Want To Live Again

I’m comfortable here inside this crypt
A mound by that door is where I usually sit
I stare at the ceiling with unblinking eyes
The temperature in here is gloomily nice

Once in a while a maggot passes by
I squirm quietly and just say Hi
‘Tis few months since the wooden walls closed
Layers of sand upon me while I dozed

In here throngs a glimmer of love
Some broken desires and an unkept vow
Hope coughs drily and the wind is almost nil
Yeah it can get unpleasant; that makes her ill

Some dirges seep in with the dawn and the dew
One more box of nails; who knows who.
Someone drops by with a lonely blue flower
I see a little child, a man and his lover

I laugh quietly. Been there done that.
He too agrees, my friend, Mr. Rat
Wind-borne comforts stain my epitaph
I bide my timelessness and take a little nap

A syllable from your love etched in poetry
Upon this stone lives to haunt my memory
Your pain, ocean-hued, blazes in vain
My love, do not make me want to live again.

Comatose

I stand in a cliff
Where my imagination ends
I see the world in fragments
Through dragonfly eyes

My imagery has ended
All its sources corroded

Your pain is incomprehensible
So is mine

Words are not my friends any more
Just like everyone else

Every time I need you
I need to be controversial, scandalous or suicidal
I cannot.

It seems I have anesthetized
Portions of my brain
I cannot give discourses on intellectual things any more
My magic with words has given way and fallen apart

I speak like an android now.

Superficiality is my specialty.

I don’t know numbers

I can’t make music

I have forgotten my inspiration

I have succumbed to reality

And I’m not even as intensely upset about it, as I used to be.

This is what happens when you trade your soul with loveless people.

My love now lurks in pigeon murmurs
My poetry is comatose.

Indifference did this to me. I know the indifference-mongers can rejoice for their methods have worked.

Take a pin. Catch a butterfly. Rainbow-colored and happy. Pin it to a board. Watch it struggle; watch with unmoving irises. One more to your collection. Dear reality, you can celebrate!

Loss

Paranoid Eyes by Pink Floyd

button your lip don’t let the shield slip
take a fresh grip on your bullet proof mask
and if they try to break down your disguise with their questions
you can hide hide hide
behind paranoid eyes
you put on your brave face and slip over the road for a jar
fixing your grin as you casually lean on the bar
laughing too loud at the rest of the world
with the boys in the crowd
you hide hide hide
behind petrified eyes
you believed in their stories of fame fortune and glory
now you’re lost in a haze of alchohol soft middle age
the pie in the sky turned out to be miles too high
and you hide hide hide
behind brown and mild eyes

New Friend

Meet ginger kitty. He likes hiding under cars and peeping from underneath, licking milk off the floor and keeping his tail really stiff. He also myows for attention. If you play too much with him, he thinks you’re his mommy and follows you home!

It was so difficult to photograph him… he was constantly prancing around!

Invisibility Cloak

I sometimes feel like deleting everything and disappearing into a place where nobody will recognize me. I know a lot of people feel this way. The problem with me is that I might just do it.

And time had me

I spent two hours with the rain.

Sandals

I should have asked you
Before I decided to naughtily wade
In that puddle of rain
Now I hear your disapproving squeaks.

Nonstop Rain

This morning I spent so much of my time with you. Yesterday I was in discomfort. Then I tried to dry the dampness by frivolity. I could sleep at the end of all the exhibitionism. This morning came with so many prospects for the future. Promises of fame and fortune. Which would demand intense madness that comes with unwavering concentration, of course. And then began dainty pain. I read his poetry. Ravisubramanian. And it left my mind disturbed with inspiration. I wanted to cry. I wanted to run away from the urge to create. It would mean endless suffering. Why do beautiful people drag me into their lives all over again?

And then you started. I wanted to drive away the passion with superficiality. And dismissal. But you started sending your fragrances into my olfactory lobes and kindled in me the love that I wanted to forget. And you drove me restless. And his villainous imagery. Why does beauty come back to haunt my lonely existence?

Love. I cannot deny you with theories and cynicism. You just exist beyond these extrapolations. In rain you come innocently bare naked and strip me of my nonchalance. And you shatter my filters and leave them spattered all over the floor in a thousand pieces that reflect me. And I laugh in relief. Tragic shameless adorable enemy love. Translucent burlesque artist love. Sideshow love. Striptease love. Damned love. Damned rain. Hahahaha! How I laugh now!

Between puffs of smoke, a cup of coffee, and chocolate I tried to drown your infinite thrumming in my lonely ears. But you just rampaged into my space. Invasive sniper love. I love you so much.

And I had time for little flowers in the puddle of water. I had time for the leaves tantalizing me with their sheen. I felt like a bohemian cow let loose in a field of rainbow poetry. And my hair was all over my face while I laughed in eccentric helplessness. To myself. They might want to lock me up.

And time had me. My glasses were misty with steamy love. My clothes were wet with drippy love. My hair was disheveled with moist love. My sandals were squeaky with seeping love. My books were damp with soaking love.

The leaves innocuously sat on my vehicle seat like accidental polka dots. And words are gestating and wilting at lightning speed in my mind. And I run after them. These torrents of freedom pelt me like love-loaded pain kisses. I’m deprived of umbrellas. I dream of stained-glass pieces. My mind is coming undone in broken kaleidoscopic bangle bits. I thirst.

The ferns quiver. Thunder strikes like a sudden dog bark on a lonely road. I tremble. Notebooks should melt. Words should die. Memory should die in experience. Writing should never happen. Writing is an inadequate whore that attempts to repeat in shreds, the intricacies of an infinite magnum opus. Like a repetitive drone. Incantation. Cacophony. Writing is craving to repeat. To relive. And writing can never quench. Memory can never make up for existence.

Here I am. Like a dragonfly battling against an invisible glass wall. Why won’t this sky admit me into its folds? Why does the space between then and now stretch like a chasm without a bridge? And why does this leap of imaginary faith, fail? In a certain lobe in my brain where the founts of deja vu live… I wish an infinitesimal error occurred… and I would relive it all over again. I wish regression was irrevocable and I would be stuck in a place where I cannot see and I cannot interpret. And I can only be.

Rain. Bloody rain. This love is…