A Distorted Life

A pot of water is boiling on the stove,
A green leaf soaked in it.
Have you ever felt the heat of boiling water?
The leaf shrinks into something without a name.
It feels like satans touch or God’s wrath
What’s the difference anyway?
When you look in the bubbles formed by a hundred Celsius
Then the world seems different
Things expand and shrink at the same time,
Words exist and don’t exist in the same rhyme.
A dog left astray, a species domesticated.
Houses of words and parliaments of sentences.
The heat and the powerless utensils
The leaf leaves a smell,
Like a cat with a bell.
You can find your way back to it,
But you can never see what was never there.

A broken Stallion

We found us in the sheds of the black city,
The battle was never fought,
Addiction was the only game known to us,
And death was all that we sought.

Sometimes in the morbid stained sheets
Or the murky corners of psychosomatic streets,
We crossed paths like strangers,
But everyone was aware of our common factors.

The birds refused to chirp in our forest,
And daylight was too glorious, to reach our breast.
Such was our destiny,
unknown even to us.

When everything was lost,
We found each other,
in a sub-conscious dilemma.

The photograph shows a smiling face,
Not because we were pleased,
But that’s what you do when asked to
Say cheese.

It was tough but we stuck together,
Fighting the rain and defeating pleasure,
In that bed we found each other.

With the company nothing felt old,
Not even our perpetual cold
Drugs stopped working on us,
As we were already high to the core

And that last race! What a tale it was,
We ran like a dream,
Piercing through our pasts,
towards a reality unreal before.

Rivers of my country

Water gains life, as it flows down a hill,
I sit by! trying to distinguish one rapid from another.
Have you ever done that?
It’s like telling one face from the other.

The rivers in my country don’t acknowledge the birth of Christ,
They travel from beyond time.
The flow of my rivers cannot be found in the boxes of your calendar,
They flow through me and you can’t even see.

As I sit beside him, she whispers me stories,
a hundred deaths and two ninety nine lives.
She lets me visit his deepest banks,
from creator to the destroyer, everything there lies.

You might hold me guilty for falsehood,
“how can you understand her tongue?
His language is long forgotten”
And I reply with nothing but defiance.

The river is driven by gravity, not your definition of clarity,
I don’t need to invent a language for her,
She is a part of me,
as I am of her.

A shade less color

Traveling through the regions beyond light,

Soaring above the conflicts of life,

A man reached the point of no return.

Darkness is the elimination of colour,

But, beyond the spectrum lies a substance.

The phenomenon of seeing clearly,

more clearly than required.

A heart of darkness is the true friend of horror,

Like white is of black,

It is the last resort of the human instinct,

To become what it cannot fight.

Sailing through the river of lives,

A man stands out,

A soul goes mad,

And the mind takes the path of chaos.

Time Wrap

Each tick of the clock is a part of history,
Nothing is predestined,
Acting by the clock is an illusion,
There are more dimensions to this game.

One moment seems to be like a life time,
And years flash by like dots in a line.
Chronology is not the only science,
Close thy eyes; there is a life in the nothingness of being blind.

Playing in the battlefield,
Screaming in the heart,
Nothing is greater,
Everything will be left behind.

Beyond the end lies innocence,
the freshness of not fearing to lose,
is the greatest gift,
turn the steering, try a new drift.

Weeds are also necessary,
Flowers are not the only beauty,
Knowing oneself in void of time
is the path to break the time wrap…

Spill the colors

Move in a line,

Don’t be left behind.

Why cant you excel,

Why are you so different?

We live in an order,

bounded by the shackles of a pattern.

Looking beyond the edge is a crime,

All of us have to follow the same table of time.

Life is like a race,

Art is made in factories,

And artists are murdered on the crossing.

Life ends just the way it started.

Colours are identified by each other,

One view has no value.

If its not better than the other,

Dreams are a curse,

And imagination not needed.

Why don’t we clone instead?

At least nothing will be wasted.

My dimensions

Life is as high as it could be,
Living this dream,
Screaming this scream,
It would never end.

Faces from the dark haunt me,
I know someone is out there,
Waiting for me to remove my shield.
Is it just the end?

What lies beyond this existence?
More of this poison to drink each day,
Watching the ships sail by,
sitting on the bay.

My calculations fail me,
My undertaker just nailed me,
I live no more,
My existence is a fable.

In my world of fantasies,
I see her, I know her,
But I can’t hold her,
The image of this world is just a blur.

I run out of dimensions to describe my world,
I sit here describing a point in the universe,
Words seem to defeat my purpose,
As I take my last dose…