Overt Thoughts.

So you say 

that there's still hope,

for me, for us, for you.

I can live with that.

I see the minutes trudge away, 

leaving marks and

scratches, redolent of histories 

and songs of us; the detriment

has a progression, only matched 

by my hubris of going on,

what else can I do?

I can live, as I have, and as I will,

with the relatable facts and venal

fictions, with dates I cannot forget

and words I don't want to remember,

as you say, there's still hope,

as you'd know my inane volition

has ever been a little bit confused; 

I don't know where to stop. 

Intent's tendencies are all about tomorrow

and for all we know, I still have remnants 

of you left, for my most own moments.

Because there's still hope,

not of you, not here, not mine, never anymore; but of me.

Acerbic afternoons and corroding 

evenings will be my routine

and I know things will fade, as I have

from you, but since I still can write

lambasting or loving in the livid moments,

I know, there's still hope. 

Rex

For a moment as it were,
I was a king.
Of rubbles and ruins,
of prosaic sepulchre
and of the warren lanes of
the same tenacious exaltations.
Yes, I was a king, of things and dreams,
of nightmares; but my robes were clean.

I lost my throne, my crown forfeited,
a long time ago my kingdom corroded.
As I walk the winding halls, clueless and empty I leave traces only so
I can go back.
I leave a trail of blood, my robe is dripping red everywhere I walk.

For a moment as it were,
I was a king, and I ruled.
No more, never again.
My castle fell and
my robes are not clean.

Reset 00.00

31st December 2018.

Just a few more hours left before the world rushes into the new year of 2019. There would be plans made, promises taken, resolutions built on the remnants of the previous year. And that is a novel thought; one should indulge in such wise things.

Personally, I cannot complain about things for mostly two reasons - 1. there is no point, what has been done is done, the damages and the pleasantries both are now an inseparable part of me and 2. I have been complaining for quite some time now. I was allowed to do so, but if it goes out of hands it makes life miserable and I cannot add more misery to the already nauseating miasma I have been dealing with. So, I shall at least try to avoid that.

Remembering the year 2018 would not be a huge task; very few instances have been remarkable this year and for all the wrong reasons too and reiterating them would be asinine and self-immolating, but I will make a passing comment that it was not a joyride. This year would be particularly seared in the memories for the rest of my life and I wish, it was for good reasons, happy reasons. But then again, when has it happened that I asked for something and I got it the way I wanted it? Sepulchral as it was, it could have been extremely egregious, so I think I should be thankful for the anti apotheosis that arrived. Not with a bang but with a whimper, it bids its goodbye.

I have no aversion for the year but maybe for the people responsible for the execrable end that I now face. Detriment was not on my list, but since it is there, it should not be dismissed. And I know, some of the people would argue that I should take reigns instead of blaming, I am just stating the fact that there are people who are responsible. Whether I should have seen this coming or not has been answered in other "entries", they should be seen as the raison d'etre or at least as the building components.

Was this a burr to my cognitive fabric? In certain sense, it does ask for some excoriation, but I think I should, by being a better person, rescind my lambaste and say goodbye.

Drink, eat, indulge in ribald revelry if you can, you have earned it and you deserve a good end o' the year. Because tomorrow you reset things.

peace!

R.

Fade

Strung high out of my reach my dreams,
now wait for the winds - your time has come.
Hopes, plans, sincere faith and genuflection,
they now are regrets, mistakes as she called them, value of sentiment is not more than dust as I keep forgetting my own nature.
All I needed was peace,
all I needed was the last few moments
with you.
The blade is still inside, as I play with my thoughts - I keep burning them, they keep
coming back.
This could've been avoided,
and I have tried.

Gabirol's serenity prayer.

30th October 2018.

Things get clearer in times of solace. I have heard this piece of eternal wisdom for n number of times and regardless of that, it never made sense to me. Now that I think about it, nothing makes sense to us unless they want to. And that's okay, not everything is a clear result of cause to effect, never is.

Solomon ibn Gabirol said that at the head of all understanding – is realizing what is and what cannot be, and the consoling of what is not in our power to change. So even if I might try to understand a certain things at a given point, this axiom renders it null.

I am wary of the promises, not as a stung person, but I now understand the futility of it, the asininity it presents is bewildering. I for one, had believed that we can always use our words first, communicate, think and rationalize even the most trickiest of situations and for most of the part, I was either too successful or was too blind to determine the course my words took. This in recent times have proved to be fatal to my most intimate relationships - of friends.

Yes I agree that in an age of extreme rote lives people mostly now engage in more prudish forms of association, where it lacks a lot of emotional contents; and rightly so, it's easy, expedient, but that makes sense as it reduces the off chance of getting robbed of one's own existence. I am a bit old school, "rusty old soul", a friend calls me, naturally I prefer things to be more connected or not connected at all. Which I now see has been a grievous fault; my propensity to take matters at an extreme level had always been a problem if not driving things to a point of sudden and abrupt endings. It leads me to wonder, whether there's something wrong in my approach. With age and events I am not growing wise, I am getting tired, my indiscretion comes not from self awareness but from an unbearable exhaustion.

The drivel and the manic misfortunes which just doesn't seems to end boils down to a more refined understanding of human bonds, for me at least; there are people, good in their own accord, who cannot seem to grasp what chances are. Now, it might seem as my hubris speaking, but I understand now that regardless of my best of promises, no matter what I did, the fault lines were always there. If not me then someone else would have came across them.

Do I want to cross the bridge once more or not is not a question for now, and by my estimate, it never will be. But then again, it is indeed a small world after all.

R.

In Poem

I remember you,
in poems and songs,
in an absent minded hum,
on a lazy sunday afternoon dream,
or on a bookmarked page in my second favourite novel;
everyday, against my volition.

In a day of coffee coloured sky
and when it's all drivel, I remember you,
in the corner of my eye.
When your head was on my shoulder
and my words, and your words
had meaning,
When our smiles had pureness
and love was just not a notion.

I remember you on an untuned guitar
and all the wrong notes were unwavering.
And in days to come, when I get old,
when love fades and everything is gray, I will remember how you left.

Feral wolves gnaw at my heels,
as I walk away from the past.
Blood of the ghosts, dried on my sleeves,
a testimony to what I was, what I became,
what I am and what I am becoming.
I walk away from the beginning,
from the ends that I caused,
from the dark under the flame.
I pray that I can walk away.
But the wolves and the ghosts, and
the strains of blood, they never forget.
As Sisyphus I carry my penance,
paranoid, cynical, fake to the core;
I have debts I cannot pay.
I have debts that I will never pay.