Words from places and times you missed. Catch up.

Waking up

I dreamt of you dreaming of death. You were surrounded by lilies and rainbows. But every end must have questions and so the lilies held your legs and asked. 

Did you not know love as he held you. Did his kiss not give you a reason to live, and each time you were done did you not feel you could die in peace. Why'd you walk away?

You Woke up without answering. And in this dream of mine, you looked up. I'm not sure whether it was at God or at me. We were both looking down at you. 

God and me don't believe in each other because of you. He lost me to you, and while men need God to personify the perfection they don't find in themselves, I had you. Idols of stone. 

I'd pray tonight but to reach God you have to feel. I feel nothing. I killed every emotion inside because I didn't want to hate you. You can't hate your God even when you lie ruined. 

But without God or you, all I have is myself. That's not enough. I think I'll let myself hate so I can pray, or should I continue to blaspheme in love, the eighth sin, the one with the hardest penance.

But I've known love even before and after you. Earned it through words and goodness, through time and understanding. The problem has been, I don't like earning love, love should be free. 

And he, who get's your love for free. Does he know you come visit me in my dreams. Does he know you betray him, or you really still mine and is your waking act the betrayal. Is that his price to pay?

If that is so, sleep a little longer tonight. I'll get the gang together again so you, me and God can sit and chat amongs lilies and rainbows and try to believe in each other again.

But this right now, is this the reality or is this the dream in a dream in a dream in a dream. Were you real? Is God? I pinch myself but then remember I don't feel anything anymore.

It comes down to this. I hate you my love, for you made me a dreamer. I don't know how many layers of dreams I have to break but I will wake up. 

Best of luck answering the lilies.

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ENTRopy

ThestarlookeddownupontheearthButnoonelookedbackwithwonderatthenightskyNoonecaredabouttheshapestheymadeanymoreSothestarmovedonbiddingalastgoodbye

Hereorbittingaroundthesun

Thenineotherslookedjealouslyon

Atthechosenonewithallitslife

Andeverycircletheywithdrewinscorn

Inthesky lonelycloudswere oftenseen

Eversooftenthey wouldgettogetherandrain

Buttheydidwhat theymust justbecause theymust

Andcould notwaittodrift aloneand freeagain

Thereonce wasan actand alsoa saying

Somethingabout birds of a feather

Butnow theychose theirpaths toeachhisown

Whywould theywant tocontrol eachother

Forests offcourse were a thing of the past

But scattered trees still stood proud and tall

The older trees though no longer bloomed

They still stood alone but they could recall

And ani mals roare d and shrie ked alone

From cag es in corne rs of bustl ing towns

No lon ger the prid es, no long er the herd s

Ju st smilin g children and adu lts wit h frowns

Man    had             moved          on    even              quicker     though

Neighbours     were      strangers,         friends                      just     on      line

They    had    learned     to     be      alone        even    in      crowds

And  had     even    learned    to     pretend     that    all      was      fine

Y e t      i n                t h i s     w o r l d                    o f                 s p a c e s    a n d      l i e s

T w o    s o u l s               t r i e d    t o                   r e v e r s     t h e    t i d e

T h e y     t r i e d                t o     m o v e                 c l o s e r,    t r i e d     t o    b e     o n e

T o   s e e k               i n f i n i t y    i n             t h e    g r e a t               d i v i d e

b                                                        u                                                               t

                    t                               h                                      e

    u            n                           i                      v               e                         r                      s                  e

                                       g                    o                          e                     s                  

                                o                                       n

e                             x                                              p

                                a

                                                                          n

                              d

 i

                                                                                                            n

                                                                     g

.

******************************************

The costume party

She came dressed as beauty,

 I came dressed as bliss

The others were all clad in ignorance,

 amidst all that was amiss

We recognized each other,

though the masks were all we could see

But it was hard to hide the truth,

I was her and she was me

All I wanted, was to know her more

Pretty dresses can be found in any store

but amidst the countless who crowded around

It was hard to let go of someone that promised more

So we went to the darkest corner,

of one of our tainted minds

Crimson walls, punctured just,

with those dark opaque blinds

We sized each other up, 

as neither friend or foe

And knew that whatever it was,

we would need to let it go

Yet we stripped off each others guises

and threw them all away

Then we said all we needed to,

till there was nothing left to say

And when all our layers were done

and all our weapons used

We lay naked and pure, 

our guises battered and bruised

Outside, six billion guests swayed and sang,

lost in the games of the charming host

But our escape, though unnoticed for now, 

was just a deception, a clever farce at the most

Then as she got up and started to redress,

we both knew, that there was no other choice

And as she started to leave without a word,

I knew it was because I had left her no voice

I asked her just, if I could stay,

there was some fighting the blinds and I needed to do

I told her just, to believe as she left,

that my vengence and my love, they both had been true

So if she ever needed to find me again,

I would be right here, in the darkest corner of her mind

And if she ever felt unloved or alone at all,

there was place for her and she could just stay in mine

But people of guises and parties and games

Must never go to dark places with those darker still

And minds must be purged by the power of words

And vengance forgotten by nothing but your will

*********************************************

Crazy talk

"I'll be right back", I say, "let me just quickly run down to my madness and buy a new song". I feel good, feel like splurging, going to buy me something top of the line. One of those newer models with angst and hate, love songs are so passe. I smile the smile of someone who knows he can buy whatever he wants, I've been working hard at filling my wallet. With funny money at that, little heart shaped coins that buy you more when broken, little notes with random words scribbled on them. Words meant to appease, to wound, to reveal, to lie, to beg, to scream. Different notes of different values. But maybe I'll save them all and just use the mastercard of lost love, I'm a platinum member.

The stores not far from home though and that means it's in a bad neighbourhood. My fault for moving here. I could have stayed in stupid land closer to the real world but no, I cross the tracks and buy a house here. Sigh, the things we do. Anyway, the streets get darker and I try to sleepwalk most of the way but there's no escaping the goons of memory lane. The stare at me and whisper amongst themselves. A little child screams out 'you're my whoopie pie'. It's like a gunshot, and suddenly everyone comes out of their house and start closing in. I run.

I should have stayed at home. I should have just played the songs I shifted with from my last house. Now here I am, totally lost, with signboards in some language I don't understand. I try and retrace my staps, memory lane, dream avenue, I remember crossing blank paper ground what seemed like a hundred times but I just end up here, on this crossroad where the signs make no sense.

So I do what anyone would, I stick out my thumb and wait for a ride. They're few and far in between and no one's going very far in any direction. But at least I'm moving and it feels good, at this point, I really don't care where we're going. All I can think about is the store and the song. The good thing about the madness chain is that they have a lot of branches.

Then I realize, I've come too far, too many crossroads, too many rides. Even if I did find the store, how would I get back home to find someone to sing it to. I grumble.

There's a crossroad again. I just stare at the signboards and for a while they seem to make sense. Only they can't for they all say the same thing. I laugh. The world around me starts to collapse and fold into me. I breathe it all in, the roads, the rides, the sky, the earth and then there is nothing left, nothing else. Nothing except me. Only, there is no me.  

I've reached the store. But they're all out of songs. I'm offered some fresh wisdom instead. "No thanks", I say, "I had nirvana for breakfast". The clerk gives me a strange look. I know that look, I've seen it before, maybe even on the same face. I walk out of the store and strangely I'm back in the real world, near my old house. There's a 'for sale' sign on the lawn. I need to get my currency changed but I think I probably have enough. Think I'll call up the old neighbours in the morning and say goodbye.

***************************************************************

My box of crayons

To the purple that I first picked up, and drew with then in childlike glee. Thank you for making and breaking the mould, thank you I guess, for shaping me. So much has been erased over the years. Some on purpose, some just dulled by tears. But I want you know, that though I pine no more, you'll always have a place of honour amongst your  peers.

       Though I must admit, it's hard to define. Maybe the cerulian was the true teacher of staying between lines. My yoda for the art of falling, my shifu, for how to not dodge the mines. Ah the cerulian, once so noble and pure. So surely lost, so decidedly unsure. I hope the hand that holds you now knows your albeit corrupted worth.

      To the scarlet that I pictured would be the basis of the piece, but to the scarlet that was never really in my box. I see you still in passing, in glittering displays. I dream of you still, I just don't want to pay the cost. Maybe somewhere, where the colours blend with less fuss, we'll find a rough paper and do what we must. But till then, I'll just look and smile, at the display windows where you've been an awfully long while.

      To the violet that I didn't understand, to the violet that has so much to teach. That rolled first on my bed and then under, to the violet that went far out of reach. Someday I guess, I'll pay to go to a museum and see what's become of you. Just get rid of the glitter, you'll thank me when you're through.

    And now to the red, the loviliest of the lies. That coloured my heart and then bled itself out. After a thousand goodbyes and a million wishes against. I just wish you are what I am, better without. You hold a speacial place too I guess, in some corner of my mind. As the only one who made me wish I was colourblind.

     But now to the orange and green and yellow and brown, that I value even more and hope never to put down. I hold you closer than you'll ever understand, even though you're not held with the drawing hand. Maybe someday at the end of it all, we'll sit together and stare at our pictures on the wall. And even then, when the pictures are sure and through. I have a feeling, I'd still rather look at all of you.

    And to all the grays, I say just this. There is permanance in passing bliss. A way to quench your thirst in every grain of sand, a hidden bullseye in every miss. But I fear you're toxic and I can take no more, I'm not the same man I was before. So here's to you and the value of grays, and here's hoping there's not many more in store.

   Lastly, to the white, and to mystery it holds. Of redundance, of forever, of seeming foretold. Have you always coloured my canvas even when it seemed you never would be. Waiting at the end of the box, in absolutely no hurry to be set free. Well, I just want to say I think I'm done and now realize. That on this wall of badly made graffitti, a pure white canvas would be the greatest prize.

************************************************************************************************

Call out because

Call out to me sometime,

And I'll beat you in a game of loneliness

Maybe we'll both lose, maybe we'll both win

Maybe we'll both learn how not to keep score

　

Call out to me sometime,

And we'll dance to make believe music

Maybe then when the music finally seeps in

We'll know why neither one of us dances anymore

　

Now the worlds never short of strangers we know

People who love and forget, who come and go

Call out to me sometime and lets try and figure out

If there's anything to the myth of there being more

　

I'm tired of knowing exactly what I mean and why

Of how I'm as expendable to them as they are to me

Call out to me sometime, we've wasted enought time

Sowing seeds in places where the sun and air ain't free

　

Call out to me sometime,

We'll invent games that are all our own

And you can keep score, I wouldn't even ask

I don't care if you win, for I miss losing too

　

Call out to me sometime,

For I've forgotten how to call out

And I've forgotten how to dance, and to make believe

Just about remember how to want to be called out by you

**************************************************************************

Seven

Hub

Those who have never seen you will never know what beauty is. Neither will those who have never seen you with my eyes. Naked as I gaze, your soul shies away. Yet you could never have looked as lovely as you do without disguise. Do you exist, could you. Could love, could music, could all that is pure. Could I desire you, could I deserve you. Let me possess you till I run out of reasons to be unsure.

Uns

There is no sand, no desert, no world. There is just a mirage, and the mirage is you. And every time we touch, it is clearer still. The real mirage is all else, for my mirage is true. I have vague memories still of another world. A world so insistent on pain and greed that it must be untrue. But you exist so the mind must be wrong. Hold me, till all I remember is you.

Ishq

Am I still me, or the essence of your shadow or the shadow of your essence. With what we have become, could we ever be anything else. Could we be two people like the world wants us to be. This cruel world that like time refuses to set us free. But let us start walking, for the path shall realize, here walks love and all shall be spring. Let us start walking and our love, shall light whatever darkness the world and time bring.

Abeedat

Be a mirror to me, and a seeing glass to all else. So I may sleep in peace sure that not all is lost. You live, so I know, that there is still something pure. You love, so I know, that it must live in me too. All is well even though it is not. You make me smile as the world throws its lashes at us. Hold me closer, as I offer it my back. You are all I must protect so I may smile though it all.

Ibadat

I have failed you have I not, by being just a man. By not being as pure, as strong, as divine. Have I let the world win, have I lost it all. Did I betray you my love, when I called you mine. I shall carve your name in every stone I see, I will sing your song with every breath. I will cry as I laugh at my foolish attempt to possess. Leave me now for you are you and I am less.

Junoon

Scorn, scorn, as you slip away. Scorn when you leave, scorn when you stay. Why wouldn't you leave so I may crumble in peace. Why do you stay so I must fight in vain. Come back, just once, let me say goodbye. Let it end so it may begin. Why would you do this, to yourself and what once was. Let sense lose so love can have it's posthumous win.

Maut

I haunt myself with your ghost. The ghost that never came, thus the mirage that never was. I see you now, I see your soul. I close my eyes for I don't want to see anything else. What am I, a shadow without an essence, that cannot be because of what it once was. There is just the world, the desert, the sand. I am the mirage, for there is no you.

*************************************

Growing up

As we grow older, it is not that we learn how not to fall

Just learn how not to cry and make peace with where we tread

And as we keep building mosseleums, we come to realize

Their beauty is not as important, as the sealing in of what's dead

.

We learn little as to the avoidance of wounds and scars

We just become better accountants and thus balance the cost

And we learn almost nothing in terms of finding our way

We just get better and telling ourselves we aren't really lost

.

We become better at relationships by learning to love less

Become better at meeting strangers by perfecting our mask

We learn how to sing because we now choose simpler songs

And have lesser question because we're now too afraid to ask

.

I think I'm growing up, and it's scary cause I'm just a child

I want to stay lost and crying, and I want to fall and bleed

But I am growing up, and I really fear that someday soon

I'll smile and feel I've made it and finally have all that I need

.

For now I hold my ground and fight this smiling mask

But the result seems inevitable, the battle already through

Come find me though, before the sand clock goes still

I'd love one last little game, between the child in me and you

*************************************************************

The Exorcism of dreamy prose

I thought of her the other day. All smiles and happiness, breaking the cardinal rule. Moving on with her life after she had lost true love. 
I sent a cold wind just to remind her
I can be cruel that way

And she must mountain every molehill I make. She didn't feel the familiar touch and sigh. She didn't hear my voice in the wind and smile. 
She screamed and gathered a crowd
She can be foolish that way

A ghost she screamed, of a dead love that I buried with my own hands. It is true, I am a murderer but not this, anything but this. She pleaded to the crowd to hang her. 
The crowd just observed and murmured
They can be cold that way

What a horrible death it seems to have died this ghost, look how it's face is still writhing in pain. Pain or ecstasy, a young voice asks. Ah, the young, the finders of love and pain, verifiers of age old truths.
They learn nothing from what is told
Youth can be lovely that way

So an exorcist was needed and I was called. Famous as the man who had once known love, who had lost it and been haunted but who had devoured its ghost till it showed no more. Unknowingly I followed the path of the ghost I had sent. To cast him out of the one who haunted me.
It sort of gets confusing at times
The truth can be tricky that way

Soon as I was close enough to recognize her I was also close enough to realize the finality of what I had done. She was gone, lost in the dreamworld that ghosts of past loves entrap their victims in. There was nothing I could do, no potions of ice cream and chocolates, no spells of Celine Dion. I put a purple flower on her body and then left mine. I found her soul in the dreamworld, free of the memory of what had gone wrong. In a time when love was pure and all was good. Purple skies and purple moons. I held her close, I promised I'd never leave her. 
It all makes sense even though it doesn't
Fiction can be pleasing that way

********************************************

Georgie Porgie and other misunderstood men 

The shadow of a former self is a dark place. This reporter realized this depressing fact as he went on a mission to explore what had become of the fallen childhood heroes. It all started when I bumped into Mr Dumpty at a party, old and wrinkled now, he has never been able to recover from that fateful moment when gravity got the better of him. I asked him whether the media campaign to revive his name had any basis to it, whether he was in fact, pushed. He said it didn’t matter and walked away to the bar, but obviously, all the queens brandy and all the czars vodka have failed to put Humpty Dumpty back together again. 
He’s tried to change his identity, to find a normal life, to convince people that he’s more than just someone who fell of a wall but the world has a surprisingly permanent memory when it comes to embarrassing moments. For some these moments fail to die even within their own mind. Little Miss Muffet for example has been haunted by a pathological fear of spiders all through her life. Now institutionalized by her family, she mumbles to herself in her padded cell and screams throughout the night. Her caretakers wonder if her state would ever had deteriorated to this extent without the catchy verse that immortalized that incident in the park. 
Another epic immortalized fall comes to mind. This reporter tried his best to trace down Jack and Jill but failed. No one knows whether Jack survived the head injury, what is known is that they both were sent their separate ways. All this reported hopes is that they now live in modern cities with taps and showers. 
There were as many sad stories as there were rhymes, the little blue boy has never been given respectful employment because he feel asleep once, as a child, tending to sheep. No one has asked why he was tending to sheep at that tender age, or what happened the night before that left him drowsy the next day. These are all things that must never be put into funny verse. 
Perhaps, these are things that nobody even wants to hear about. Which is why, during the course of researching this article, I decided to never publish it. Then I received a letter signed ‘George’ asking me to come meet him. The address led me, strangely enough, to a sheep farm where I was met by this gray haired lady called Mary. George met me a few minutes later. He confirmed my suspicions that Mary was indeed the one whose lamb had followed her to school. They had met after George had spent years as a bachelor and a loner because no girl would give him a chance and no boy would ever let him hear the end of it. 
He convinced me that the world needs to read this. The world needs to stop laughing and pointing fingers. They were all children who have had to step out of nursery rhymes into the real world. They have suffered greatly so children could be amused by their name which is why George has now filed for royalties on behalf of him and others like him. The case is still pending in courts with a baffled defense desperately trying to buy time. “Words have a strange power” he says “yet we must believe that we as people have greater power than them”. His loving wife does not cry when she is kissed and he says he never ran away from any boys. All he wants now, apart from millions of dollars in settlement, is for someone to explain what the pudding and the pie were all about. 
I get another call, from Miss Muffets institution. She passed away mysteriously, perfectly sane and lucid in her last day alive. Her last wish was the her tombstone not read “Little Miss Muffet”. 
Here’s hoping they win the case.