Time... (and Direction)

(Or why I shouldn’t be allowed to drink coffee late at night)

Time. The right time.
Wait for it, and there is no time left
So no down times. Only crossed lines.
Cross the T’s, dot the I’s, if you ask ME.
Time’s up, that’s 50 bucks for therapy.

Untitled - 2

Dogeared, the pages of my life are now crystal clear

Irony, you never miss me

When writing, no living, those chapters was I, the book was fine, to crimp and line

Smelling new too. But I was a blind man, a blind careless man throwing punches at the typewriter

Irony, an ironical word indeed. 
Starts unfazed, like the strongest pillar, the northern star, ferrous-iously (ferociously)

And ends in the iffiest possible way, like a melting block of ice. 

Hopeful, I lift my pen again. Or try to

But is this pen heavier now with memory or my hand much weaker - I do not know.

Hope, I had a pocketful and some more.

More than the sand under the seas, I felt like its heir and master too

Doggedly though, life makes equals of us all

Some in death and I in my absence of the life I used to know

Dogeared, I return to the book you once gave me.

And wish I’d never learned to read.

Woof / To Simba, With Love / Slick and fine, my canine

(If only you could read, my love... but I'll read it out anyway - to your tilt of the head, I imagine)

sniffing wet noses,
inching muzzles reaching i.
meddling munchkin’s him,
bounced off my lap, the little gub
and now, louder than his namesake he roars awa’.

Across. Then, Down.

Sometimes, we find ourselves staring at the end of a dark alley

Even as the lights around us flicker bright, our mind - it has a ladder of its own

Locked, nowhere to go. Lost, nowhere you know.

Fear, that old familiar former girlfriend who held you hostage to her whims, yet left you feeling guilty each time.

Dusted. Is this of any help? Is this of any use?

Oars away, drifting from your stretch in the middle of the ocean

Usurped, your Kingdom Comfort. Only now, will you really start to discover the strength of your arms.

Black as the alley, only now will you search your thoughts

Then realise your awakened sense of touch is more powerful than that impulsive eye - no good when the light shuts off.

Untitled

(I guess it took me quite a bit to start writing again)

To my love of months who I do not measure by the months that we were but the eons you helped me grow up,

Hello.

Hello, for I do not know what else to start with

To tell you that unseen scars need unrequited love to heal

Or that reading this drunken letter will haunt me in the morning.

I regret the day I saw you in purple

Without it, I would never have known such pain

But maybe not as much as the day you stopped wearing purple for me altogether.

It tears apart the insides of a hole you once called home

To walk around places that we together have known

To know my fingers don't trace the outlines 

Of what to me was all the art I ever wanted to know.

To have felt most scared of life and all at once forgotten fear

With the thought that I could just hide inside of you.

To know that time is irreversible and that

No Emmett Brown can take me back to you.

To have ever known what it was to taste the salt off your lips

And more.

I know better than to tell you I am not in pieces

Because maybe, just maybe - you have been too.

But thank you, for making me feel more love, more lust,

More hate, more passion, more regret than I ever had before.

I guess that's what the songs mean when they talk about feeling alive.

"Once Upon A Line"

(Yes, it's been a while...)

Flipping through pages on a summer day
Found I, a story most usual. Dare I do now to say.
There once did live a princess young, a princess who did speak.
She talked to one, one who was I and I do now repeat.

She talked through song, a lovely rhyme
Melodious full, to word and line.
Talked she of treats, talked she of sights
More magnificent than could imagine anyone’s mind.

A worldly galore, sparkling oceans
Sparkling stones, shiny shores.
Such a view, painted the dame
Promising carousel in loving fantasy’s name

She talked of exquisite dines
Made only more lovely by crooners' lines
Berlin, burlesque; Madrid, merengue
Each one resounding her lonesome den.

But she forgot to tell tales that needed telling
Perhaps, her own world needed more unveiling.
For she a princess in her lusty mansion couldn’t see
The bricks that had needed laying for her lusty mansion to be.

She looks too oft in the mirror that she adores
And thinks too oft of the oceans in galore.
She forges lies, she always has, as has her world around
In an empty world, the noise can sometimes break the flight of the truth’s sound.

Of loving ecstasy there isn't much to say.
Said she, “Come now my prince if you may.
Caress me now, don't stress your brow
And at once, do kiss and show me how. 

...And the frog said to the princess,
“Another time, my lovely. And another frog.
I fancy my slimy world to your worldly slime.”

तत् त्वं असि. अहं ब्रम्हास्मि.

Think
A  While.
About the Journey.
It  happens  in  years
And  in   an  eye  blink,
Man to child, rosebud to flower.
Strange as the thought, stranger the strife -
To find all the wisdom within, within yourself.
Yet to wander all about, wander all around outside.
For   as   you   keep  aging,  you   learn   how  to   lie
Forget simple wisdom, you forget just to stare at the sky.
Soul  holds  the  world;  the world - not the soul. Tat tvam asi.