Disquiet

This is another page
in the book of disquiet

the trembling reaches the hand
before the first word
and Fancy drags it away
from the paper
to draw winds and wants
on the curves of dry air

my skin absorbs the dryness
and with every bend
I hear the cracks
from somewhere deep inside

what is it that breaks
that wasn't already broken?

maybe the deluge I hold back
dried up and seeped into the bloodstream

if writers do bleed in words
I have bled too often
too little, perhaps

fate draws me up

with a free hand

maybe there is nothing left to comprehend

somebody forgot to mention
how comfortable ignorance could be

Search

The mind is a fickle master

Who tires as much from reality

As it does from thoughts

Light as air

Heavy as lead

It bears a load too great

Too willingly

Too shy , too desperate to share

Often, I offer her rest

In the dregs of a glass

"Go to your happy place", I tell her

"Forget those faces

And the smell of air hanging heavy 

With forgotten songs

Forget the taste of words you no longer speak

And the sting that waxes and wanes."

"Instead, dive deep into the dark abyss

And hold your breath.

With unblinking eyes, find the new life

And claim it 

Before you catch up with yourself."

At the far end of things

I will let her unravel

And find herself.

Gone

I always thought that hours twenty
Will be enough, will be plenty
Will spare myself an hour in the morn
Now the sun has bid good bye
My words still dance behind my eyes
Before I know it, another life is gone

I always thought that rebellions few
Were my debt, my folks' due
Knew I was right when mostly I was wrong
Creased smiles still call me home
But young blood longs for lands unknown
Before I know it, another life is gone

He seemed like one more out of place
He loved me with a klutz's grace
Airbrushed the whole world with his songs
Our edges met, we thought we fit
Complete each other, we thought we did
In good time, we knew that we were wrong

He and I and you and them
Search faces, hearts and souls who'd mend
Ours; And we hope that we would get along
We learn new words and ways to love
We learn new names of gods above
But before we can, another life is gone.


Note: This is quite amateurish but something I enjoyed writing. :)

Time

as wind rustles dry leaves
I wonder
if one could hear footsteps
rustling through time
but the corridors are silent
my voice dissolves in air
words seep through time
to reach somewhere I cannot

hear me
find me
if you can

Cure

here I stand
a self-made  clown of sorts
with a quid pro quo, I make the world laugh
but nothing caresses my ears
and my heart
better
than her side-long twitches of lips

bursting forth with a primordial joy
that somehow, nobody else can feel
I stare at the softness of my accomplishment
as she sorts through my mind
crawling through all the cavities
that hide behind the clown's smile

I might just have caught the love bug
I don't know
but I hope it is contagious
and I hope she doesn't find a cure

Forgetting

The final nail in my Trojan horse

As I enter the womb of the world

Drowning in empty words

And cut-throat conversations

Oh, it is a bloodbath!

All my warrior ideas fallen flat on the ground

Flattened under the weight

Of small talk

And smaller lives

The mediocre claws against my metaphor

And I cringe at words

That mean less and less

And you know

Less is not always more

Empty, so empty, to the core

You caught me right in my Achilles' foot

While I swooned over you

And your alluring absurdity

A better pick than this vacuity

And your thoughts, ablaze

Drugged with forbidden knowledge

Of your entire being

It is you

You that I want to know

And not forget

But I can no longer put together

My pixelated dreams

Failed Memories by David Szauder

"But I don't want small talk. Text me, and without saying hello, tell me why you got so angry at your sister this morning. Tell me why you have a scar shaped liked Europe on the left side of your neck. Send me paragraphs about the time you spent at your grandmothers house that one summer. Call me when I'm half asleep and tell me why you believe in god. Tell me about the first time you saw your dad cry. Go on for hours about things that may not seem important because I promise that I'll be hanging on every word you say. Tell me everything. I do not want someone who just talks about the weather"   - Source Unknown

Slipping

Too quick, too soon
Too slow, too late
Too quick to pass
Too slow to wait
Cracked and smudged
Once clean slate
I call it luck
You call it fate.

Note: As random as it gets. This was furiously typed away on my phone during a long, long train ride home, before a single word could be forgotten. Criticism is welcome (the best writers always need it, haha).