As the smoke lingers

In and out, of rehab

I mean, most of the time, no one quite speaks literally.

They don’t know, they can only assume

of what it takes to shatter a soul.

What robs you of your sleep, probably, maybe, most definitely, what do I know?

Fragmented  little puzzles, crossroads of the mind.

This piano, these hands, this rusty ol’ surface.

The out of tune, the mystery yet to swoon.

You can’t mold me, this telltale realm of space, my voice metamorphosed.

The margins within are so narrow, the wisdom of things scarce.

The fear of your own oblivion, you say you wait for nothing

but the gutless in you knows, that’s what you have been surrounded with

and so the familiar comforts in its veil.

This overflow of the conventional, makes me yearn for masks

aesthetically unacceptable, it amuses me.

The joyous music, the bitter tongue.

But then again, tenderness outburst,

defies brutal rage, beauty repelled at those that sought it only with their eyes.

You stare long enough at the gush, static motion

of paralyzing waves; this sonic rumble, and you understand.

The stronger they rush, the slower they recede

The dominance in the force, a halt in the hearts

In the eternity of a second, stretchered far too long, far too far.

Defranchise your soul

This perverse utopia
Makes me question
The myth that won’t wash away

Anything is as everything you want it to be
An epidemic for a cure

Cattle getting sick; slaughtered
To protect the herd
Its head, bowling downhill
Undead

Whether you’re the weapon, or the target
Or the trigger
For the unsincerities of the seeker
You are just as responsible

Either you sink the ship,
Or let me go

Whether you invent fire
By friction and stones
Or
Defranchise your soul

You,
Awoken mirage of dreams
See it for what it is
Yet take bread for loaf

Them,
The perfect example
Of monsoon running through their veins
Fate decided for them

Gentle, be gentle
There is a thin line, between being honest
And being a dirtbag
Don’t cross it

Blame games

No one left to blame
It’s a synthesis of colour variations in a prism
That were stripped off of something essential
Dominated by black and white, estranged
Even grey did not look back at its merging schism


Such complexities
And yet
Answers so simple
We cannot possibly conform to
Because we love the depths of all we can’t comprehend

Like the painter who highlighted the mole on Mona Lisa’s cheek
Instead of focusing on her mystery
Sometimes, the way a horse’s mane rearranges its character,
Says more of such struggle, treading uphill.

The stroke of each brush, was the record of your existence,

the authority of your movement.

Each gesture, the quality of your thoughts.


Nobody likes depicting the enigmas of nature
In a jar
Transparent on the outside
Formulated with the energies of, owls staying up all night to protect trees
Delaying the night and its sermon, diverting hunters’ attention,
To its beak, small, tiny. Bending further for your shame, and wise old sayings

Frames could no longer keep pictures intact
They were falling, outlines deforming
Like oranges dismissing their sourness
And thrown away.
Nobody wanted to taste mandarins anyway,
If it’s labelled as sour, than it must be sour
What other description do you need?

All the labels we are given, fit into a box
They just don’t know that it has been vandalized
Opened at midnight
Stolen from
Carefully
Like opening a sealed letter without tearing it apart
Memorizing all the confidential
And then closing it
Neat and fine
Blowing away the dust too, in case they doubt

Stepping stones, and stamps
Footprints left in a crime scene
What could anyone possibly expect from identity theft?
We have been naked ever since we bartered ourselves for sewing machines that don’t work

They say we should let flowers be
In their shields of friends and fields
So their form is preserved
So we don’t possess them for all they were
But I guess both could win
If we distilled them to perfume
Of the most rare, exquisite kind
This way, their scent could presume to be
Worthy of immortality, fame and honor
Seducing time
To cover up its age
Amidst fresh inventions
And jealousies

Sooner or later
Its elements would fail
To flavour themselves
Their craving no longer a reason
To satisfy need

Why make a pathway and then erase it for a gate?
Security, promises, hope prolonged
What is the purpose
Of flies who do not drink the drunken,
or of the Phoenix burning on synthetic oil?
So much for being a legend
So much for being eachother
Vaguely under microscopes
Hiding cells and transformations
To not hurt your feelings…