Illusory

The twitch of a finger, the gleam of an eye

The shadows that threaten to materialize

A rumble of fear that swallows all thought

The pulse just short of bursting forth.

The conviction that shakes three worlds of lore

That conviction is seeming in most, true only in two folk

One who has seen all there is to be seen

One who sees only that which he wants to see

The latter a madman, the former a hermit.

The madman I see right before me

I see through his eyes, I see in his mind

The conviction of the offering

The conviction that god thrilled at death

That god if cared of your thoughts on him

That which struck down the disagreeing

That god indeed fragile is it not?

Imagined traits, smeared on the pure.

Heavens with buxom angels and hells of fire.

What if heavens had fire and hells had angels?

Is it not that fire purifies and angels corrupt?

When imagination runs wild the sun is the moon

Being alive would be a curse and death a relieving boon

He paused to allow a bustling crowd

Soothened his rapid heart, whispering false solace

He turned his fear to anger at the folk

Mindless tales of anger that had been told

Mindless anger that helped him stay bold

Finger edgy, a quick prayer, the click of a button

Excruciating pain, a scream that stopped before it escaped

He was torn from himself, torn from what he had known

He was left with anger, seething anger

No angels, no heaven, no beauty shall ever be seen

Consumed in anger and alas

The reason for his anger, he would now never know.

Blind stomp

Varmints, flying feathers and hollow bones

Unimportant and uncomprehending

Care for nothing but sleep and survival

Petty creatures, of inconsequential beauty

My tool as foretold would be fire, stand down

All elements shall wither to the flame by my hand

Trees were made to satiate my hunger

Animals were born to satisfy my sport

The lands were meant to nurture my babes

Flowing water to fill each cell of me

Whats your purpose, ye useless beings

Crawl away, slide away, lest you may be seen

Acquiesce to the image of god before thee

You'd burn if you don't, though you'd burn if you do

The woods know not of the fire of rage. 

Else they would strike a bough to your end

The birds' soft hearts innocent of vengeance

Else the flap of wings would have rendered you blind

The neglect of the mundane would be the death of man

Too gross for wonder, deaf to sweet chirp

Incapable of admiring the sensuality of dunes

The fragile strength of water

The cluckle of a lizard like a disapproving aunt

They tease you, mock you in their loud quietness

The hourglass empties, sand fills your nostrils

Reminding you of impending doom

The bubble of superiority has now burst

At your end you'd know, you are truly alone

Cold stone walls hug the aged temple door
Granular cruelty grinds against the soles
An unheeded step could bruise the toughest toes
The curling of them on the hint of dampness unknown

The sharpness of camphor always hangs low
Admixed with basil and jasmine and curious dung

Chanting relentless, syllables unheard
The rituals seem foreign, the decked idol forbidding
The dab of cold sandal feels absurd

Red rice clustered along palmar crease 

Ignorant of when to toss it, the hows, whys and whats,

Toss it right, toss it with reverence

Too many rules, not a moment of ease.

To hell with all the mind boggling, mindless motions
The glare of the priest at an unintended movement
The intimidation of complexity coaxes my feet to a corner
Lotus down, relieved at the distance from the altar

A breath eases out, I close my eyes in solemn
Chanting flows in, numbing the chimp within
The air is dense, the odor pleasantly heady,

The tranquilizing chime of bells quietens all chatter

The moments so pass, it matters not in number
The hand on my shoulder breaks my non-slumber
This is how it feels to smile without reason
A reason, however, to retrace steps that treaded prior in reluctance
So the stone walls beckon again but now not to the altar
The stone walls that contain that which cannot be pinned
The corner is now my corner, if not that, then some other
I step out without flowers, without sandal, neither red nor rice
I step out only with a skip, a full heart and a ready smile

Rain shards slap down ruthlessly at will
Concealing the tears that flow down skin bare
Lightening may strike down sudden upon my head
But the pain would be a caress in compare

Stuck in the whirlwind of words, listless and lost
The bustle of the world surely pales in time
We distract ourselves so desperately so
From the questions that we really need to know
If we sat and observed, in truth, you'd see
We've nothing to show for, nothing but an emotional sea

Don't be mistaken, the tears aren't just sad
Don't be naive, the pain isn't just my own
There is but one difference, you and me
I've thought and pondered and sulked a while
Whilst you rot blissful in the castle of your own

Don't you see you've accomplished zilch?
Look again, your trophies are but rust
Oh but then, there were just phantoms on withering wood
Mere shiny cups and plates, if you must

Delusions and hallucinations decorate your world
Fables and misconceptions entertain you so
Even if you rouse, your time has passed
The waves have rolled, your breath has halt.

Peep through the crack, she could see
Him walking through the white picket fence
She dreaded the wooden knock that would wake her babe
She longed for it all the same

It surprised her, the pang she felt
The missed beat, never missed no matter the years
The turmoil she felt tormented her
She loved and hated him all the same

She opened the door, the familiar eyes
The brown shiny eyes perfectly framed by glasses
He smiled, it never really touches the hazel
But a smile is a smile all the same

She had to leave, she always knew
But the sight of him always softened her will
She gazed at her sweet breathing softly in the crib
Trying to draw strength, in vain
She had to leave, but needed to stay all the same

Picked her babe and purse on the mantle
She strode out the fence, as he showered
She thought no thoughts, no thoughts no feelings
Key in ignition, on impulse she was relying
Her babe nuzzled softly against her thin frame
Tears welled, but she smiled all the same

Let it be.

Creativity that comes with a degree of ambiguity can be very alluring. A poet should refrain from explaining his poem. An artist shouldn't be asked to dissect his own work. When a creative person presents his work to the world, the best compliment that he could receive is people appreciating it without expecting explanations. It is very hard to explain one's own work. A lot of what comes through is subliminal. Dissection rips it off its beauty. But then dissection is also sometimes capable of revealing beauty.

Listen to the heart that writes,

It has no want for needless whispers.

Rejoice in the eyes that paint,

They have no need for painstaking rant.

There is world of wonder in unexplained tears,

There is charm endearing in words unsaid,

The greys in truth, add color you see

Seek comfort in unknowing, it will set you free

Knotted fingers splayed across white paper

Mosaic creased skin, green veins throb through

She cracked her knuckles against the steely table

Barely breathing whilst she drew

She paused, fingertips pressed against scrawny wrist

Her pulse still felt strong, steady and slow

She sighed, stretched out, observed her hands

Once smooth and beautiful, now tremulous n old

Starchy white paper beneath powdery black charcoal

There is beauty sometimes, in simple stark contrast

But look closely n study, a trained eye will know 

No detail was worthy, no impression would last

There was a time when the lady saw glory

Her touch could put Midas to shame

Each easel, each one held a wonderful story

But in time there was no story to share

Her work, last few were stacked in a corner
It had been months since she had seen the light
Forehead creased, she tried to stop the tremor
No difference, no matter how hard she tried

She sighed once more, at the corner she gazed
There were going to be no more glorious days
She looked around at the wooden walls she built
It was time, about time to see the light again

The stroke of the matchstick, the smell of burnt ash
It burnt through canvas, the corner was a flame
Eyes closed, leaned back, the walls now orange
Smiled softly, she would see the light again