Swipe, scroll, repeat

What did I do,
on bus rides,
while waiting,
at coffee shops,
on train rides?

What was it like
do to things
when I couldn’t talk about them;
to see and feel,
to write,
when I couldn’t share?

What was it like,
without music,
pictures,
news?
How did parchments of trickling information
hold my attention?

I am beginning to forget,
to forget people, their lives;
I am beginning to forget
how to remember
without pictures,
without updates;
how to write
for myself.

All the spaces,
the punctuations,
the corners for boredom,
are being flooded
by a blue twinkle
of notifications.

Happiness

This is it 

for a few days

maybe weeks

this is happiness

Grey glass buildings

and matching suits

Polished brown shoes 

leather bags

A sweet smell of purpose

floating above doubt

Until the sediments are stirred

until grander desires germinate

and the shadows lurch in

Until then, 

breath in this happiness

Identities

Of the many men

I shall not be

Birth

before death

shall have me perished

Identities

like shifting shadows

will lead me

off the precipice of humanity

Contours of birthmark

will tighten

when challenged

will tighten

Indecision

I want to write so beautifully

that I do not write

Uncorked thoughts and broken lines

droplets on the trail of time

I want to read so much

that I do not read

Titles and paragraphs

disparate, sourceless in memory

I want to see the ends of the Earth

And all excesses of humanity

so much

that I cannot unlock my apartment door

Suitcases packed and unpacked endlessly

Cliff jumps and oceans swims on Google Earth

Imaginations, hopes, desires

Enslaved by machinations of this mind

Swaying in the hammock of indecision

No Rhyme or Reason

Different heads, different worlds

Trodden notes unfolding in myriad ways

Tied at beginnings, sewn at ends

Yet sundry in-betweens

Amplified notes

Out of sync waves

Dancing unbeknownst to their  tunes

Time

Let’s long
backwards and forwards in time
Let’s be nostalgic
for things that were and were not
Let’s long for things that will be and not
Lest we aren’t here tomorrow
Let’s get consumed with all that there isn’t right now
Let’s waste time for the time bygone

Settel Down

Such haze
mist of thoughts
fog of dreams
relics of aspirations
buried in the lands of fantasy
meandering soles
and slippery mind
scattered like colors
on silky wings of a butterfly
and i run and i run
for a hint of your color
O’ butterfly, o’ butterfly
why don’t you settle down
just for a little while
rest your wings
color some hopes from beginning to end

Hate

How much hatred does it take
to shoot through callow eyes?
How numbed do you have to be
to scheme a massacre of infants?
How deaf must you be
to smother crying sounds?

Do genes not stir up empathy
when a child cries?
After all we were designed for self preservation
but who knew the contours of self would shrink
to a point in vortex of hate and depravity.

And the hate outgrows that what it embodies
as children cease to outgrow their clothes
The boxes of moist hands pilfered from life
will go down in the lands you so desire.

How much hate??
I can only wonder…
Does that heart not bleed
to unbroken voices off the walls?
Or do the guns drown out the ‘background noise’?
For whomever you died young men
you killed and you died
And we remain to plough through
arid fields of humanity.

Kill us all, why just the children
for the graveyards feel more livable now.
Build your kingdom and eulogize your gods
in blighted homes built on bodies
that know little of gods and far less of humans.

But then again
at least they went happy
in classrooms of love
and wonders of science
at least they won’t grow up
to find bullets between their children’s eyes.

No Name

To the valleys I can’t return to,
To the trees I can no more climb,
To the flowers I will never smell,
To the smells I can only remember,
To the home that will never be.

To the eyes I can’t look into,
To the looks that will never be cast upon me,
To the hands I will never again lock mine into,
To the heartbeats that will never pound in my ears,
To the nights that were once not as dark,
or solemn like the heavy air harbingering
a silent resilient storm.

To the tears that will never wet my blouse,
To the voices that will only slither in my head,
To the names I will never be called again.
To the sun, the heat, the dust and smoke,
of the evening rides through the bustling streets,
And the youth that inhaled it all.

You will always choke a breath,
wither my strength,
may be even lovingly caress me sometimes.
That you were there once,
And that, I once lived in you,
As you now live in me.

Park Bench

O’ Park Bench

I kissed so many, cajoled few egos
Whispered white lies to some,
O’ park bench,
On warm sunny days, slowly cooling down to a new touch,
Some snowy evenings, smoldering in the heat of passion,
It is in your arms I walked in with the hope of love,
and then watched it melt into despair.

Yet here we are again,
Just you and me,
On this soaked night,
Watching autumn leaves slide over our arms so gently,
The yellow street light scatters in the soft drizzle,
Just the way I diffuse in your arms night after night,
Sometimes of love, sometimes of sorrow
You accept my deep dolors, fears, love, and happiness all the same.

O’ park bench, are you what love really is,
Open arms in this tight fisted world?