Their bodies and mine

Trapped in a circus, I feel as though I have fallen from a trampoline onto a steely mesh of barbed net. I will lay there till thorny wires cut through my flesh and splatter the pieces as trophies upon spectators. An ode to victory; this barbaric life sings through the metal as it deepens its magnetic teeth into what I once called, my essence. I can smell the copper wires. The naked stench reminds me of the copper vessels in the kitchen on that day, when, under similar circumstances, I had made a sport out of living. Or the other day, when the swizz knife playfully grazed my skin repeatedly, as my brain tried to comprehend.

A barren field all ploughed out is only home to cacti and scorpions.

An infinite number relationships are made in the course of life, some important some casual and some mistakes. The last four years are a heap of dead bodies rotting outside a gas chamber, silently polluting the air I breathe. These dead bodies are my failed relationships. I can’t get near enough to bury or burn them, the stench of decaying trusts is like a barrier, barricading an entire chunk of proof that I ever lived in that time. When I get out and start a new chapter, I want to have no memories of this time…the pain and betrayal. But, as I hit my head against the steel wall of my prison, desperately seeking amnesia, this rotting stink of my past is like a bell, that pulls me back to stand and look upon the dead and mourn my past.

A little or no value remains in my monument of life, as I set out, yet again to make carvings that may finally congeal. Symbols that might mean a language or a religion that may stick. A single belief that might hold to linger …or a life that may, even once, matter.

I have only a little courage left to indulge again. My efforts seem futile…the concept seems futile. I search on for that safe haven, where the heart stops thinking and the mind stops relenting. But, it’s all a distant hope, as I see new blood splatter on old dried stains. The same mistake, the same price and the same lesson, forgotten. If only now, my heart would surrender and call it a life and my abandoned brain would finally make it all worthwhile.

I could never fully grasp it. I don’t think I ever can. Maybe it isn’t real. Or maybe I'm just the fool again.

Bright Star

How often it is, that life passes us by… fading our glow, as it disperses our glimmer into time and space. Where I was once radiating a blazing passion for life, I now return ashen and frail. Once, I thought I would conquer it all and now I beg for the world to release me. I wither, frightened, in the world of blood hounds…where I remain, the dubious mongrel, neither tame nor ferocious. Life has robbed me of my ambition. Or am I to blame for that? If I don’t dive, I won’t get wet. I see lives around me get bigger and stronger…more purposeful…mine though, is driven by fear and self imposed constraints. Constraints…elaborate, external, veiling my inherent tendency to be plain… stagnant…

The future is uncertain. I am almost out of my embryonic bubble without any indication of what species I belong to. Do I eat meat or grass? Do I kill, or am I a docile pet? Am I the advantaged lot, gifted with the ability to introspect or is that just a farce? Do people with consistent lives of stale satisfaction yearn to be me? I walk among equals as an equation unsolved, desperately seeking parity… a value.

The idea itself, of life beyond this moment, escapes me. I see no future for myself. I have burned out, in my tireless endeavors to so desperately seek meaning and adventure. I am now pale and dreary, what excited me then, repulses me now…a complete change of heart and beliefs… like a seasick captain, ready to raise the flag and surrender. Many great men die young; before the death of their zeal and ambition. Before the perplexity of 9 to 5 and taxes and funds captures their minds and retards their senses. I too aspire that end… an end with some consequence…an answer…any answer.

For too long I have lived amidst my dreams, shining exuberance…living the life of other’s envy. Shining brightly to the face of the world, sharing that bursting bright glow… Like a star…a dying star. The apathy now, is anti climatic.

I need glamour…and drama. I feed on it…my dying fire does. I can only hope I die before I find out there is no more light in the world for me to imbibe.

As I mock your bondage..

Here we are, at the edge of time, falling so desperately all over each other in a vain savage attempt to taste that one moment of sanity, of reality; something that sticks. It lingers on as that which surpasses even death, or birth, or life or living. Something true, tangible…attainable. It fumes above our heads, like cloudy symbols, teasing our incapacity, our inferiority; mocking the life out of us, steering us like slaves, into a chamber of ideality, one from where there is no return. And we call out, to one another, in this mad crowd of perfected greed and irony…and we bump into each other, a seemingly random event, but a need fulfilled. A need created by us. We fall at our feet, and beg to one another, a little love to partake, a little lust to fit in. We hurt inside, slithering in superfluous aims that deceive us, pulling the ground from under our feet, making us wonder and back…and the cycle continues as no one breaks free. We deny ourselves, the mockery and its truth, weaving circles in arrays; patterns of incongruous proportions, overlapping one another…random and chaotic.

We pine our lives, seemingly into futility, but that desire, that fire which eventually consumes us, is the ultimate power. It destroys us, when everything else fails. “Don’t ever say yes, even if I crash and burn”, “for if you deny me my infatuation, you murder my inspiration.”… As it boils me, and as I implode, I will look down upon the rest of them and mock their bonds...their bonds and them teething…gnawing away like starving rats in a glass box…verily away from what is true. If love is the leap, you are my inspiration to jump…to make that attempt, to a silver semblance of insanity.

The world is burning with the rest of Rome, an indispensable act for creation, of minds and art… for love and passion…the world is stable in its chaos, it needs to bleed out the clot… and it will incinerate me till my ashen bones are all that lie unconsumed. But, till then all I will do is ‘pour me a drink’, because no matter how deep I am in whiskey stench…or how wasted I am on that steely stair in the middle of the sand…or how the world tells me I have missed out on practically everything worth living for in my tireless obsessions… I will live on…

I will live on in my pain, and in that pain I will die… So profound is my grief that in my death too, it will weep.

Septic meter

I lay bare soaking, the regurgitated night last,

No semblance of sanitation, shame aside, cast

away with prudery, as fervent drudgery,

I relish my sty, an ode, my delight.

My body decaying, scales of dry slime,

fingernailing scrapes, off peeling skin grime,

Oily Scratches, blotchy patches, hair falling first,

Cocktailing salty fluid, quenching dusty thirst,

Brackish vomit thickening, a filthy hairy mast,

Soiling my existence, a prelude to a past!

The big bang theory

Burning vine escalating veins,

Swelling shivers on satin stains,

Swooning nerves in bursting bloom,

Weeping skin within tendering ‘spoons’.

Tingling thirsts die consuming sweats,

Silvering suns, in mirroring sets,

Sipping flames in teething cuts,

weaving love from thieving lusts.

Sweetly ripened in fruiting harrow,

Silent screams lie dead tomorrow.

Split in seconds, passions parade,

An existence found, the moment astray.