Archive for November 1, 2015

they do not see me at all

they do not see me at all …

as i walk through these desecrated avenues

of soul-deadening frenzy

i see them all rushing past me

and no matter how hard i try to holler and to call

they do not see me at all

it seems at times, that invisible am i

for when i reach out, and shriek out, and when on my knees i crawl

they rush past me

for they do not see me at all

i have tried to raise their ire, i have taunted and goaded them, till exhausted and fatigued, to the cold damp ground i fall

still they rush past me

for they do not see me at all

i stand mutely then and wave my hands all around while scribbling verses in my unintelligible scrawl

and yet they rush past me

for they do not see me at all

they rush past me, knocking me over without ever looking back

and then trampling over my fallen form, they look past my limp crumpled shadow, as they whine on in their monotonous drawl

for they do not see me at all

and when at last i see them look my way, and as a flicker of recognition crosses their faces

i wish to crawl back into my nothingness

where they cannot see me at all

capitalism 101

when it breaks,

rendering souls mute,
hearts in tatters,

does it bother you at all,
that for you to rise,

so many must fall.

lives | lies

and when all lies are spewed,

intricate threads promised,

eternal jazz and all that,

only to be summarily screwed,

by words of fluffy dreamscapes,

by incantations of endless service,

by mouthed lies,

time after time,
even as time flies,

the only constant – lies.

forbidden dreams …

dreams tug,
nostalgic caresses tease,

moonbeams skipping along monsoon puddles,

nights of sweaty torrents,

washing, crashing,
lapping at the beaches,

of dreamwoven phantom fragments,

of dreams,

enticing, earthly release,
etched on beads of sweat,

a million sighs,
waltzing to the dance,

of breaking waves,

hand in hand,

on infinite grains of talcum sand

blah-de-blah-blah …

the ache persists,
dulled, at times,

numbed by flotsam and jetsam,
the daily grind,

a busied mind,

seeking the elysium:


yet, still, continually,

the ache persists,

a talon piercing,

in the inside,
locked within a live shell,
the ordnance of gloom,

closeted away,
secreted in a hollow room,

yet, still, continually,

the ache persists,

wracked by fire,
as the talon,

turns, twists.

desire, trepidation, & hunger …

sprinkling cinnamon caresses, scribbling odes,
etching my words on your bare back,
desire inflames, engulfs flesh and blood and bone,

dispelling all trepidation,
the sin of hungering,
in a sweltering furnace of longing,

scribbling odes,
fingers meandering across your body,

desire, trepidation, & hunger,

fleeting, momentary,

yet abiding, infused,


if you choose, allow me to wander off into some dreams –

dreams not of riches,
material and plush,

dreams of the sublime tingle,
pulsing through my being,

our lips brushing – an intoxicating rush –

dreams of us under the copper sun,

brushing your hair from my face,

as we cascade on rivulets of lapping waves,

far, far away from this time,

this desolate place –

dreams of feeling our souls entwine,
your breath against mine,

released from this sham of being,

unshackled from the ritualistic pantomime –

dreams, yes so many dreams,

afloat on the currents of murmuring desire,

alive, aflame,

there is no doubting,
this furnace,

this raging fire –

dreams, meagre paltry dreams …

evening arrives,
bidding yet another day adieu,

precious moments,


amidst a maelstrom of tears,

ever swirling,

knowing always the promise of open arms,

of human touch,
a soothing balm for so many fears

middle-of-the-night pompous scribbles …

we murmur soft untruths,

along these paths we tread,

worn-down smiles,

enmeshed in the maze of tangled thread,

binding us, bound,
gagged, mute,

to what we have become,

numb, cold,
plastic, cute,

ah but know this,

enveloped in this fragrant dawn,



with dewy-eyed hope,
and a soft yawn,

there thrives the hope,
thud-thudding in our core,

of something more,

than polythene wrapped,

vacuum-sealed lives,

and so yes,
yes, friend, hope thrives,

and there still may be,

more tomorrows to come,

and who may divine,

what some of those tomorrows,

may yet,
become ?


clocks tick, perennially,
clanging soothsayers of the inevitably finite,

clarion calls,
klaxon horns,
alarms abuzz in the desolate night,

rousing dormant passions,

constant, unchanging,

shedding fads,
shunning fashions,

seeking release,
surfing along a sliver,
of hope, of peace,

to mythical spaces,
far-flung places,

where joy is not defined,

by a non-negotiable lease.

pseudoscience and new-agey unreason.

see the charlatan,
peddling hope?

selling, always selling,
well-meaning, no doubt,

hope and dope,

the dope is a bit strange,
common-sensical at times,

appealing to our innate emotions as sentient beings,

as human beings who feel.

the hope is toxic,
overfilling the ocean that is you within the cosmic fabric of our shared consciousness,

yes something like that,

unreason with frills,

promises of seizing ones inner ‘negativity’,

and unshackling all that keeps the ‘soul’ from being ‘receptive’ to help –

what a sham!

so, please,
don’t bamboozle me,
you see,

with flim-flam,
obscure words,

plumbing the quantum realm,
with belief, not reason,

soft, comforting, wishy-washy answers perennially uttered,
for every season:

quantum healing,
chakras of inner light,
elements of fire and water,
in a marinade of love and light,

don’t bamboozle the needy,
just because you’re greedy,

perhaps not for money,
but for doing the right thing

( naturally, your belief makes you feel you just “have to” share this amazing thing revealed to you and a few others )

so again imploring you, I say,

stop peddling the intoxicating dope of false hope,

with the glazed-eyed zeal of the one knowing the truth,

because you don’t,

there’s science for that sort of thing,

and by the way,
instead of hurling glib, shallow answers,

perhaps listen to someone else’s voice for a change,

not just your inner one,
preaching all across the open range,

for is true humility not the ability to acknowledge that, no, we don’t know all the answers,

we may never know all the answers,

but we shall certainly keep asking the questions,

and so, really,
it is quite alright to say,

“I do not know”

%d bloggers like this: