Zen

Amidst whirlpools of dust
Dervishing in the deeps waters
Spiraling up columns of sapphiric souls
That are unknowing and without hope
Expending in gaudy glitter masks
While the washed is ignored, laughed at or stoned…
There is death of aspiration, burial of illusions,
End of disillusionment, transforming the unseeing and the dying,
Into iridescent contortionists with acrobatic flair

To leave without a trace
In that onyx instance
If given an inch to move or take
Translucent mould of me it shall be you
Like the sway that induces whispering in dry flowers
I would be invisible but within
Transparent essence of you will be me

spinning yarn

sciolistic tendencies give way to defenseless proclivities
spawning tired ol' bastards that nitpick with astounding temerity
giving way to baseless counter-attitudes
that float like karmic haze all around...
or is it a rank odor of stale cigarettes and pointless perspiration
caught in her own web, the black widow spider eats her own self...the mate long digested.
hydrochloric acid lined intestines churn out masticated peices of innocence, tenderness and affection
What is left?
just a song....
perhaps?
perhaps...

My Father's Hand

beauty in monochrome

Rear...as in to aid growth, but also as in posterior anatomy

Not a moment’s respite…this woman, my mother they say…I don’t know for sure. I’ve been told that she gave birth…but it is only hearsay that she gave birth to me…could have been anyone else…I have to take it in good faith…what if I chose not to? Ah! That is what ails people around me here…because I have chosen not to: a choice that not many make; because people like the stable cocoon of a past, any past, and an equally verifiable illusion of a future. The present is a forgotten bastard, tucked away due to the pressures of societal shame (unwed mother; you hussy!), staring right at your face, but you ignore him to look elsewhere. His face is both ugly and beautiful, you are scared. Present is what is, past may be reconstructed and the future maybe embellished.

She wants to be my mother, she needs it, she attempts…to be a bad mother, she succeeds…she dangles carrots, and she fails…she hurls abuses. It is fun for me being as detached as I am right now. You called it “nishkam dharm” the other day; knowing more than me, I guess you are allowed to make observations…I don’t know what it is. All I know for sure is that I’m not bothered by anything…I retort when I feel like, with full conviction and I stay quiet with every cell in my being when I want to. I simply love the fact that I have a choice…and that I am exercising it. Actually, words do not make any sense when I try to say what I really want to say. It’s not as if I love that fact that I have a choice, or that I have a choice or even that I’m exercising my right to chose…I’m just doing it…just being here, right now, almost automatic.

course of action...

Life sucks...the only thing that i'm sure of right now...
i have no inspiration at all to write something... my days seem too trivial to write about...there is nothing to be happy about or even sad...
complete dislocation... i wrote last in april, more than a month ago...
should i pull the plug???