Filthy Hands

My bare hands and I,
we leave prints around ,
One is the dot, the sun's eclipse spot.
another a cross mark on the ground.

I cut my fingers on barbed wire,
have burnt fate's lines in the fire,
and then dyed them in black or red,
for graffiti or simply bled.
bled from self,sometimes of other
and to cleanse them have I never bothered.

The earth in nails from the potters wheel
and the glass from mosaic on the walls
embedded in souls of my palms

like time frozen in instance of build

and the places where they have crawled.

They have folded themselves in
contemplation.
what  is thought and prayer at times.
They have held back in consideration

at others they have crossed the line.

They have given in dread of mistrust
and taken by a sincere thrust.
they have rested on a restless heart
and then stopped it in a clench  of fist
they have rubbed a temple in subdued thought
and then coaxed it to not resist.

they have held a warm body,cold and clinical

they have traced passion on beautiful forms

and have synchronized with tidal storms

cured the cold faces with their warmth,

in either my desire or their want

they have held and let go not for long.

fidgety devils in indecision

gods in rights of their precision.

my filthy hand will wash off one another.
my filthy hands will wash off one another.

Indiscretions and Indifferences of Withdrawal (Confessions of a caffeine addict in rehab)Part I

First week:

Why take subterfuge in sanity when you know you are extraordinaire and if the rest label it as some kind of an anomaly you need not care.

Now, I am aware of my bodies ability to adapt to the barrels of coffee that I would glut myself with indulgently as I would go through the hum drum of my life. What I was not aware of was the tendency of my body to adapt to caffeine as an endocrine secretion rather than an artificial substrate that tampers to a degree with the metabolism and hyper functioning of it.
 Caffeine metabolism and the adversities associated with it I would neglect because in philosophy I am more of a fatalist and a cynic when it comes to prophesying . The school of thought that gives no thought to the criteria lethal existence because death is inevitable or as the less informed commoners would spell it out as YOLO.

Bah!!

So if the thought of the  impending doom being accelerated was not a concern ,what was it?  One may question.Well, you could say it was a very Rise of the Dark Knight situation where in the spirit of the human soul to survive in the face of adversity struck and struck me hard.

I never thought it was a confession to make and forget me Father but I have not sinned in having a spoonful of heavens delightful brown earthy fruit in my cup.Only if I am to be accused of something then let it be the unending need for the holy spirit that pours from filter kettles into my mouth wide open.Aah, the sin of gluttony...umm ..no, lust perhaps.

I was made to realize by none other than the ghost of my present that I being one of these people who is a fatalist in philosophy but a survivalist in action is challenging her own survival by being a heavily dependent piece of machinery that would die the day it's fuel would cease to be. Worse would die if stranded on an island(the ghost of my presents is brilliant at throwing at me convincing logical arguments especially when they cater to the cynic in me)Truth be told after having watched Cast Away at the age of five ,it has been one of my most dreaded nightmares.I realized that bringing up a coffee plantation with salt water to irrigate the fields in the sand did not seem like a viable solution and the osmosis of sea water on such a large scale is well impractical.

So, what choice do I have? I am extraordinaire in my capability to absorb caffeine as my own but I am in all my capacity bound by the human restriction of not being able to produce it through hormonal secretion induced or natural.

Hence the ghost of my present talked into me sense. The worse part about interacting with the ghost of my present was the fact that it made its argument inscrutable by denying me the much needed cup of coffee while it talked to me. That's when I knew the conclusion was watertight. I had to quit otherwise the little voices in my head would die.

In the first week of my abstinence, I feel dead, I feel like I am the ghost of my past. I feel hungry all the time, I have fallen sick and feel drowsy and feeble and fragile and bleak.I walk through the streets avoiding the sight of cafes and anything close to the reminder of my elixir turned poison.
The lesson to be taken from the indiscretions and the feigned indifference is:

If I can do it, so can you.For updates on the same, keep reading.

Why Do We Fall?( That quote from my favourite superhero flick,to ponder)

So that we can go through that rush that defies another force intruding or acting upon us, streamlining ourselves with the entropy of the space we exist in and just learning the term surrender. The free fall before the crash.The little resistance of the air,that like hope stays afloat in the atmosphere,and we let go of it as the concrete is near,despair. It teaches us to despair, let go off unreal. We fall, to see the inevitable occur and realize that everything we have done before however substantial it may have been is biting dust with us and hence everything we do should lead to the moment of contentment that we seek In that one moment and nevermore shall never more be thought of. We fall, to rest, to redeem, to remember,to revive.

In deed, we fall to rise again. A Fall is to Rise.