In Delight

One occupant of the human consciousness,
One desultory, dumb distraction,
And we are lost in satisfaction,
In loss of binding and loss of traction,
In giving up what keeps us stable,
In the thrill of living by reaction.

My, my how we can forget
The world's each and every threat,
As we float about without the slightest care,
Or worry or fear of burdens near,
Burdens far, and burdens past,
They're not here, they couldn't last

The journey from where your body stands
Still obeying earthly hands,
While you escape like feathered birds,
To a place created by fantastic words,
A wonderful, magical, blissful impression,
A haven made of your mind's digression.

And here you remain a happy soul,
Untouched by reality's toll.

Dwell in delight, until your final freeing breath.

Ek Khayaal

Zindagi ka junoon nigahon mein base,
Saason mein chippi baat, hoton pe na fase.

Kehna ho jo, kehjaaon, aur dekh meri kano ki taakat;
Ek soch ki shakti pehchaanle tu, sunle woh bekaraar aahat.

Chanchal hawa ke saat, apne sapno ke lakeero pe dhor,
Chod de bekaar ki pareshaniyan, bas yeh asha kabhi na chod.

Adhoori na rehjaye teri khoobsurat kahani,
Chootne na dena kabhi, yeh moka suhani.

Main tere samne, tu mere samne,
Dobara na mile aisa pal;
Tere palkon pe meri khwabon ko panaha miljaye:
Aasoon tere bhi tapkenge, aaj nahin to kal.

Smile

This is the quiet moment when

You are utterly still, a statue

Enveloped by those magics

Of the mind humming with thought,

That lifts up your soul into the sky

Where it catches the light and turns

Splaying rays into the promise,

The brilliance, of everything yet to come

And all that has been overcome.

Priorities

Shadows should be charged
With espionage, really.
They pry me open
Like a can of slimy
Thoughts and grimy emotions
And, engulfing them, replenish
Me with fresh foam, a warm breeze,
The faint scent of foreign salts…
Like a cheap cologne or
Expensive detergent.

A summer chill brings goosebumps
Which don’t so easily deflate:
They spread like a rash until
My skin is opaque, crystalline.
My form erodes.

I was silly, honestly,
To claim ownership of what was not
Mine; to assume that shadows’
Affinities are permanent.
I struggle to recall the aromas
Of those wisps of darkness;
I grasp in the blindness of dawn
For the hint of a silhouette.

I turn my back,
And all I perceive is light.

I am awake,
I am alone.

Capricious Delusions

Nothing ends
when everything is starting
to unravel, like strands of the tightest rope
losing their willingness
to intertwine, or the
bowel that is your
words disimpacting into an endless stream
of shit:

chasing me to the horizon,
that inexorably receding border into
happiness that I so wish was demilitarized;

coercing me to walk on solitary
thorns shielded by bubble wrap
whose incessant popping could drive this world
sane, with sculpted granite petals emerging as
cathartic, analgesic blades;

coaxing me to lands where
warmth is a privilege for those whom
you deem worthy;

crying acidic tears of
hypocrisy that make my insides
burn until I am a shriveled mass
kicked under your bed, dissolving
into the carpet and leaving a stain
that on certain days might resemble a smile;

caressing me with memories
until I subscribe to voluntary
amnesia and it all just
stops.

No, nothing ends
until I say so,
but ‘so’ resides on the other side
of that goddamn horizon.

Broken Bones

There are nights when the shadows are burning holes in a piece of paper and there's lack. Lack, of a lot of things, like bones. They hide beneath papery skin but they hold oh so much together. Until they break, and pierce through decency and normalcy. All is protruding and sharp angles and street signs are bent and streets curve confusing lines into my eyes. I am lost in nothing, too much.

I'm lying on the floor staring into the ceiling, seeing through it into the sky. I want to see the bones, all that's missed. The marrow inside bones, that hurts to find. If I pretend the stars are shining metallic spheres could I touch them and not burn, could they be real and spill upon my floor as glittering marbles and then I could be one too.

There is an absence, of you. And I attempt forgetting, filling my mind with silly frilly things that are like foam within empty walls, but they just create more space and you fill me in. I have become the ache of the sky pulled from beneath my feet, like a current from the frigid depths. I look for you, maybe you are a marble spilled among the rest, but I forget you are the air and I cannot elude you. And I miss you.

The Ethereal March

What do you want to be when you grow up?

The query is simple.

Too simple.

Too broken-down, too constricting, too…

Blunt.

We tend to limit the (supposedly)

Single-minded mental capacities of a child

By posing a question so audaciously mediocre.

My initial response:

A picture of ten different careers, sharing but

A common face.

(Maybe dissociative identities could solve my dilemma.)

I remember my gut sinking into my trembling feet

When their icy laughter pierced my naïve ears.

Twelve years later, I’ve learned to stand.

My daydreams are still “childish” fantasies…

Not of castles, nor of princes,

Not of riches, nor unsurpassed beauty.

I dream of being a pioneer,

A foundation.

I dream of being an unparalleled source

Of debate.

I dream of being the giant

Upon whose shoulders

Curiosity’s muses will find their perch.

I’m walking, not wandering.

Learn the difference.

Flashback

There's something very strange about a spark,
That brief blast of beauty
Buried soon once more;
A fiery flash-
Here one minute
Then forever gone,
But forgotten
Never.

And yet that spark lives on (in memory)-
Even after entering in
Its eternal earthly tomb-
A fading flash
Still unforgotten,
Infrangible.

There's something very sweet about a spark;
And you,
You're a lightning bolt.