wAkiNG liFe...

Narcissist indulgence
A sinking feeling
Pursuing the pursuit
With renewed aggression

Dejection
Chaos
A fool

Throbbing pain
A drag of Elysium
Rears it to the subconscious.

The nebulous smoke
Subdues the immediacy…

Refrain held back the conscious
Anguish pushed it to the front…
An unsettling conflict
Over unrequited pursuits;
Combat neurosis…

Exhausted
Crippled
Denial

Idealism spoke:
“stretch your hands; reach it”
grounded in the obvious
it seemed far-fetched

Waking up
Trying to find
Four-clover leaf.
Blyton said it was a lucky charm!

Again and again
The pursuit continues
Again and again
The dejection
Attempts to sink

I don’t wish to accept
The death of it…
I don’t want to break it
Just yet…
Wasted efforts
They all say
I find it comforting
To be with the pursuit

Hollow
Yet
Protective
My pursuit, it tames me

Should I release it?
Should I release myself?

Recognition
Apathy
Surrender…not yet

I reckon..
Will wait a while
Before I wake up…

what is it; is it irony at my heels?

What is it
That they
call emptiness?

Self-reproach of a jaded wasted soul
Or seeking reassurance with fragile arms outstretched
Through a barbed fence?

What is it
That they call darkness?

A blackened spirit
Broken and devoid of love
Or a solitary existence
In an abandoned fortified island?

What is it
That they call elusive?

The melting time
You chase round the corners?
Or a the touch of wind
That stealthily caresses your eyelids?

What is it
That they call addictive?

A rare moment
Of gratification with a stranger
Or a moment of
Satiatiated alleviation through a needle?

What is it
That they call idyllic?

A ride on the
Cotton clouds
Or a moment of seclusion
On a remote island?

What is it
That they call forbidden?

Deconstruction of a warped rigid
demeanour called morality
Or an over-indulgence in
seduction of unrestrained passions?

What is it
That they call utopia?

A cloudy suspension
removed from faded reality
Or a pandora’s box
Of broken memories?

A mirage
She co-exists
As a tangible entity
Ambiguious and cryptic
She is transparent as a mirror
Surreal yet rooted in reality…

What is it?

Different interpretations
She never has a same gift of fate for all…
Yet…
Irony is our forlorn shadow…

elUsiVe cHaNGe

she saw …
the same crowd
the same lights
the lighters in the air
heads moving to the rhythm
hands hailing in the air
the guitar strummed the same tune
the bass louder than usual
a piercing shriek on the vocals…
but it wasn’t the same …
or so she thought …

unlike before …
It wasn’t a feeling
She understood well ..
It wasn’t an experience
She anticipated…

she couldn’t figure out
who had “change” retrieved -
the inconspicuous surroundings??
the ambiguous crowd??
The opium satiated rhythm??
or oblivious her??
was she the unsuspecting victim ..?