Bear this silently

We need not articulate ourselves
and hope to be understood perfectly
because one should not let one's self
yearn for such an impossibility.

It's not so much the notion of sharing
our souls as it is selling them
when we speak of our inner realms,
so nurture this silence, this mooring.

Little Tyrant

That conspiratorial look in your eyes as you smirk
it's as if the world tells you its secrets exclusively.
Being selective fuels your personality
your secrecy the shimmering shroud we yearn for.

But your antics fool me no more.
You are but a tyrant
who has set fire to himself;
self-destructive & attention-seeking.

A man, estranged.

Cigarette after cigarette
discarded on the floor,
His left knee jigging
and the right, even more.

Rivulets of smoke escaped his lips
his eyes cast far away
breathing his life away
he lets his suffering sleeps.

It has been years since he last
greeted his parents, seen his home
and now his life amassed
a wealth meaningless alone.

A counter melody of melancholy
whose beat he knows too well.
A brand of sadness that never changes
is that of a man, estranged.

_________________________________________________________________

Note: Because you can plainly see it in his desolate eyes. The unkempt state of his heart. Poor man.

Ellipsis

A million stops ago,
I would've told you everything
But a pause later,
I'd just say 'It's nothing'.

Like the movement of stars,
what interstellar changes that occurs
Is overlooked, by distance, overtook;
This is you looking at me through my eyes.

It is not so much choice as it is fate
that I should tire of keeping up with you.
All that occurs is but circumstance,
a string of events juxtaposed with 'chance'.

I'm letting myself trail into an infinite ellipsis
You can stop me but you won't.
I understand that you simply don't
understand this. Not in the least.

This silence is not circumstantial,
It is pure and existential.
It is slow but this is full-stop;
This is me looking at me through your eyes - I don't exist.

Ramparts of You

Steadily I'm letting the shape
of your words blend into the background
into the noise of this world & its people
so that to me, you'll appear indistinguishable.

Your ideas, like a flowering iris
will no longer hold beauty.
Entranced no more by your sui generis,
I am surrendering you.

James Gatz,

You poor romantic soul.

Where I don't belong

Sweet prince, where art thou? 

Where art thou shining armour and trusty steed? 

Slay this draconian evil that feasts on my soul

Be an angel & raise me from perdition.

I am no Ophelia, the great lily

but a shade that slinked into Arcady.

This Dark Age

Woe betide my ambition. Woe betide my generation. Woe betide this confession.
I am the vestigial tail at the end of Man's backbone, ugly and useless, a mutilation.
My heart is hung out in the torrential monsoon, with hopes that rain will cleanse it,
unroot the seed of dreams in it and drown the will that burns it.

I am of a mind that now is the second coming of the Dark ages,
that the modern age is but an amalgamation of slavery.
Society is the enslaved collective that strives for superfluousness.
An excess of wealth, beauty and mortality.

This now is an age of restlessness. Peace and contentment is for the weak,
happiness is transitory and The plague is melancholy.
Nothing lasts in this great Nile of annihilation.
Losing our independence, one childish dream at a time.

Woe betide my vision. Woe betide my soul's eye that does not see.
I am the calyx of destruction, supporting this flower of evil that seduces itself,
an autogenous sin that maligns my diseased sincerity.
My volition is a wayfarer of the sea, once resolved, as utile as driftwoods.

This is the shores of my mind. What washes upon it do not stay.
Ever flickering in this misbegotten age, waiting to manifest
my asphyxiated delusions in a triumphant display,
bitterly, I give flight to my dismay.

____________________________________________________________

Written in a dark mood, hence an embellished mind sometime last week.

Lightness of being

I walk through the plains of my time and see a friend in the horizon.

His figure, countenance, familiar - unchanging as the Sun.

I approach him to say a greeting but a gust of wind cut me short.

Whistling as it flew past, once the air is still, my friend is no more.

He's caught the winds of change yet I, am still the same.

Buds of sorrow bloom in my chest, its deathly pollen fill my lungs.

Along with it roots of jealousy trace the veins of my heart.

I walk away heavily. A forest of gloom is festering within me.

O Faith! I haven't love you enough. I haven't been receptive.

All this time, I have been cold and pensive. 

I ponder but I am thoughtless. This fluff in my head makes me a sloth.

I look at my friend and his purity whips my consciousness,

this bluff I'm living , I'm really simply drowning.

Folly. All this is folly. If I face the way where lies the House of God

and wait for sunlight, maybe change will dawn on me and I'll float.

And finally you're starting to bore me. This is good.