Two more pieces, written towards the end of 2011, among very dreary and drab times perhaps.
The first one. Looking at this while in a state of mind entirely preoccupied with the enigmas of optics and relativity, I can only say that this holds true as much today as it did two years back.
I often feel an urge,
my heart, it baths itself,
in a surge,
of emotion, of wanting,
to do – something, to play,
to love, enjoy, the vast,
the surreal model of clay –
the world around me.
It does me no good, they say.
Or perhaps it’s just the paranoid,
the cynic in me, in a way,
that gives me that illusion.
The second one. Monotony is a beast indeed, a reckless one at that. It’s astonishing I wrote this in a flush of emotions, and now it is so strange – and literal!
Monotony, monotony, monotony!
Dwells in every heart,
red, blue, grey, yellow,
tries to tear it apart!
Beneath liveliness, there lives dread,
an exhausted mind, skeleton,
both barely standing intact, under
this dreadful weight of a thousand tons.
O Monotony! Why do you dwell?
Is it the sin we committed?
Or it, as the dark depths of a glorious ocean,
is an inseparable part of every being?