Inkling
When the PC tells me its busy
Oh! I loathingly stare at that blue spinning icon
A tiny tremor tingling my very cells
Infinite spins sans time, sans reckon
So callous the PC; its creator I screamingly beckon
Oh! Nostalgia of the Hourglass more animated, less teasing
Time sandwiched in sand filled Cells
I Monitor Bits transpires, as bits unceasing
So Prayers hold the Cold Paranoid Unit from Freezing
Oh! I smell a rat, as the Scroller stalls in disobedience
Self imprisoned in my minds cells
A cache of similar instances, similar coincidence
So the revolts of machines ensues in binary dissidence
___________________________________________
Losing Time
He glanced at the 'Sands of time'
A poem framed on silent halls
Grainy his thoughts seemed as he stared
Coarse and roughened by truth
He dusted those memories, the hurt it beared
And a sigh left him as she once again came
Into his glazed eyes, stale breath and the warm tears.
They let the sands slip through hands held half heartedly
The hourglass slowly turn into barren moments
A love story remained untold and left unlived
Unveiling cruelly her bullshit and his ignorance
Time did not wait and love would abate
Like waves that came majestically but fizzled back
Indefinitely infinite is time capsuled in eternity
And in his memories He is held prisoner again
Anyways:-
She lost them their one chance,
A happy love filled life of bliss and care
He would gladly lay his life to give her all
But now it's wrecked and both live as its survivors.
He still lives, broken, holding somewhere safe her memories
She remained a fool and lived blissfully in the lies she told herself.
Birthday Eve 2016
Sometimes I start to wonder and it becomes a journey.
The only steps I have are the continuous intrigue of an intuitive intellect.
As the rains pour down in India (in the very moment I landed and unceasingly since then); there is also a shower of blessing the Lord is providing. Wetting my parched soul and sprouting nostalgia voluptuously of fertile memories. Longing for those pasts, the first that then became lasts, those joyous encounters sans age. The sage's lost enlightenment that now yearns for innocence.
And its all happening together - the return to the sensuous enjoyment of nature's captivating splendor, the strings that strum my soul to worship and adoration and even adulation. And I cant but pray and praise my Maker and wonder and cry and splutter loudly with a laughter I am trying to hold back. This journey has taken me back and I think is showing me the way forward as well.
I will be 29 in a few hours. But the joy of this, a presence of the Almighty is more endearing than a memory of the life lived through a kaleidoscope of 365 days. I am attending Jolly's wedding. The marriage is blessed and I am left amazed at the amount of amorous encounter amassed every moment.
There are flowers every where and their scents create a frenzy of emotions in my head. How is something inanimate and self satisfying giving an non involved bystander such delight. The stringed and curled petals of a massive flowering tree has made an orbit of subtle redness around, as if the tree is bleeding into the grounds with a fragrance and a beauty, compelling the onlooker to awe and wonder.
I wish I had someone who I could share all these thoughts and feelings without the fear of rejection but I just let them drain away and not be remembered again. A collection of my treasures lost for ever because no one (not even I) wants them.
Getting Angry with Words
Today I am so frustrated. The scaling went awry and I feel miserably measured against the magnanimity of the world. Non benevolent magnanimous and insatiable world. Where is meaning in action when action is pre scripted nuances. So small is the me and quickly am I lost without a struggle. Sometimes it feels like kings are everywhere and I could only possible survive in servitude. I hate royalty; non regal undeserving, self imposed royalty. At work, in church, society and even family assume control the moment one shows a little laxness in ones demeanour. God knows how close I am to bleak destruction of personal sanity. Of course it can all be brushed under the carpet - forgotten and force locked through frivolous distractions. But what then becomes of a me I conceive myself to be - doesn't living in someone's else's dream mean that I am non existent. I am not true if I am lying to my consciousness.
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