Wither Pale

Rest not,
       in augmented passions
of the bleak.
            fade away in oblivion 
the mind does seek,
                   a blankness hollow to the brim,
                   when the memory dies and the pain is a whim.

How does one not embrace?
        the numb wind dance
on a naked face
as the winter scalpels the chill
at a pace at which you run against its gale.
 
To burn before or after wither pale?
                         

Prison Break

Every time I start to feel the gush of fresh air in my lungs, a musty smell from the cells takes it's place in my nasal tract.

Every time I break the shacks and try to run from the binding rules, they tell me I belong not to the cells but the padded room of an asylum.

Every time I seek a wilderness to build my home, a rampant agglomeration starts to build around its need to inhabit.

Every time I seek solace in solitary confinement of my self, they tell me I need to be tried at the will and the whims of those who confine me to their existence.

Every time I let go of ropes I find a fiber of the string dangling on hanger hooks to my flesh and suspending me in the atmosphere.

I have begun to wonder if I have lived my life in paroles I have from the inevitable imprisonment in a structured sustenance.

Firefly in a Glass Jar

Living as a trapped firefly in a glass jar ,see through the walls, glass has such perfection in its finish, you can see the world pass by and look at the eyes that stare and study you .The light of your own burning would illuminate the faces of those bemused.

 In joy you would flutter and skim in the cylindrical environment of your existence, measured in the volume of air it holds for you to breathe, the lid turned and screwed to the top, with punched holes to let air diffuse into the virtual lest it suffocates you to death. Existence has its seemingly humane layouts. It is designed not to kill you. It is designed not to let you live. It is designed to keep you in a loop that hangs between the two. Just as the fire fly dangles in the jar.

The fire fly now trapped in the jar hovers with unease, the escape, there must be one. The punched holes at the top are not large enough to let out a life from the clutches of an existence. The glass walls, transparent are an illusion of the sight and insight that is devoid of experiences from the real and there are no windows. Why would you need them when the delusion of an amorphous state kept you from making any?

The fire fly is dying in its trap, the glow for which it was encaged now diminished to darkness, the buzz of its wings in desperate attempts of jolts to the glass that with all it’s perfect finish now makes it slide on its edges. Existence would never let you take a firm grip on it, would firm its hold on you and tie itself around in a helical infinite that would make you squirm and wriggle to breathe in a whiff of life.
 Eventually you would die not smothered but unwilling to breathe in through the shattered windpipe, that makes it painful to inhale whatever remnants of life you gathered in that jar.
The one escape: Shatter the jar.

We were Water.

I know of desire,
have tasted it's ashes,
less warmth from a fire,
with a splinter that crashes,
flies in soot after glow,
crackling on wood and flesh hollow.


If we were not wooden
(in expression, but profound)
 in words spoken that night
of the sea, the wind, the sand and the tide.
Closer than they were there,
the prospect of passions to share.

We could have been water,
waves,from an ocean rising twice
lashing and mingling in stark high tides
miscible, liquid, in a flow.
tuned in spirits , fervent or slow.


not sand but water in entwine,
mingling of breath, blood, flesh
 by the tranquil blue, never enmeshed..


 sands are parched, dry and pale,
by summer tempest and winter's gale
now at the end meet the shore
Could the wind not float evermore?

water and salt
by them soaked in love
before the storm will fall.

We could have been water
in each others arms,
miscible, liquid,less viscous layers
each flowing over the other in there,
river or the sea, each one in form
and how does it matter
where the other is from?


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