The surface

Had I any other way to put this, I wouldn’t

Of all the ways one can embrace to be

The most impactful is our necessity

Of eachother, of no one outside of ourselves

 

The more the words, the less concentrated the meaning

What good is expression? If it narrows down doors that should’ve welcomed, all minds, all sorts

Of integration, in this disintegration

Call me. I probably won’t pick up

 

The danger isn’t in disagreement, it lies in our bereavement

Would you walk with me till your feet are sore?

What if I told you the journey has nothing to do with physicality?

Mind-fuck

 

And just as I’m about to rediscover the pieces of the puzzle

I am no longer intrigued by what I can’t shuffle, with my own hands

The lesser beings of a man, surround the profound errors of his ways

Concluding with the One and Only

 

The surface signals towards internal state, time and again

The hollower the guitar, the more the senses raise, in retrospect

The size of a melon, the tapping of the knuckles on its skull to predict taste

None but ourselves can hit bull’s eye without first imagining the dartboard with our instincts

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Euthanasia

I am here

Flesh and bone

But that one time keeps luring me back

To this state of timelessness that engulfs me away

 

Every house that I’ve ever lived in

The balcony is where I sit, in my mind

The outside looking in

All the places that I’ve been, animate now

 

It is your voice that gives all this meaning

Pointing the obvious, the red in the red

But somehow, without you saying it

All these shades, I wish I was colorblind just for them to burst

 

Reaching out through the inanimate

Stone cold, transitioned into this, we have adjusted

The moral dilemmas in our heads, have justified themselves

Mercy, mercy. While I’ve given in to one aspect of life, I have conquered another.

Honest mistake

It’s everywhere, it’s everywhere

I feel crowded in this empty room and alone in a crowded room

Paradoxical only when you haven’t been there

Only when you haven’t felt the same words mean different upon repetition

LEAVE me alone” “Leave ME alone”

STAY gone” “Stay GONE

 

Serenity

Where have you abandoned me?

It happens everywhere now, did I tell you? It happens everywhere

Triggered

What theme do I fit you in? You were everything

I see a glimpse of you in every tangible, intangible only in these distorted memories

 

I’m doing it again, this little thing where I trace back my steps

To make sure I don’t step on the lines I’ve already stepped on

Mistake

noun

Definition 1: “an act or judgement that is misguided or wrong”

Definition 2: “something, especially a word, figure, or fact, which is not correct; an inaccuracy”

verb

Definition 3: “be wrong about”

Definition 4: “wrongly identify someone or something as”

 

I burnt every page, except the corner of the last one, last abstraction

Because every time you ended a thought, you pressed the ballpoint a bit too hard

Almost to the point where, the next page, inherited, the pain of the precedent

Your subtle ways a secret I have kept

You, on the other hand, have vanished

“Just because you’re around doesn’t mean that you’re around.”

Places in faces

IMG_20171124_001725“Do they not think that their words have weight?”

There has got to be a face that is read for what it is
Should time really account for innocence lost?

I mean, to lose that which you left behind in childhood and go back to it again, aware

God knows how much I’ve stored, meaningful in its meaningless description
And how much I’ve discarded, only to be met with it again, in another form

A feather in the stream
Trying to regain in flight what shed it

“The mysterious weakness of men’s faces”

“Smooth and smiling faces everywhere, but ruin in their eyes.”

Had I expression enough, to walk you through it

It’d feel like I’ve robbed you of His revelation

My bones shiver, my voice trembles, as this thought becomes concrete

Pale as dusk, disillusionment; two-fold

Subjective and objective truths

are not enough

Rain Man

I will contradict myself in every way, to drive you in circles

and say these words, that mean nothing to me

Maybe I was wronged; flowers don’t grow from concrete

The hidden meanings, motivational phrases,

out of context.

 

So advanced, double-think, nervous laughter

Pedestrians; both figuratively and literally

Every step taken is supposed to leave blisters on feet this sore

Only the morally superior, will possibly observe dementia

as a two-way road to salvation

Just as the witness becomes the culprit

For not confessing

The day to day musings, suddenly fall to place

“I have plenty. Look, I can count as many fingers

as toes” said the ruler to his foes

“I’m left-handed, is that bad luck?” When a confident man becomes conceited

There’s no going back

“I… excuse me

sir

it wasn’t raining till you got here”

“Well, in that case,

umbrella for two?”

And just as I prayed for mud, the pavement was washed cleaned.

 

The man in the sky

Your shape becomes transparent

Hands that spoke for you,

Now linger in this demise

Leave no clue, maybe tomorrow

Hope is one filthy bastard, isn’t it?

Maybe the day after, maybe never

You are bartered, material for sentiment

Word for word. You are not ready

My trademark is the wind. What’s yours?

Kind of like, a crying violin

The man in the sky takes credit for

Borrowings, these. Carefully spilling unto your sponge-like swaying

Jaguar without print

Bone on a boneless structure, skeleton-less

Toys lie on a floor, where children walk barefoot no more.

Kites in the middle of rain, flew high

And each drop pierced through them making our eyes wet.


Fate decides, we shall meet in between the wondering

‘I would if I could, but I can’t so I shan’t’; excuses

Miles and miles afar, I see a shadow cornering another shadow

And my mannequins’ signature from afar, letting strings pull an inward war


I’m six feet tall, and I feel six feet empty

I have pale skin, like a jaguar without print

Although you, entwining hair, knotted voice

‘Let some light into that cavern, its already a fire ablaze’

Forming a mirage of waves that speak your name,

temporary fame,

What a shame


Chords of wisdom, dividing a dead end street with a transparent wall

With art, that meant graffiti could now portray what print didn’t

And what reflected back, was us in a crystal,

I have never seen anything as fragile, as ego within ego


Superstitions, like standing beneath an apple tree with your hands open

With a prayer, hoping for some juice

Blame luck, destiny, karma; for a rotten one

There’s a worm in between, a curse through the years

A small one, your root to ungratefulness

None falling; God conspiring against you


The thing is, believer of the skies

You could have reached it yourself with a climb, a stick or a stone, which ever, whenever

Yet, instead, you were like the jaguar without print,

Who thought it was no jaguar at all

Who didn’t roar, who didn’t speed when prey approached

And so it became prey itself

A half filled glass of liquor in a coffee shop…