choices

wandering
pondering
floating on quick sand
in this wicked land
beautiful and free
an oasis i see
a mirage to me
restless
thirsty
lo behold
in my eye lay the beauty
so plenty in thee.

the sun getting hotter
diving in this dangerous water
the mind getting naughtier
sip i the golden water
like my troubles, bitter.
sing i, they hear
my odyssey i utter
in an ode like stutter
nothing to loose
footloose
i chose to choose.

in this lil patch i loiter
like skiing on melting butter
spot i a flower
of a dry muddy colour
emitting dense vapour
i see in the sky disappear.
enter i this misty shire.
lights, she, my fire
embrace, my lips, her burnt flair
breathe i the white vapour.
with every waking hour
the need getting dire
i empty a full quiver
and no more i shiver
in this soothing, of ashes, zephyr.
nothing to loose
footloose
i chose to choose.

in this lil patch i loiter
like skiing on melting butter
the grass growing greener
butterflies roam in a clutter
but i'm a caterpillar
lights, she, again, my fire
and my little wings they flutter
falling higher
shameless liar
a happy flier.
nothing to loose
footloose
i chose to choose.

in this oasis, i deter
yet does not matter
i'm on an adventure.

in this oasis
guided by my voices
made i my Choices.

victor

has spilled, this glass full of thought, unpleasant, like bitter syrup.

hot air circulating inside a closed room. my room.

windows closed.

hath no window, perhaps, this air of confusion

and dissatisfying retrospection.

a figment of conclusions, in puppyish childishness, growing bitchy.

ageing the insides,

poisoning them, like rotten food

not told to feed on.

i let it ferment and gulped it down.

rise above this poverty,

beggar like hygiene.

this unhealthy viscious circle

that keeps thee dormant,

a hare in hibernation,

sloth-like passive.

sterilise

this breeding ground of germicidal thought-

thy cheek burning food,

ever unrelished,

ever unsavoured.

rise.

rise above this shallowness.

let it not sink and wreck you.

there is earth below,

ground beneath, you feel is shaken at the moment.

be not a victim of such tremors.

quakes, a few that really are.

be thy saviour, not thy casualty.

speak to thy soul,

let it be the echoing microphone.

let not a breeze of ash come and soothe you,

the stale air inside your room, abating the brightness inside.

vent it out.

try the walls. they are doors in disguise.

blow it out, ''i am superman''.

welcome the wave of freshness,

and light.

triumph over the unchanged offspring.

unmould and mould it.

become..

welcome...
the victor.

hypnotized
circles circles circles on the board. cross sections of fibre chords and shafts small pulleys large pulleys dots.....
a war waging between peaceful unconsciousness and forced attentiveness.
unconsciousness, in itself, is a high.
all you insomniacs may come over. this class is sleep inducingly engrossing. i'm high.
looking at this book, so called mechanical design data book, rather a number book for adults, and those numbers, in numbers yet again bomb the subconscious.
eyeballs rolling again, bouncing against the walls of the eye like a pinball
blurred no more, seeing again
pupils dilated, lost in a dense cloud of luminescence, tons of light softly piercing the slits. an all different high. the acid effect, maybe.
a dream on paper?, freudian slip?