Routine

This is what things have come to,
bruised and battered by decisions
like a shattered beer bottle
emptied of all its contents,
like meaningless TV shows
running back to back
like time itself,
month-end after month-end,
beckoning in anticipation
till it brings to its knees
the mammoth - the year itself,
measured by the weight
of memories that have stuck,
many others forgotten.
This thoughtful restlessness,
these half-baked thoughts
with an innate desire to be spewed
out of this uterine mind,
begs for something different;
something new, something unsaid,
something you don't see everyday
like the seemingly pointless nail
on the wall next to the lightbulb,
the patterns on the mattress
under the familiar bedsheet,
like the illusion on the ceiling-fan
moving against the motion,
transgressing, transcending
the routine revolution, visible clearly
when the lights are dimmed,
like the solitude of the night,
the charm of fluorescent dreams
beckoning towards greatness,
that giant leap of belief,
that giving up of everything,
putting every citadel at stake
that shake out of comfort, complacency
and out of this womb-to-tomb routine...

Prodigal River

What will I do if I stop
this longing to follow the sun in its journey
as it falls eternally, torching the night away,
camping across effervescent cultures,
soaking in their ways as I follow mine?
A longing like that of a parched land
destined to be ruled by a nascent river,
waiting with bated breath to soak in
that first drop of vapourising water
as it arrives, bearing the might
of entire civilisations across time,
with all their destruction.
A longing to quietly, calmly trudge
My own destined path - my one direction,
through the eternal search
for meaning and origin; maybe even love,
but I can't seem to turn on the silence;
even when I turn everything else off
to yearn for that distant call of
that solitary cricket calling out to its mate.

A longing to achieve aimlessness,
like a piece of paper or polyethene
tossed about in the air, being guided
by forces much larger than itself,
not caring where it's headed,
where the road will end, or
what the next turn will twist (yet
glued like a poster on the wall, powerless,
tied to routine, I fear to tear
myself away, a part of me stuck forever).
A longing to leave myself behind
for a mindless search for satisfaction,
as I lie here
tapping my feet to measure time,
writing lines and sculpting poems,
as the guitar, fondled by silence,
moans a silent melody, layered by piling
dust keeping proof of time.

A longing to pour down this cloud,
so pregnant with questions,
hoping to find its answers
on either side of sleep.
A longing to to never cease;
to be a legend that keeps flowing
from generation to generation;
a prodigal river tracing its path across time,
quenching the thirsts of virgin ears,
passed on through words, spoken, then written;
a nestling taking off for the first time,
so unsure of everything, yet so excited,
questioning everything around in this journey
through life, through evolution,
falling forever like the circling sun,
till time bites its tail and words and form are one...

Tonight, I think of you

When I sing your song
It brings me comfort on this rainy day,
as I hold myself
around the knees and rock away to the tune
of your memories...
We may not have had what it took
and it certainly took all that we had, and more.
Yet there is this web that binds us together,
one that I couldn't shake off,
that all the bitterness couldn't wear off,
that all my running couldn't tear off,
and one that follows me wherever I turn,
one that wraps itself around me
though we are only miles apart.

I wonder where Poetry had gone.
She had strayed away from me too;
She was once very close to me like you were,
and then she went away
like I sent you away
She's sometimes my only friend in loneliness,
when the nights are long and sleepless
when it is cold even at 42 degrees...deep within
Ive frozen everything, and yet
a drop trickles down the glacier every now and then,
reminding me of you, etching your face
on the icy mass, cutting through the frozen vault
letting out shapes of
when all it took was to hold your hand,
all I needed was that hug, and then everything
was in order in the cosmos again.

Then things fell apart
like they've always done... and now
there is this fear of opening up locked spaces
of letting out whats trapped inside.
There is a fear of fresh air too...
as I clench my fists around my self
and curl my thoughts into oblivion...but tonight
the songs dont fill the void anymore,
the wine doesnt numb it all anymore,
the morning doesn't dim the night anymore, and
forgetfulness can't control the mind anymore.
So, here I am, making love with Poetry,
and tonight, I think of you...