A Question

There is something to be said for disaster

For its sweeping devastation

And the hope for hope after

Neither peace nor bliss will work to unite

A race overcome with apathy

Who thinks they're ready to fight

For in waiting in anticipation of altercation

We are doomed to fighting a war

That sees neither race nor religion

Often has it been said a common enemy

Will bring a race together

Casting aside our proclivities

And in the face of disaster always does hope flourish

Hope things will be better, be okay

For better and okay things are our wish

And perhaps when we face our world's demise

People can hope again

And it'll be like a blessing in disguise

And now as all we know approaches an unfortunate end

We only accelerate it

And never give it a chance to mend

For nothing short of disaster can let us hope again

That things could be better than now

Better than the end

For nothing short of being at an all time low

Can make us listen to those who will say

I told you so

Discourse

How does one share a glass
With another who does not drink?
Who does not sip
And taste
The same notes that you taste
Who swallows the ocean
If only for its water
And cares not for the salt that christens it?
How does one share a roomful of air
With another who does not breathe?
Who will stand in proximity
Even touch their toes to yours
Their fingers to yours
Limbs encasing
But not extend their presence
Beyond the wall of lungs
And skin
And sweat
Refusing to release themselves
Into the same space
And take back a breath of otherness
Only to discover it no different?
How does one share a life
With another who does not
Will not
Cannot
Live?

Fishpond

Touch

The water and it will ripple

I like to wait for the expanding circles

To dissipate and for the surface

To smoothen

Now a drop

Clings to my fingertip

And disturbs the water where it drips

Returning whence it came

Drip drip drip

Underneath

The water a few fish

Drift serenely and wave their tails

To and fro, as if

In greeting

Here's one

Coming up to nibble the surface

Pearl white with vermilion continents in

Its shimmering scales, glistening

In the sun

It's clearer

To see through the veil of water

When it comes nearer, as if looking to

Make a new friend from

The dry place

It's mouth

Ripples the wet light again

With an animals' uncontrollable life

Unlike the surrounding

Plant ones

They stand

Green, still, short or tall

Maybe waving slightly in the playful wind

Placid with quiet life burning

Inside them

The eyes

On this new friend move otherwise

Seeming to lose interest and turn away

Waving its tail again

In goodbye

Hospital Flowers

It's a dark room

Like many others

But it's darker in here

Even with light to see you by

Your skin is weary

And your heart tired

It shows in the rasp of your voice

And your unfocussed stare

Look at me, and not

At the wall behind me

There is nothing there that

I want you so soon to see

Sorry

But I want you be here

Stay for a little while longer

And look at me

Sorry

That I must bother you at

This tired moment

When all you want is to sleep

You have seen too much

And it collects in and under your eyes

Heavy

And slowly closing

I lean in to hear you breathe

Just a little longer

I can't see your irises anymore

And can only feel this hand

There are fresh flowers here

In confidence

Each time, we tear off seals of secrecy

In perpetual longing for consolation of some sort;

We will whisper:

Stories of absurd intimacy

That yet all follow the same thread of bitterness and anguish

Which will not be borne

By the soul alone.

It flows

Like black tea oozing out on a worn saucer

Betraying years of expectancy.

It seeks

A neutralizing element from the bleaching of air

And the strokes of sunset;

Welcoming washed-up currents of pious weaving

And shoving lost remnants

Into the blatant rays of observance

By lighthouses which never would guide.  

The emptiness felt thereafter is not

A new found calmness in retrospect;

But that of a spring newly taut

After much revelation of actuality.

The final call of self-respect

Brings notice to the hollows

When far too much is known;

By people who never really did care

But were just placed in the way

Of arbitrary tidal biddings—   

Thereby magnifying flaws in our flawless faith.

For such a plain placebo therapy

Does not dilute darkness when spread

Like butter on bread; but instead devours

And shades every square area

Spiraling in this comforting thirst of dependence

Where none can seek solace.  

Between Us

Between Us

At the extreme of a road lies

Change—A repelled opposite

Seeking trophies of time,

Worn out through invisible

Slits of the same ties

We once knew.

And when air pockets our waning

Initiative that grasps

The futile mending

Of our relation now; what lapsed

Between the scores of seconds,

We do not actually know.

May be,

The pendulum of every distance

Paces its obligatory turn,

Tracing paved paths in resonance and

Oblivion to the fluctuating size

Of the trench

Between.

Perhaps if fuelled with hope,

The vacuum within us

Would be bridged;

Instead of eternally wavering.

And if it were hope enough

That would see us through  

A lifetime together; shooting us

Into unmarked air bases

For the unknown to consume us

Only with unwarranted promises

As our only assurance; we

Invariably question:

If for accompaniment’s sake

We land on arbitrary footholds

Of which we’ll forsake

When the bell tolls;

Why else should we tangle the

Soon-to-be unraveled fates of meeting,

If it could be left a blank slate un-riddled

As what was and will be

Between us.

------------------

Haven't written for ages. Tell me if it's ungrammatical :P 

Remainders

The silence rings too much when you're gone
I can only sit
Waiting for the phone
Staring through the space between my thighs
At the table mess
I can't get them to touch
Just like us

I'm sorry if I held too tightly
Or too loosely
I can promise not to hold at all
Or forever
On to the smell of burning flesh

Let me drip dry until my skin turns to ash
I can water the carpet
With everything I could have given you

Had you not tossed it in the corner for me to find
Always the unwanted plaything
Like rags
Like my veins when the sun is done with me
Like the weight of the wisps of dust that dance in the light
Like the stirring curtains by the window
Like leaves in the wind
Scuttling over to

Rustle against the tall window nearby
While only the seconds go by audibly inside
Noticeably unnoticed
Like me