Tag: acceptance

  • Pigments of Pain

    I listen to the clatter
    Rolling coins
    Gasping through cracks
    Of fractured philosophy
    In this modern world writ with
    Make believe merchandise
    Life lived through litmus paper
    Chemical imbalance
    Anarchy in equation
    Feather dust in vacuum weighing same as the sun
    Candles upon cake, wax trees,
    Forest of flames, ages incinerate:
    Gullible times, marzipan issues souring into
    Phrases describing sunlight through trees unlike sunlight through trees
    Anything but the obvious, the immutable
    Sieved eyes and beetle brain
    Taking over photosynthesis
    Bottled chimera, disco dreams
    Autumn in lungs
    Coughing art; blood on canvas, dotted design
    Cerise constellation simplified by
    Binary prophets
    Dripping tap, blocked sink, dim streetlight, ivy on the roof, dust on the doormat, average grades, loose socks, society on chemo, Syrian seizures, Africa and Ebola, avalanche on Everest,
    Anthill, beehive, New York, Mumbai
    Sunrise at six, Sunset at seven
    Coconuts, candles and carpets for heaven
    Rubber tires on tarmac
    Plastic skin
    LED hearts
    Tears on screen
    Protein pronouns, varicose verbs
    Multinational menagerie of Lego world
    Digitally distilled with castrated cause
    Packeted products: for all flaws
    Barcoded breaths
    Beginners beware
    This land of the dead is alive on prayer.

  • Flowers Don’t Sing


    I know you don’t have to listen
    To all that I have to say
    And to be true I am just talking
    To myself everyday
    It’s sad, I know:
    To see myself smile
    And even the reflection
    To return it
    Only once in a while…

  • Nescience

    I wait at the newspaper stand
    Reading, the morning is grey
    Ash tinted
    Like an old man’s asthma

    Buds of people are sprouting
    From windows and eggshell alleyways
    Dressed in yesterday’s dreams
    And tommorow’s promises
    Faces creased, bespectacled
    With white hairs a halo
    From the century long sunlight
    Age ever ached to swallow

    A ballad pours from the the barbershop
    The old stereo is crooning about
    Footsteps falling on azure fields
    And carts on country roads
    I can smell the aftershave
    At once bitter and sweet
    The razor once again vacant
    Without the borrowed heartbeat

    There is a fallacy here
    Between the words and vision
    I read and see
    The stories seem vibrant but life colour-free
    Perhaps it is the weight of being
    That makes it so
    For all of us do wither
    But only some of us grow

    The children have gathered on the footpath
    A bell in some temple tolls
    The priests are praying for bliss
    And in laughter a football rolls
    I watch, I watch
    The world divided in unison
    Each hour be day or night
    Being a part of every season

    So I pay my fair share
    It’s time for me to leave
    And be one amongst the masses
    Who in eternity believe
    Of everyday man and their everyday deeds
    In the cycle of fruit from the flower and flower from the seeds
    If only one would question; Does the roots if ever know?
    Of the world that blooms outside from their breaths buried below

  • The Man in the Book

    Sebastián León Prado @Unsplash

    Some day I want to be
    The man in the book
    Who knew what he wanted
    And loved what he took
    With no one to question
    And no answer to give
    With no thoughts on living
    And only to live
    Some day I want to be
    The man in the book

  • The Shadow Of Absent Things


    I can smell the brown sugar
    Melting in my tea pot
    And I am rooted
    Between two oak trees
    Made immovable
    By the stone lips oaring my depths
    Reaching for the sky silhouetted against me
    But the ache of it does not feel like tooth decay
    Nor the pleasure makes me shiver and rain
    Glass beads and spirit of grain
    Into the hands of praying men

    I can feel my skin
    Breathing under your fingernails
    Like snail on a hot tar road
    While your voice in my ear
    Whisper garbage
    Something about me, my hair,
    My face and the rest
    Of me but not about
    As if your eyes are nothing but mirror
    Or old shoes spit polished this morning
    And my heart wanders like flies on foodstuffs
    Unable to digest
    The truth of you touching me
    In and beyond
    Anymore

    Steel on the tip of my tongue
    Marble on the base of my back
    I am pierced and pinned to the pedestal
    A naked butterfly
    At once transparent and tarnished
    Bruised, battered and bludgeoned into being;
    Beautiful sans beauty

    So I stare like a light bulb numb in its holder:
    The roof is blank
    A grey slate
    False sky
    Absent mind
    White chessboard
    And the omniscient blind

  • Metamorphosis

    Image by Josh Hild @ unsplash


    If the music does not leave your lips,
    And the poems freeze on your fingertips,
    Know; the silence you have mocked for long,
    To you now it too belongs

  • Reflections



    All the letters I wrote
    Came back to me
    They were poems I had written
    And addressed to poetry

  • The Serenade Surrendered


    I know what it means to be
    A man without a memory
    What I see: I see
    What I feel: I feel
    In the moment of me
    I keep a forever concealed
  • The Soft World Shenanigans

    Dry roads humping shredded towns
    Ghostlicked with cactus eyes quietly watching
    Deeper dreams
    For answers within answers
    For silence within screams
    I see, I see
    Footsteps upon gravel
    And red lips on ice
    Dissolve
    In purple chimney smoke,
    Behind the farts of dust- rimmed truck,
    Where the grey haired goats grazing in saltpits wonder
    Why the fairies don’t give a fuck
    Clippety clop, clippety clop
    Horse hooves on silent sand
    Burnt toast, stale butter, wooden knife in my hand
    I see, I see
    Tears and bright ties
    Choking velvet throats
    Those colouring the white lies
    Like spit on anchored boats
    Bell jars in cotton
    Woodpecker in denim
    Breathing tinfoil fantasies
    Of midnight mind raining, whispers upon paper:
    ‘Wheatfields underwater
    Ether in eclair
    Cornflakes made of daylight
    And tulips in dark hair’
    I see, I see
    Last thoughts of dying beasts
    Merge with me
    So that I roar and I bleat
    Being eaten as I eat
    My own war-torn monkhood
    My altarboy retreat
    So I see, So I see
    Dry roads humping shredded towns
    Ghostlicked with cactus eyes quietly watching
    Deeper dreams
    For answers within answers
    For silence within screams

  • The Onus of an Asylum

    When they with no fingers
    Point at the blind
    For not calling out the deaf
    Falling behind
    The mute they shall say
    That this is the way:
    We paralysed people
    Walk everyday