The Fall

The buttered language of an ephemeral hug,
The silent whisper of a flimsy kiss,
The inviting shadow of that mystic delusion,
The ecstatic stupor of a besotted lunatic.

The perfumed wings of a distant dream from beyond.
The smoky trail of clouded reason,
The flaky promise of a tender graze,
The fiery pits of a bottomless silence.

Homogenize

Circles. Sitting-down institutions.
Knowledge(Zombie)-churning manufactories.
Think like this. Speak like that.
Don't ask questions. Straighten your hat.


Look like this. Walk like that.
Pick up the damn fork with your left.
Plan ahead. Focus. Work hard. You can enjoy later.
Later when? Tomorrow.
But of course, tomorrow you have to plan for the day after.
But that's beside the point, of course.


Mime thy neighbour. Blend in and disappear.
Camouflage yourself. Quick! choose a career. 
No, not that dress. What? Your life, you say?
Haha, Welcome to Planet Earth. Have a nice day.

Loiter, if you wish

Stay. Just a little while more.
The kettle's still glowing,
This soft quietude is a complete song.
My feet are cold. Thereupon, stay...

Phrases. Words. Syllables. Sounds.
Then there is this. This voiceless harmony.
Time-telling machine, you satanic poltergeist,
Your incessant ticking, gleeful smug mirth.
I see through your sadistic masquerade.

Procrastinate that wistful step,
Linger. Now shutters down. The world sleeps.
The stars, they speak. Hush. Listen.
Nightly crickets, hum to us, your smitten patrons.
Your eyes, they prophecy a forest of unspoken devotion.

Ignore the amber ray of sparkling powder.
Here's a fleshy canopy of my snug shadow instead.
Pour out the milk. I'll fetch the morning paper.
Heavy lids open. I thought you stayed.

Closure

This insufficient ending.
This abrupt conclusion.
This cursory termination cannot be what it seems.
The last of the credits cannot have rolled up yet.

What of all the half-finished stories?
The unopened biscuit packets.
Promised walks down the midnight hour.
All of that and more.

Some awaiting doors. Are they half-open or half-closed?
How should I see them?
The unwashed pile of clothes
Speaks another tale of unfulfilled chapters.

Now I shall close my despairing eyes
And drift into brief mental oblivion.
Any hope of a new start diffuses into the palpable past.
This cannot be it. I wait for a befitting closure.

Blackhole

Shards of icicles fall thick and fast.
Stabbing and tearing apart
The blurred smoke of hazy memories.
Shadows, whispers, echoes, name-calling, laughter.

Remember. What is it to do so?
Is it to reminiscence, re-live, partake in blessed nostalgia?
Or is it maybe drowning in self-indulgent melancholy
For all that is now past, lost and gone?

Doors close, paths forge, leaves fall, new windows open.
Do I want to stay? leave? not move?
Cynicism and mistrust cling to my thoughts and actions
Like leeches they seep into my very being.

Acrimonious contagion this mute introspection.
A shriek, a yell, a cry of some remnants of sane triviality.
Or a religion, a faith, a sense of belonging even.
Anything to shut out the mirthless satan in me.

Free Spirits

Let's chase our shadows with four amorous bare foots,
Let's jump over the restraining villain fence,
And fall if we may in the process.
At least the tender laughter we share after the fall
Would makes the crushed grass beneath us
Blush and look away in flushed bashfulness.

Mirage

I, the charging waves of the wild grey sea.
You, the intimidating solid rock on the golden shore.
In leaps and bounds I would come forth to touch you,
Slowing down only to diminish in size, meekly slide away and perish.

I, an admirer from a distance, a stranger up-close.
You, the oblivious star of my life through and through.
Oh I am everywhere you are, everyplace you go.
Yet to the star-lit night, the light of the day exists not.

At night, you whisper into my ears promises of fidelity to me.
Just as the autumn leaves speaketh to the winter snow.
You gently brush my crimson cheek with your lips and steal away,
And I know you came, I know you were here.

Because, when the morning light awakens me
from my chimera,
All I know is that
My tasted cheek is still wet from last night.