

Wind brought you in

Like a whisper, lingering

In candied gasps

All enveloping.

 

Apple pie baking,

Spicy golden fragrance, reminiscent

Of tinsel and Christmas

Decorations, first

And foremost, tasted with nose

And then by tongue.

 

 And you

Bringing in, an armful of smiles

Staggering with the weight

Of joy.

 

Rain

Beating down on the windows then

Ceasing

Like the calming heartbeat

After a happy run in the sun.

 

You

A shining warmth, a

Sprinkling of sugar,

Caramelized

On a freshly baked bun.  

 

Dilly-dallying leaves floating

Earthwards, frolicking

In the tempest, evoked

By the muffled rain

Smell of fresh wood, wafting

Drifting, circling

In a note of music, each word uttered

Turning into luscious persistent

Poetry.

 

Sweet tea made with just

The right amount of love, warming

From the inside and you

Taking over, my soul

And my mind and I

Smiling at the thought, feeling silly

Yet warm, from the glow

Of your beatifying love.

 

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Rooted


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We shall have beds full of subtle odors

Couches as deep as tombs

And strange flowers upon shelves

Exerting their last warmth at will.

Our two hearts shall beam, two large torches

Reflect their double lights

These twin mirrors inside our minds

Glowing softly and then the embers

Will fade into darkness within the flame

Wailing as it goes.

On an evening made up of a mystic pink and blue

We shall exchange a single flash, a morsel

Of a fading rainbow,

And heave a deep sigh

Like a long sob charged

With intense farewells,

Lay

The softest kiss upon the brow

In parting

Butterfly wings no more, it shall lie heavy

Rooted firmly, we have become

Trees.


Thoughts


I should like to hold you now

Despite the yawning miles, defy

The gnawing acid of distance, perhaps

Reach out to you in your dreams, but you

Never really dream, do you?

Barred behind that impenetrable wall of sleep you

Wander off on your own, and I

Can do nothing else but wait

Till you unbar the sleep doors again the next morning

Setting those slightly bewildered eyes upon

Too much sunlight and a world that makes way too much fuss

Over unimportant things.

Maybe you will remember to stop

And dream a little tomorrow, at daybreak

In between sips of tea and

Driving to work amidst a

Honk infested city, but then again,

Maybe not.

Remember but of me, of my thoughts

Always with you, early morning

Despite a slumber slurred voice greeting you

From the other end of countless strings of

Electromagnetic waves, coarsely spun

Of unrefined emotions that are

Generally healthier than the synthetic refineries

In plenty these days.

Remember me, of the unrefined caresses, words

Too coarse to be of plastic

In an otherwise plastic world.