Monthly Archives: October 2013

A Scribble, in Solitude.

Loneliness
made me crumble
like the blocks
from the building of blocks
fell.
The heart’s singe
with a tinge
of deep reddish
ruddy
vessels expand
blood overflows
ruptures
gushes
rushes
flows
close
as the flush
of emotions
I once again felt;
sadness relieved me,
happiness a forgotten past
a ship without a mast
my life
in a strife
conviviality
drained
itself out
a bout
of deprivation
inevitably
solitude took over
myriad of hues
flashes before eyes
as I crumbled
under the weight
of loneliness

Oh, despicable me.
What a pitiful sight.

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Something.

Somewhere, sometime
in a place ran amok
melancholy;
extroversion
had given way to introversion

Amidst a tall bushy shrub
I fell
wondering
the endless cycles of wonders
again
and again
wondering
Who was I?
Why me?
What the meaning of existence
was?
I felt lost
among the people known
to me, but not really
known,
Why were we
so unaware
of the darkness
the recedes in the recesses of our minds.

Somewhere, somehow, sometime
among the bushes
I fell
tumbled down
rolling on floor
laughing and crying
at what life
had thrown at me
Somewhere, sometime,
somehow
a bell
chimed
somewhere
amidst the lost place.

Coffee Break: Two

Four months since the blog; Two months since Coffee Break: One. A lot has transpired; nothing has transpired. Life is moving at maximum velocity ahead; life is moving at maximum velocity backward. I am happy, joyous, elated, blithe. I am despondent, sad, poignant, depressed, lonely. I love. I do not love. Twin elements of duality have taken me by the wrists, tugging and pulling me along, like the mysterious postulated quantum foam in the interiors of a black hole tugging and pulling space and time into uncertainty. And thus, I’ve slowly made myself indescribable, difficult-to-define – to myself. In the end, I’m a walking bunch of contradictions. Not to others. To myself. 

I really wanted to end it here, but however accurate it may be, it still isn’t a way to end this post. I see I’ve become more of a poet now. Maybe I was always. Right now, I’m short of descriptions of what I’m doing. Maybe in the next break I will be engulfed with things to write.

Maybe I even hate this post.

Adios. More writings will flow in soon.

Acid Trip.

Red light,
world spinning,
at this moment
I could hear Vinyl
records
playing
scratches on it
were smooth music
but it wasn’t Vinyl
it was something
ecstatic,
rhapsodic,
an acid trip,
traveling I was
a mere balloon seller,
a seller of cats, spheres,
squeaky animals –
traveling I was,
to places,
to centuries,
the vinyl dictating my journey,
the only way out
I suppose; out of this.

Now I land
at the street
of Los Angeles
at Hollywood,
in the coldest war we ever saw,
1952.
Norma Jean Baker,
our Marilyn
her face, a balloon
a sexy balloon
with the impression of a lipstick on it
is everywhere,
the vinyl progresses into a saxophonic tune
recreating.
I sell my balloons,
to eager passersby,
dissolving everything
landing in Scandinavia,
in the dark ages,
the vinyl transcending
to a more sombre rhapsody;
snow, reindeer, unknown people
looking at me
with queer eyes.
I present a balloon
twist it about
making squeaky noises
into a weird contortion
concoction
proffer it to a little one
then everything again dissolves,
all part of the ecstasy
Now I land
at Saint Muhgos
2100, A.D.
I see nothing
but rubble and ruin;
The vinyl records whisper air,
no one to sell my balloons to
I sigh,
Surely, these corpses
wouldn’t buy them?
I air a red one
burst it
rest the tiny shred
on the ground
everything dissolves
Now
Bermuda Triangle
today,
I see sunken ships
skulls
the vinyl records screech,
suddenly, storms;
everything blurs
I feel the balloons
snapping my grip,
from them,
rendered unconscious.
Now I land,
back
in my kitchen,
red light
world spinning
then unspinning,
the Vinyl now,
funnily
plays Requiem, Mozart’s,
and I realize
with numbess
it is the day of the apocalypse
Before this war ended me,
I lost it all,
my balloons, my only belongings
This acid trip,
this ecstasy,
this escape,
was very costly
after all.
I do nothing
but lay,
lay,
awaiting the explosion
that will consume me
the vinyl plays,
plays,
plays,
then mutes.