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You and me
and the rest of us we all differ - we differ just by differing degrees of eccentricity and in pure vanity we baptize this as - our individuality we create cabals to secure our insecurity and issue decree against those falling out of our conformity but we forget we exist in - differing degrees of our own makeshift reality.
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Abstract imagery projected in flashes
From nostalgic memories to absurdities of the day From trending hashtags to breaking news of the day Frantic sound of morse code like taps creating compulsive patterns of type, space-bar, delete and then repeat If only I had used a paper would have burnt it to ashes for today I fail to produce any meaningful verse from the meaningless taps For today I just had some fragmented thoughts A sanctuary where resides
thoughts thought and unthought words spoken and unspoken A sanctum where lays nothing encompassing everything occurred and not occurred A space where rests unborn sound of creation and noise of destruction Traversing fabric of time past-present-future pervading through universe before and after causality remains / Silence // Stubborn seed won the odds
dispersed from the womb of a pod carried by the winds of wild abandoned midway to be soiled buried under a pour of concrete harsh days passed and months passed holding on to its hope to dwell within the pour of concrete harsh it broke free from its hard shell gaining an inch, growing an inch seasons changed and weather passed following the lead of light sprouting within a little crevice taking roots in the broken wall little seedling survived it all gaining an inch, growing an inch it survived with all its might for it continued its fight to grow and thrive and bring to life new flowering on the abandoned wall stubborn seed won the odds Hidden in imaginary creases
laid on a piece of paper revealed slowly fold upon fold infinite possibilities Hidden in pigments of ink spread on a piece of paper scribed slowly word after word infinite possibilities Hidden in a palette full of colors splattered on a piece of paper swayed slowly stroke after stroke infinite possibilities Come see the struggle of words to sprout from the womb of silence / The primordial at play / the subtlety of subtle / dispersing of silence / ripples in stillness... that moment of creation at play / See the sapling of thought germinate / the slow unfurl that grows to bear fruits of words / The wise choose not to pluck these / for they have seen causation in silent contemplation.
If I was a fulvetta
would have flown to a rivulet near tall bamboo forest flying from thicket to thicket would have flown places by the rivulet singing songs of natives would have feasted by the rivulet When the months of pour came would get drenched in rains with playful kids by the rivulet When the months of cold came would take refuge in the thicket listening to stories of woodcutters around the bonfire near the rivulet When the months of summer came would fly in search of small puddles that remained in crevices of the rivulet And when the time came to bid goodbye would have flown into the folklores that the natives sing to their children by the rivulet |
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