Shades

Have you ever felt so

Comfortable in your

Blacks

And in your

Whites

That you can’t fathom slight tint of

Grey ?

Have you ever enjoyed the

Warmth of nonchalant

Blues

And the serenity of

Maroons

Just to complacently 

Defy the songs of

Yellow? 

Have you ever longed for 

The despicable 

Scarlets

And the lusty 

Lilacs

To smudge your soul

Crimson?

Have you?

Art

Unlike my last act of sanity ,where everything required consent,this was different.This defied pragmaticism. 
I swam through..all the way through,fighting my dizzy senses with utmost glibbery,just to ascend my conscious form.

With unserene thoughts joining cynicism in colossal range,I had a perfect recipe of kissing death,several times.

An enigma had my demons beg for more,crave for more.Poised with the unbounded falsary ,I didn’t want to understand.

I let go of myself,melted into the intimidating scenery.

I fell for the art in her.

Didn’t know my fear was the last thing I’d be begging to face. Didn’t want to understand.

I fell for the art in her.

Never saw the moving poetry,never was lucky enough. Never saw rage as a poetic device,never was disgusted by the quiescence. Never wanted to slip into the depths of puzzles. Never wanted to not to understand it.

I fell for the art in her.

And then I open my eyes only to realize that the fight of fighting reality with dreams was a fiction too.

Time demands seclusion and nonchalant environment for sinking the sadness in,but she won’t let me do it.

I truly fell for the art in her.

She is permanently tattooed in my mind,inscribed on my soul and framed in my heart like a photograph.

Funny thing this mind,creates a perfect memory and fiction.

So when I close my eyes,she is there. 

She is there..still in a photograph taking me far away from the very reality I despise.

I too had a dream..

Stagnant


Four walls,some books and a complete state of denial.

That’s how a day passes by. That’s how past 10 days have been. Four walls,four white walls and to be found on them are shabby scribbles out of exasperation. Four walls which are concrete,encompassing an unhinged intellect. Some books,some highly unlikable books scattered around stamping authority over my motion. Some books which decide the course,thus resulting in a lazy day and an even lazier night ,perishing to procrastination.

How well has this body misfitted in the pattern which has been an absolute Déjà vu for some days?

A despicable truth of reality always supersedes the notion of a concerned future;a mere work of fiction.

You don’t have to spend loads of energy to feel exhausted. Apparently, hopelessness is enough. How do I not oppose it ? To least of my amazement,I am comfortably resisting any help. A low functioning sociopath is what I have become. Can never relate to the universal idea of happiness but I do find Eurus quoting “Happiness is a pop song, sadness is a poem” highly sexy.However, in the midst of constant denial,I shall breathe for I am bit stagnant but not rotten.

A thing of normality..

Yeah,tell me more about poetry.

How your heart aches more than mine,
How you incorporate quiescence and

Rage of ocean,

And how me,was an  amateur ,

when I saw the very love in miniscule observations.


How your nocturnal anxiety, crippling over conundrums was more of love,

And me craving for your simple text,

In the boring daylight was mainstream.


How your definition of love carries depth,and mine is hollow,

Because it lacks abundance of mere words,

And isn’t  metaphorical.


How I was close to you but not yours,

How I never had the accent of love,

How I couldn’t cope with the fire within you,

How you were a level up and I was just a guy who didn’t want to battle through.


How your subtle literature defied the accuracy of my maths,

How your chasm outclassed my humour,

And how valleys of north hiked your senses,

While I tripped over a pint of Budweiser.


How your favorite colour black had imbedded art,

And my royal blue was just a fantasy.

How your love was mystical and mine,

A mere reality.


Yeah,tell me more about poetry,

How you wrote me one,

And me,being trivial,made you one.