A narrow path with cliffs on the sides, I am walking along it since a time — Unaccountable… the path veil’d by Mist ahead! I see no end, neither can I relive that time when I started…
Dark cloaked strangers passing by — Some hurrying figures; some sluggish ones, I’m alone and ever was, since — I register… and I’m afraid to fall off The cliff… as there’s none to hold on to!
Coming from the Unknown and moving Towards Unknown! I long to stop For a while; to cling to what I behold now All that seems familiar… Even if Only for a while… But–
These grotesque figures passing by– Distract me! I see them moving Mindlessly… and some too fast and Some too slow are often falling– Down the cliff– and this Scares me!!
But does this really scare me? I wonder it is hardly so… A crude comfort covers my mind– None to hold on to and none to wait for! A final freedom from this goalless stroll
Or perhaps not!– Yet another journey Would start! A far more mundane may it be– Or lonely even more… But at least A break I wonder… May be something new Is awaiting; something good–
Tempted now I’m to get off this cliff! Maybe something’s awaiting me or nothing! Even better… No hopes and expectations Just to miss a step and enter eternal emptiness– Here I go away from this humdrum–
Outraged film and dirt life. The descent was complete. A shadow under the moon walks past the lake, comes out of the body. Every dream leaves an imprint on the glass. Will never drink the moonlight again. The blank surrender
Wynken Blynken and Nod??? (ah…oh methinks this pissant pooch woof lee barked up the wrong tree – reed don my mongrel friend) This poetic endeavor doth not boast nor brag to take digs on front page headline grabbing news, nonetheless
After a long time, I heard them again: peacocks. Bequeathing the pilgrim sun to palm trees; poised to open sexuality. Ah, the purple lips of a downing cloud sets the sky on a chase for a lost love of the
There was a soul-searching after a negative assassination tearing my past, my future. Beneath the burden lies the mountain of bail-outs. You don’t feel whole in shadows of countings. The borders were breached for lavish darkness alive under the full
I need Any need to stitch an acid, bare designed, in endoplasm, when moon was walking like a full-breasted bride? The synthetic feat was neat and clinical, yet I want to turn back and talk about something which heals the