The Daydreamer’s Defence.

The Daydreamer’s Defence.
*************************
The world is abandoned
with people;
It’s crowded with nobody
in particular.

Their faces slowly peel away and,
floating nowhere distinctively,
Gently land safely
out of sight.

And dreams—like restless ghosts—
remain forever lost in search
Of faces which once
held them.



I Wear the World.
******************
I wear the World,
An itchy sweater on
Bare skin.
Sticky stains of sweat
Mark the spots of my resistance,
Of the furious skirmishes with it—
Shadowy graveyards on top of
Forgotten battlefields.

And I squirm inside it,
Hoping to gain some
Breathing space,
Trying to put some
Distance between us,
And create a neutral zone where
We can both agree on something.

I offered it a truce,
And in return it simply
Went on its daily business.



Not Human Enough.
******************
I can see you;
From the corner of my eye
I watch your every movement—
Your awkward probing,
The way you always end up
Near me, no matter
The initial configuration
Of celestial bodies in the room.

Still I will remain deaf and blind,
And numb if need be,
For I am not human enough
To appreciate the aesthetic quality
Of what you have to offer.



Inertia, Not Love.
******************
Inertia, not love
Governs the universe;
Galaxies spiral away from
One another
Even though in the
Not so very distant past—
Just a little over
Fifteen billion years ago—
They’ve been one, indivisible.

And on the street
Absurd is the word;
Spread out by hobos and
Underpaid computer analysts.
They quietly whisper it
In sensitive ears of violinists
And construction workers,
Marking the demise of
The Roman Empire and the
Initiation of the New Deal.

The Barbarian Invasions merge
With the war in Iraq;
Attila the Hun leads the Iraqis
To a spectacular victory
Over the plains of Gaul.

Inertia, not love
Governs the universe;
Lost human souls hurtled
Towards one another by forces
That had their origins in the centre
Of a long gone galaxy, then
Spiral away at close to the speed of light—
Their fingers losing grip.

It is almost funny how
In this grotesque masquarade
I’ve not yet given up the try;
Perhaps I too am solely powered
By inertia.



Beware.
*********
A blank page;
That laughable creature.
Yet it’s loaded with empty words,
Still unborn—
My fingers ten lethal triggers
To wedge them deep
Iside your unsuspecting pupils.



Fragile Beings.
***************
The most fragile beings
of all—
Human beings;
Stabbing and breaking and
Bleeding and mending.
But can they fly?



A Tulip.
**********
I’m kinda bored now,
So perhaps I should give you
A tulip—
Just because,
If for no other reason.

I won’t say
That your cheeks
Are far livelier
Than the bud of a tulip,
Or how your fingers
Are much gentler
Than its elegant stem,
Since after I’ve said it
Those words will lift anchors,
And silently drift away
In the lazy current of time.

So please accept this tulip,
And these words from me—
Unsaid.



Nagging Papercuts.
******************
Growing up is
Walking through a corridor
With long heavy curtains,
Hanging at unpredictable angles
From an invisible ceiling.

In reality,
It’s not a corridor at all,
But a slow conveyor belt,
Only fast enough to impose
Its deadly gravity on you.

It burns the skin,
Not letting go of curtains,
Leaves you with nagging papercuts.



The Texture of Your Scent.
**************************
Please tell me why
is it that even under
a pitiless shower of water,
I can still analyze
the texture of your scent?



In Anticipation of Life.
***********************
In anticipation of life
Idleness rules. My hands
Tremble with sweaty expectations
Of being enveloped
By a berserk stream of
Gushing water,
And I remain oblivious
To my outbursts of
Wild laughter in public transport.



Long Bridges of Affection.
**************************
Reverberate and echo here,
The murmurs of false prophets;
The fearless fled in disarray
And only we remain—
In pleasure and in pain,
With nails through our veins
In unison are bonded.

Through mazes of insanity,
Through doubts and through vanity,
And lonely nights of enmity—
We slither and we slide,
With hopes of new serenity
We swallow and abide.

Reverberate and echo here
The murmurs of false prophets;
They cushion us and caution us,
They portion us and ration us
With whispers made of shadows.
They weave a web dividing us,
Distorting us, depriving us,
Confusing us, colliding us
Until we sink in stupor;
And yet each time we rise.

The fearless fled in disarray
And only we remain—
In pleasure and in pain,
With nails through our veins
In unison are bonded.

Yet gracefully we bear the strain,
Although our palms are scalded.



My Soul is Safe in Hibernation.
*******************************
My soul is safe in hibernation,
As bitter gusts strip bare thin branches
And toss around rotten leafs.

Deep down in its hidden cavern,
Beneath the frost, below the weather,
It soundly sleeps and gathers strength,
For it has had its share of angst.

All I am left with is its dreams,
And reassurance that the seasons
Will once again bring forth
The spring.