the machine is writing
the morose machine
morbidly mired in a mechanical monotony
masking many melancholies that eclipse life
mute memories meandering in mind,
while mind-numbing monotony murders motivation
an ever lasting state of nothing happening
a mountain of mental maze
lamenting that it doesn’t have anything to say anymore.
mesmerizing, mirth? Moribund.
Magma marinates in the middle, machine minds
Soon lava? Masking any humanity?
This new emotion is unfound
with no grounds
The machine minds
maybe dies inside
but stands its ground
and try to humbly harness a human.
See I’m not a smoker and can assure you that nicotine has never found its way into my wind pipe through my own hands.
But then why lately my memories have me deceived?
Why can I, inexplicably, feel the butt of the cigarette within my lips, when I race back to them memories?
I can certainly remember it loosely dwindling between my index and middle finger when I was sitting with her in the parking, on the platform.
I can certainly remember it being the companion in long walks to college and home and in short walks to and forth the metro stations.
I can certainly remember it loving me while I was loveless.
It was certainly there with me in the balcony and various other places. I can remember clearly.
And certainly I can remember all the motions that come along with it. The motions of the hand to the lips, the drawing in of breath and the creative smoke that emanated as it was released, while eyes closed and opened.
I do not know how this came to be. This-this corruption of memory.
But in writing this I realize that I haven’t smoked, yet I have been an addict.
Dekho main musafir hun,
kisi naye shahar mein kho jaane se darr nahi lagta
Darr lagta hai, apne hi shahar mein kho jaane se.
Jahaan ka naksha naksha pata ho
wahin kho jaane se.
To A Collapsing Star:
I know now how it feels like when your own mass collapses under your own gravity. Tell me, doesn’t it feel like your innermost core replaced by an ominous, black core and the whole mantle pieced into black gears? I swear I can feel them now. The whole body crumbling around a black core asymmetrically located on the left side of the body. But to think, black holes are beautiful.
Look forward to the future.
Loneliness turns to cynicism?
That’s the way the human crumbles.
I was shining bright once.