Basic doubts

Weary and lost -
Eyes bleary and dark.
What's my role here?
Where do I leave my mark?

No sudden reprieve
Or heroic demise.
Just the dull thudding
Of a spineless surmise.

Slipping away
Yes, I'm sliding on down.
Feeding on thought,
Yet eaten within and beyond..

Momentary lapse
Of a life force that wanes.
Only to materialize
As another victim of disdain.

Hopes and images
Flitting by fast.
Envy, my ride;
Faithful alibi, grandiose pride.

Worthless words
In an estranged mind.
Does it really matter
What I earn or who I find?

Crinkled skin and a life later
Where will my thoughts lie?
Will they let me think?
Won't I be free to fly?

Rage

What were you thinking
When all those days went by?
When it was the time to learn
Your numbers and your rhymes?

Beats me to no end that you could,
While away such precious time,
In trifles and petty games,
In day dreams and the like.

But the time was not yet gone
To rewrite your misspelled ways.
I remember it was still evening when,
You chose to drop out of the race.

You disappoint me with your hollow words,
And anger me with your tainted thoughts.
You surprise me with your brashness,
And disgust me with your mediocrity.

If only there was a way to embark
On the quest for pure knowledge
If only you knew your way out
Of this blindness and mildewed stupor.

If only you'd make up your mind
To set off and be gone.
If only you could be someone else
If only it would come to pass, that you weren't me..

Bunch O' my Brain - resilient

To break and to mend
Forever defend,
To let it run wild
And then contain.

To swallow your fear
And stand your ground
To drench your spear
And turn it around.

Thinking on the move - creative balance

There's comfort here in the womb of darkness, penetrated only by the silver strands of music. Reclining gently against a black leather couch, for a rapidly melting hour, I'm at peace. Words and thoughts are all fast asleep in the dimly lit corridors of my brain. No agitation, none of the restlessness - just a tranquil haze, both inside and outside. Still waters, mirroring an equilibrium that effaces on the visage of its bearer, complete with closed eyes - merely the victims of a mind lost in the meandering strains of a Floyd number. A perfect time to let my jail-broken mind take its customary stroll into controlled delusion. Words float around, grope about and bounce off the vacant space upstairs. When enough Brownian motion has come to pass, there's a little verse sitting smugly, lodged in the corner of my brain's dump yard.

To Break and to mend,
Forever defend;
To let it run wild
And then contain.

Meanings and implications can be dealt with later. They're of meager consequence at times of elevated intuitive consciousness. And make no mistake, this state bears no semblance to that which is perceived by the vast majority as being conscious. Far from it, a disjoint free wheeling mind of a momentary renegade is what we're dealing with. Tobacco seems like a paltry price to pay for the trip to this creative haven. I lay back and let the remainder of the night pass by soothingly like a mountain breeze. Music playing the captain, and I the willingly lost sailor we sail on into serene waters, knowing very well that reality is just a mile away, ready to crash down upon us like a fierce storm. But that's ok, as long as I get my weekly dose of detachment from a severely entangled world where involvement amounts to an intertwining of emotional, and material bonds alike.

Thinking on the move - Conditional Acceptance

You were never meant to cruise - all you have ever managed to do is, trudge and drag your feet. And just when you convince yourself to embrace mediocrity, you get stymied - pushing the bar of desirable achievement even lower. The desire to learn lingers, but the drive to accomplish is dwindling into the grey dusk. Humbled by the weight of this momentary lapse of life-force, you buckle and fall. Vanquished by the onslaught of your own thought, face down in the sand, you wonder if it had been a good idea to have let your mind run free with the ingredients for a full fledged bomb of defiance.

From this point of mental drudgery, you gaze ahead at a plume of smoke, hanging in the air for a wee bit longer than you'd expect, before floating on into the darkening sky. Somewhere beyond the folds of heaven, you hear Morcheeba belting out "Run Honey Run". The world wobbles as you gather your thoughts and yourself. You follow the smoke into the thickets, and then alongside a clinking stream. Further down the road, by the gurgling water and under a tree, a group of merry travelers sit. You're welcome to join them, but camaraderie like almost everything else in the world, comes with a price. Give and take, buy and sell, a barter of souls - the offspring of the oil that keeps the cog - wheels of an extremely complicated world in motion.

Conditional Acceptance - the root of most things human. The inherent curiosity in you compels you to make the trade and seal the deal. It is indeed perfectly safe to do so, as long as you know the ubiquitous truths of this kind of an acceptance. The most important one being the ability to exercise a checked acquiescence to whats being offered. Its like walking into an open bar and settling for a glass of water.

All said and done, your destination never changes. At the end of the day, a quest for knowledge and happiness pretty much sums up the convoluted endeavors you bundle in and out of. Everything else is an incarnation of the same basic impulse. Knowing just this is not enough to sail across smoothly, but its similar to having a magic sail that can move your boat in the middle of a dead ocean bereft of wind, so you may alight upon beautiful shores, be accepted and exercise acceptability.

Thinking on the move - Valley of Life

At one end of your mental plane is the realm of reclusion, sheltered by a poignant gray sky, dictated by a pervasive notion of pointless existence and the ideology of staying aloof while at the same time playing along to earn acceptability in your clique. Afar, at the other end is a valley - complete with meandering rivers, carpets of lavender and green, reverberating with wondrous cries of vibrantly colored birds. One as inviting as the other to your eyes and mind, you may not be in a position to choose either, and will rather live both lives in regulated quantities. You are your own arbiter and the victim of thine own decisions. But lets talk awhile of the seemingly livelier of the two, of the place in your head that is not bereft of emotion, that which is not eroded by the winds of lethargy and dull reality, of that little corner which yet harbors a desire to fall in line with the rest - to laugh, cry, get hurt and heal.

The valley is crowded, filled with faces and words - it defines your life as a son, a brother, a caring friend or a vengeful foe. It whets your material appetite and at the same time, ties you to some of the most beautiful, enviable moments and emotions you can cherish when the easy chair beckons. This plausibly pleasing, and deceivingly serene haven was supposed to be your first home.

But you saw right through it all, like you always do; riddling the walls with contemplative bullets, you stripped the place bare until the storms and fires were all that you could see. You knew that your kinship, loyalty and love for the near and dear ones was unwavering and would ever remain so. But there were some other strings that got broken strained by the intensity of your relentless thought-driven invasions. A vision gained and the due price paid, you decided to change flanks.

The faraway, gray land is now your home, a grayness that you can color green, or orange or any other color has no name. A place where you can scatter the trinkets you carried with care from the other end - from the valley. As you nurture your notions of a perfect world, you fill in color and character into emptiness, naively smiling at the idea of a prospective glen to coop yourself in, forever. You build mountains all around, tall and majestic, a stronghold to keep out any remnants from the wanton land you left behind; a fortress to fend off any scraps of ego, ire or vanity that may come riding in, on the wings of the cold zephyr. Your job done, you watch in wonder as nature plays its part in beautifying your world. Bustling with life, surrounded by all that you hold dear, its time for you to close your eyes and catch some precious moments of bliss.

Soon it will be the time to wake up, wrap up and leave; the time to append another dimension to your limitless mind, the time indeed to go in search yet again, of a never to be found heaven.

Home calling

Raindrops, from up above
Pitter, patter they fall
Scatter and go a thousand ways.
Its got me thinking of home again.

I know the light is filtering in
Through the curtains in the hall.
Sunday morning news
Is lying on the floor.
Mama are you in the kitchen,
Hot breakfast on the stove?
Papa's by the porch ,
A cup of Coffee in his hand.