Bricolage

lest I wander,
Always do.
Lest I am lost,
 always am,
In the progression of my contraries,
I swift, sidle , and flitted past.
In all the twists I meander
never timid in my sharp turns
and the bends smooth, but the intent lasts.
brush strokes, sprayed and mopped.
Then a careful , light placed incline
to the paint in the backdrop slopped.


A pastel here, smudged by the undertone
of starker, darker and bold,
cutting, plastered, origami papered
and at the edges not center, the paste shall hold.
here a fact strewn, there, a logic misplaced
left to their devices, but never overlooked in glaze.

Swiftly I phase,
Swiftly I unlearn,
add a florid wrapped paper parcel,
I'll scratch off the fixing tapes.
Cutting confetti from the silver,
and mashing the ribbons scraped.

Turn the boxes upside down,
house in one,
rest in another.
and cut holes from the cardboard,
string them to the life sized doubles.
peep out through the vents,
smooth in their edges,
but not in my intent.

then when all the sundry gathered
and turned and twisted in potpourri,
fragrant chaos rises, coloured in chance,
do not sift or pick or tidy
, just add my bottled romance.
Stain it with my wine,
let it run over the work.
let it bathe in it's full bodied nature,
Like my blood has filled it's veins,
Like my blood is oozed and drained,
with the trickle of a passion,
A bricolage embodied.
An emanation
of all possible
and the erst en-caged probable.

Riveted

The armours we wear are not gilded. Polished metal could never make for the strength that is required to step in arenas we know as playgrounds.Rusted iron, with chinks welded in repair. Edges worn , cutting through those who rub against at the slightest possibility, not just of a conflict but of a proximity too uncomfortable to leave to chances.Loath the fact that out of our playgrounds the armours are still riveted not to bodysuits but to our own bodies.

Our inseparable molds that would break with the contents that fill them. Paranoid we are! Paranoid we will be! Untangling and tangling what lies ahead,taking everything by the violence of our passions, weaving and then knotting the threads when they lie still as prospects.

Only the Paranoid Survives.
 How does the Paranoid sustain?

Perception

I cut a truth in two,
A half I kept from self
A half I keep from you,

Suppress the sadist inside,
as I cut little incisions
and make truth from half lies
with an alchemist's precision

Deny either of us two,
the whole as it is true,
I have cut it in equal piece
for fragmenting unease.

The truth is brittle as it is
too strong to survive with the weak
and too stark too outraged
to subtle down with the meek.

The wedge is thin.it divides,
the line between true lies
there is truth, there is deception,
but the devil called perception?

We have sold to the devil,
There is no good and no evil.
It is defined as per say
Infinite in many ways.

What was half a lie
half a truth became
and further twisted and turned
and truth and lies were the same.

There will be truth, there will be deception
what becomes of perception?
and then there is wrong and right
but what's left to decide?

then we termed 'Belief'
Laws, religion and lack of it.
All carnage of the psyche
split and as perceived.

We free our own devise
of virtue and of vice
and sins have become petty crimes
with convenience of times.
Soon they will be mundane,
but for the paranoids and insane.

There are wars and there onset,
arguments and unrest
outcomes,grim gore grief.
never death of a belief.

There is truth, there is deception
What a curse is this perception!

I had cut a truth in
equals of two
as one it was defined
now it is sublime

there is half a truth
half a deception
and triumphing rest
is the evil good perception.

Does it change anything?

Often have I weighed the pros and cons with this question, and most of the times I have answered it with reason , pure unadulterated reason. A rationalist approach has always bitten the dust. The most unexpected situations have trailed the most expected practical reasoning and microscopic analysis of the situation.

I resign to the enemy without knowing his face, it could be fate(why is mine so vexed with my reason, the two never meet?)it could be the Murphy's law but well applied to this situation, it's such a paradox, because according to my reasoning , things were never meant to go wrong. It could be a chance but why is the probability of the complement of the set of my expectations = 1.

Does it change anything? I ask myself as I access another situation : the thought that I just gave to piece of writing above.It is no aphorism, no witty appeal to my own mind, no doused doubts, It changes nothing I surmise and If I am secretly hoping that the complement of my expectation occurs , it shall be added to my expectations and then I wonder if the occurring would become 'a null set'. Nothing Changes?