Could one perish and be blown away
Specs of ash and petals of withered roses
While still brimming with the swell of life?
On Friday afternoons, when it takes longer
For the sun to exhaust her glitter
I toy with the last morsel on my plate
A little thought dipped in vinegar
And for many a sleepless hour I tried to nudge this affair
Towards the darker corners of my pate
What has changed ?
Since the time I wanted to drive away
Into the void, and never make it back
Echoes off washed walls and smudged mirrors
Rests on the floor when it tires, this question
It dins in my left ear
Scratches when I turn to the colder side
Of my pillow
Lingers in my dry mouth
Like the first suckling of an infant
What has changed
Me ?
I remember my ribs being closer than this
My heart didn't shiver as much
When carressed by a cold breeze
It used to have a fine overcoat
Of fur and credence
I considered faces more carefully
Words wriggled more
When I rested my tongue for too long
Between my thoughts
When I scribbled on a dry scrape, they scattered
A formation without a commander
And I never shed tears when I trembled with rage
Before, strange things are going on
Silence used to assuage my restlessness
It digs trenches inside my joints
Now
Peeps out when I lay at night
Creeps away the sultan of slumber
For sport
Silence nowadays terrifies me into a frenzy
Forgetting to remember
What beast that locks itself afraid in a closet
When I flood the lantern of suspicion
Upon the attic of my brain
What renders a human softer than a flake ?
Lighter than a shadow
I wonder at length; as I open it
Is it the weight of living
Or the weight of the hand of doom on one's shoulder
Cold, as it slides to trace the spine of their back
Whatever changes a person in ways they
Lost the means to track, or sedated their motif to ?
An old hound, laying to die by their side on the sofa
You touch your face as you brush thy teeth
A regular mope of a stranger unfolds from the mist
Your human condition pinched a trench
Between your brows, and a regrettable hysteresis
Of irony, on your jowls
The birth of a day drags its forgotten younger twin behind:
Hope of an early sunset
And lo, twenty years pass by, while you gargle
The stranger grimaces, meaningfully
Was I this numb before I woke up ?
You ask
Was I numb in my mother's womb ?
Would I feel the same as I lay quiet in my tomb ?
Does it prick my heart that I could never remember
Beyond the crash as I stood on the tracks of a train
Marching with the will of a dying man who got nothing to lose
Or does it twist my arm of resolve that I never thought of budging ?
For my life,
For a life
Elsewhere
Somewhere
Early mornings used to taste Yellower than this
And long nights smelt of philistine immortality
Used to dance in the rain as a child
When did I stop being one ?
If I chopped down my arm, how many circles would I count
Till I reach the marrows ?
I used to feel things louder than this
Was I alive, back then ? or was I reborn as I rose from the slime of
Injured expectations
Would I remember how I lived
When I pass on beyond the borders of trepidation
Would these limbs be washed clean
Of rue
Would a stranger hands drain my spleens
Of this chronic bitterness
Would all these broken oaths I carved onto my skin
Seep through the dried pits of good earth
Towards the core of everything dark
Everything admissible
Would the reek of my deeds rise
Would my lot of reminiscence fall
Would I ever recall
When is it that I have died while alive
And what has resurrected me thus
An incurious puppet among woke souls ?
