The Asylum...

                                                                      ''Asylum'' - rishiraj
And when,
this fluttering heart
can’t bear the ataxia,
the sheer bedlam of moments and chaos,
that breaks the pattern,
I,
am pulled into a vortex, voluntarily I let
it be.
A slip and fall into oblivion,
my own pages of history that I
wrote. Time here ceases to flow.
The grey area between light and dark, this,
is where everything is still. Unstirred by the action
I’m yet to take.
Here,
everything turns into placid,
deathly still.
Color drowns into
black and white
from all the blossoms. Trees are not green,
neither the lake is blue, just dark blackened waves now
stale by this stagnant whist.
Here the blood flows cold, just neutral vibes in
the air.
It’s like walking through a
mist, a dense fog,
yet I can’t feel it, I don’t want to.
The people here,
are shadows in the mist,
undecipherable mumbles replaces the voices.
Here,
nothing is made, nothing done. So still, calm, tranquil.
here, nothing is too
late to mend.
My heaven here has not been
built yet, to be
corrupted by myself later.
Here,
nothing is made,
like a clock
but with no craftsman.
Everything is so still.
I prefer this.
Prefer the stillness here,
here, my solace, from all the
madness, all this discord of world
and the people's pandemonium.
Here,
The asylum....
--------------------Rishiraj--------------------------

one of my poetic ventures...