Intimacy is still possible,
with people who hate one another,
this often happens,
when you stare in the mirror long enough,
what’s different then,
in being enthralled and appalled at once,
reconciling and irreconcilable,
in a union of secret eloping with your inner most bits.
Oh the thought,
of being twice inside myself,
unrecognisable to my eye’s eye,
so alone I can’t ever know anything but the depth of a pale stare,
of everything that was the colour blue,
turned to a blank whisper of semblance.
amongst the perishables,
a recanting syncopation of heart pulse,
and counting litanies on phalanges,
in that epiphany of knowing,
that the decorative’s of this world are non existent,
the simplest of pleasures,
be it the breath of an infant,
or a ground coffee bean,
as you reconcile with your innateness,
that is, to deny being source-less,
and lose the amnesia you had,
clear the fog of being mad,
that your endless chase to be seen,
stopped you from seeing what deserved to be seen,
and being madly instead.
What bounty He might be,
if I only took my allotted place as I should,
forge my soul with fire, hammer and fire,
until the mere mention of it cuts me down.
Maybe I’m too romantically inclined.
Is it too much to be asked,
to be ruined in mind,
wretchedly unfixed in state,
mad with inability,
scathing walls for a scent of the past.
Ah what a little neuroticism does for the soul.
If you can’t at all be haunted by something,
I fail to see how you could pique my interest.
It’s not that I want to heal you either,
but I do want my own misery to be reciprocated.
That kind of companionship,
the guarded chastity inspite of the allure,
wets the palate with prose.
They lied to you,
learning how to think slowly,
is the most profound thing you can do.
If this is default,
ignore the urge of society trying to change you.
There is only loss in between,
obscurity and events unseen,
when your focus is so blurred,
and speed is what you fiend.
Instead, slow your breath,
and take three more between them,
learn the art of slowing down time too,
so you comprehend events in micro-chasms,
so the movements of anything coming your way are intercept-able at will.
This includes your own thoughts firing at you,
your ego commanding incessantly,
your limbs going places they shouldn’t.
When you can slow it all down,
inversely, your speed will be imperceptible.
No one will believe in your cause,
the agenda will always surface to the top.
Instead of people empathising with you,
standing alongside you,
even if in disagreement with you,
they’ll see through your need for attention,
and treat you accordingly.
And how do we treat,
the most common seekers of attention,
that is, children?
Like they’re incapable
How ironic then,
that you act so childishly,
yet expect to be treated like a capable adult.
The lustre of the outside world has lost its appeal,
blossoming doesn’t mean anything more than a closer step to dying,
just another vying,
ornamental display of superficiality,
a one way ticket to mortality,
and when the petals wither away,
down drops the seeds of vitality,
ironically, that life giving force,
the soul of this fleshen cycle,
is always an inside thing.
Why then are you afraid of folding,
of caving inside until you are outwardly nothing.
Judge me as much as you want,
just don’t let me anticipate,
leave me to my anxiety,
a still lake,
cast not a stone with your glaring eyes,
it’s the ripple before it reaches me,
Quell your souls with this beautiful piece.