These (including A Game of Basketball) are some my old writings; vague snippets of words written in obscure snippets of time. I don’t judge them, however inchoate they might appear. Maybe they even represent the inchoate and chaotic part of my life, that is, the last three years (not saying that now life’s more stable, certainly not). Whatever the case may be, here is the first installment.
1. My Romance with You, Beauty.
I see you speaking to me,
I hear you looking at me,
For what else but you, would ignite this desolate heart?
You whisper in my ear, grown tired of hearing else,
fill me with a liveliness and surprise,
that I had long longed for.
The word plays, the pages scroll,
the statement runs, to enthrall,
‘tis you which restores me,
before I fall.
A symphony thy voice is,
full of beauty, brimming with elegance,
that makes me live,
with the knowledge that I know thee,
and still do not.
It is an odd kind of romance,
perhaps what I wanted – needed,
for, stealing a glance of you –
which’s the only thing one can really do –
I know – and do not – about you,
and it fills my heart with everything – nothing.
I’m no one,
but being with you,
endows me with the sense,
that I have everything.
When the weary traveler,
reaches the destination,
what he sees – the vision,
is enough to ward off the tire.
(dreamily scribbled in mid-2012.)
2. Demannu Meop.
Can really distort I the sentence?
Wordplay little with a?
just words here tossing and there,
them scramble, sense make still and?
For decide to I am who?
Selector only I am the.
Possibly permutations twenty and seven hundred are,
and only to choose I am here one!
(defied logic in 2012)
More to be procreated in another post, lest this one be unbreathingly overpopulated.