the swing.

On a moonlit night.
I stand on a high bridge made of worn out rope
over a deep ravenous river.
between two chasmic mountains.
Waiting to fall into the dark abyss.
and hit the water. black.
breathe. sleep.
As the wind hits from behind.
like a thick sack of dry hard mud.
the bridge gives way.
I hold it tight and swing along
to hit the stone of the mountain.
it has been standing with open arms
for centuries.
I keep my eyes open as everything turns red.
and hold the rope tight.
I am not scared right now.
I am alert and awake.
Waiting for that next thrust of the heartless wind.
To ride it like an eagle.
And fly into the dark freedom.

nap

just up from a nap,

on a day off from work.

after a long time, i am caught.

in the mirror of an uneventful afternoon.

the quiet hollow knocking from inside.

to know if the outside activity has subsided 

for it to safely come out in private.

and talk to me.

to ask where we are headed.

untitled

i am wandering through a dark night
lying on an emotionless bed.
trying to come back to the truth
through poetry. and floyd.
it becomes difficult as i close in on you.
truth stands in a corner.
like an incompetent pupil.
while you hijack my poetry.

old friend

there is a dilapidated curtain
hanging on the window in my room. dilapidated.
filtering the fledgling morning sunlight, free
of worldly encumbrances. unhurried.
the light coming through is a stranger to my room. nonchalant.
It works like water though. Blends in without qualms. diffuses.
Fills in. It is music. buddha's meditation. dissolves in the quiet.
the curtain is silent. it has not thought about happiness.or meaning.
it is my friend.

metamorphosis

how many roads ?

my space scooter is out of fuel.

stranded close to something like our moon.

lifeless and beautiful.

there also is a benign black hole.

a few million miles away. 

despairingly silent.

wanting to speak.

there is no ground for me to step on.

walk back.

home if there still is.

music but. has come back to me.

i can stay here. wait. 

while turning into a relic.

a star.

Untitled

I’m wandering on a frozen lake. This is all there is. We don’t know of any place else. It’s very cold. There is no way the ice can break. If it does we fall inside. Nobody knows how deep. So we find ways to keep it cold. We refrigerate the winter. Our fear further freezes the ice. Makes it even deeper. Unbreakable. Spring is going far away. Towards warmer shores. Reality fell in a hole last time the ice melted. It must be underneath somewhere. Trying to break the ice. If we help it from up here.

travelling to mars

i am travelling to mars on a space bike. about seventy million 
more miles to go. The dark here, and the light. Are not black 
and white. They are more like friends playing chess. I feel like 
a glass emptying itself. Slowly. Into the void.I am unaware of 
humanity. 
Until you pass by. Singing. In a space tired of expanding. We 
enjoy staring at the sun and talking of childhood. Without being 
able to listen to each other. Music is not even a word in the 
language that stars use. Being hidden in a space suit is relaxing. 
Earth is far out. Looking peaceful from here. The comforts of 
distance. But you and I can't be the only ones here. Let's go some 
place else.