500 likes?

500 likes on WordPress today for this blog. I look at the popup and it satisfies that 500 times my writings were noticed by the wonderful people here.

Thank you friends for feeling – for me, for yourself, for everyone.  You keep things alive around you and I am honored to be in one such space. Its ecstatic when someone can take home a share of my world and I can take home theirs without disturbing it and I think that is enough for a day each day.

What you are thinking today and tomorrow and there after…I am waiting, listening, reading 🙂

A Hymn

transfixed by the moon
in the finished glare
come.            stare.

do you know what it is?
pain engulfed in love

free. incorrigible. beyond repair.

My solitude in the gloom
where your single flower bloomed
the inane incantations
always worked to incapacitate

my moth,
that never did recuperate

             how did he swallow himself?

he poured the tea
while uncurling her hair

with verity on the verge
but never gone
the idolatry pretense
got carried on

and she kept choking
in his fresh blood
scoffing,
the moth
kept the light stuck

brightness is a scanty measure
for the dark
like when a sanguine offers
a sardonic heart

both sit to satiate the salvage
the burning light
that sought solace
and the carnal moth,
a caustic case.

Whole Death

a walking graveyard
of still houses 
to be scavenged little more 
is left open

what can pesky beaks do
                          carry on the task 
death and rest follow 
graves digging body 
and body itself 
to end it all
the savage picks up the taste
half rotten stuck in the beaks
body evolves 
birth to the burp
making it alright

whole death is whole 
unlike half hearted meal
not eaten
not forsaken.

V for venom

Do you know you can drink your tears backwards into your mouth through practice 

you can cry inside but I never got to know how long it takes to go back and unfix the fixes of haste in my 

mind talks of the adjustments it did not make while I thought it did, when the blood spilled 

it gave away the heart which I thought won in the middle of everything, it failed

to show me that it could never repair its storage of those backward tears, it gulped

the blood instead and now can’t vomit because    spilling words was an old habit, now fixed, hindering

the outward flow of almost any emotion in an effort to keep those tears from flowing forward, 

walking in circles of pain and love the boundaries merged and neither could identify the other admist its own venom 

the cobra bit itself it died not being sure if the venom killed it or not loving itself. 

Skip a heartbeat

My heart skips a beat..

Thomp. and everything goes down again

as in the second’s distress to move

forward on the clock it pushes itself back

and I rush to pump it again with all I got

it becomes a matter of minutes to level

the things put to rest

from where hours turned to dust

of days spent in hunger

for the skipped heartbeats

where heartbeats skipped people

by skipping a few hearts.

 

 

 

Reminiscence

A sweet story 

travels its own reminiscence 

as how it was told 

in times of plenty 

when the dwelling pond didn’t dry up 

in the times passed filling it again

the little creatures of all forms

lived in the suspense 

of failure or success

thomping on weak ones

burying them through distress

for urgency to be whole

that was why the story 

was not sweet when retold

a lot of sweet bits 

in its reminiscence

did not hold. 

Meme evenings

neural efficacy it dictates

carving replicating transcending 

subatomic space of the peripherals where

it was killed, alive again 

dusted by hands of now a celibate brain

niching into the broken links

of surviving neurons 

to expose hide reside in a scarred alley

trying to invade again 

breaking open the bubbled spaces

you. yet again a meme of everything prefect 

I. an uninspired host

Valentines Special

It is a dress

you wrap your fun 

and bring it down

it sits on the curb

and you are skeptic 

you see a clown

in the middle of nowhere

it has been a while

you turn around 

another year futile

but you like the sound

as the rats who died 

looking for cheese

were as gullible 

as those who didn’t

and when chasing their trail

cheese followed with the cage

how a lost love 

makes a comeback case

the hungry rats again miss the details

another year to yearn

for the ship that always sails..

Changing

I am painting you a picture 

on the canvas of your eyes 

what you see is relative

and depends on your insight

like when night tells dawn

I am too a morning to few life forms

they who can see will change their colours 

those who saw black and white

still how do you rush when you are viscous

and how do you flow when you are rigid

but you will and think about the 

underperformance of everything else 

inside all of us we ourselves dwell. 

this way The mundane project of me

keeps getting more and more pointless

in my own stoic face I am baseless

the vision that I will anyways create

amass project reiterate 

is just a changing proposal of my past

when digged to the core of anything

everything lasts. 
Thought: most changes are selfpreservatory  in nature without our realizing it and even if we do realize that we need the change, we also crave for an acceptance of our negatives or worse we stop caring. How legit is the change then? sometimes us ourselves being unaware of the real depth of it. 

The revered God of odds

This is a call to create me because I don’t exist

and seeing my life I think I may be the one

who walks past the dreams and desires 

skillfully in a bliss remembering the odds on how these existed without the pain

but then I am proved right soon 

leading me to think I created them

but if history of people would talk they would have the same walk

still I am blamed not to live through it with patience

and patience they say some don’t realise they already have it as a character 

while those who don’t are often seen demanding it

I am familiar with this cycle

but I am in the odd

with about everything 

and the slipping society

who will soon think of me 

as a non conformist 

and while they don’t know what they are conforming to

I have to mix in a haste

of being left behind I have to join soon

I see among me other few who are confused the same

and they talk themselves into it each day

this predicament becomes society

and I a social person

and those who live on to carry my burden

and don’t conform

they become my God

of all my odds.