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 archer that strikes from behind

It must make sense to synchronize a body

into a series of the complex; rust unpolished.

Less sense, however, to digest the susceptibility

of the rough, with the raw, with the weary

To the orphans of this gawky road, can’t even‍

I’ll pretend it’s alright, it is as much as it isn’t

You’d give it all, just to gain it all

Don’t. Even for a minute

Convince your other self

That woodpeckers carve because they sculpt.

 

Until the dust settles

Faceless without gesture

Emotionless with a name, a persona

Clapping hands, overlapping the pull in the air

A mind violating the grayness of colour

Whispering to them that we’re all the same

Spread out wings now delay flight

Disorganized systems cannot disorganize souls

What’s scattered finds pieces drifting with the whole

A mouth pierced in all the wrong places

A head gear, defending camouflage for all the right graces

Until the dust settles

We will miss and keep missing the starting gun

 You have rent overdue, and want to walk on the moon

If only, forgetfulness hadn’t derived from memory

A reality hidden in your self-portrait

Now materialized your hidden fantasies

A picture to show them you were someone

A word to tell them you could speak…

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…

Passengers to the weather

Barefoot, growing raw skin, stepping on pomegranates

Their blood, a seed, torn without trace of a middle or an end

One hand tapping on a window from the inside

Another from the outside

Passenger to the weather in you

Trucks unloaded, heavy with sins

But what we foresee is like a whip lashing without sound

And others strung for a show, supposed cure for the soul

I really cannot understand, how degrees of discrepancies

Can create bonds of similitude, flames kept alive without shivering

This room is warm, yet all I confide in are stripes as patterns

Parallel lines intersecting without ever meeting, stuck

Systems complicated, not from the step-wise, but the shortcuts

A slaughter, a slow decay of eyes calling home

Bring uniformity to this, glue together what crossed its edge

Tenses of the should’ve, could’ve, would’ve are long out of such vocabulary

The finger pointing at you, actually aimed at the door

Keys hanging, it unlocked, your gaze latching at the next big bet

Exposed, you shove your head under your knees. Your plan B and C will not have to depend on A

Winning the person, losing their being

Lemon drops, in a sea of salt

Don’t know which one treats the wound better

You’ll wander, oh you’ll be out on the fritz

Looking for three hots and a flop, every day, every week

The void is meant to be a void, the stain is meant to be a stain

What we turn to stone eventually turns us into headstones

Yet, my mind is a gun jerking with its tail

Like a kite above a breeze letting the float-less float

Eyes wide open

Keep your eyes wide open

People indifferent to injustice

Should not plead against it

Gargling with salt water

Will fix your throat

But not your absurd speech, not your loaded tongue

Saving one life, saves the world entire

But killing oneself, is just killing yourself

A sack of pollen thrown at someone choking on asthma

Two vendors opposite each other sell their sport

Miser is he that collects the misery of the world

Like a coin permanently glued to the floor, fooling a tramp

An inferno built by the same hands that stroke a waxwing’s head

It wasn’t cleaning its beak, it was erasing your mistakes

It was sweeping off the dust from a hundred n’ fifty decks

Tell me again why I should paint my wall to cover a crack

School me again on how I need to watch my back

Damaged by arrangements between the sadistic and its fruitless well

Pull me up by the throat with a needle

Carve it in and pull it out

Take a pencil, show me how to spell my most intimate shout