For the boy within me

 

too afraid to speak,

you must not be helpless,

nor shall I let you become me

because I belong to the same creed

as they have been, who channeled all

the thoughts to cross their mind, in words

branching out of their brain, and well they do

leave my material, beading into a wreath of mute

cicadas as my empathy for your cancer of speechless

tendencies, so chew over some of them to release essence

of the beastly shells, and gulp down all your emotions in poison

of my cheat, so you die

.

Linking it with Sunday Whirl’s Wordle 158.

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Not feeling this life… I look forlorn sometimes

What if the reverse happens!? Would that also be reversed!?

sometimes I lose the feeling of how it is to feel,

yanking my broken train reverse to scenes I’ve seen,

in an another time when life was not this and that,

it was not me who stepped through the threshold

(I wonder if it is me today when I step these footsteps),

possessed by a palindrome of words, they ricochet,

into webs of oil I leak down my brow into the eyes,

.

I was a boy, or was it that I was ever one in my eyes,

if truth lies every time, where trust shall put my mind,

to stay aground, no more falling into smoke holes,

that only go deep, and up, but never in my reach,

and now that I wobble at the precipice, of change

in the meaning I felt caricatured in me, I have but

to worry of life, if life was ever mine, or just a ruse,

.

 not has it come out to be mine today, still a ruse,

only thing different comes to where my faith resides,

no longer entangled in fates, but in neurons of time,

for I have lost the feel, I’d have but to feel a new feel

.

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Words laid down to downsize dear dreams

What would it entail to carve me into an immortal carcass of chivalry?

It is not thine what you possess in this mauve maze of modernity.

Why is it cumbersome for them all to lift me up from my hinges?

Expectation is a cruel epiphany, better soon be resolved and discarded.

Where do swirls of the fates reside, mastering specimen of species?

Things to be found, and those that must remain in mist of melancholy.

Who yearns for song of the moon doting on exuberant stars of plight?

Pragmatism be the answer, and the answer alone, that is, for now.

.

The words that were brimming up the vessel of mind and thus, I spill them down… not to mean a meaning, not to say a thing but to just let them see their sight that looks nowhere but at me.

Limited to 100 words of vagrant vices, that is all that is. Thank you for reading.

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Ahoy!

A loud call out to the bloggers regarding the fact that I am looking for some guest authors to write on How Anxious. I have had three wonderful bloggers write a guest post in the past, which you can check out here. And now I need you. Come on, drop me an e-mail at hamusesanewtune@gmail.com or tweet me at @HowAnxious. We will set things up. I’ll soon be spamming all your blogs with my requests. So, hurry up… talk to me right now about it.

I am

I am a drunkard of emotions,

swirling around in circles,

expected to cry words of wisdom

while I cling to the edges of conscious,

.

I am a prophet of pious proportions,

thunder crackles up in my head,

neurons against neurons playing

the song of my insanity,

.

I am born to hurt myself,

and mend all the bones I crack

by the absurdity of my notions,

applying salt to my wounds,

.

I am a sleepy monk of silence,

in meditation of my thoughts,

vain, egotistic, self-possessed,

clinging to the edges of self,

.

I am a coward of carcass speech,

playing trumps with the world,

tying the noose of binds,

across my saggy throat,

.

I am the one you sneer at,

the one who is strange, queer,

because I have embraced myself,

destining myself to a life of bane

.

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Submitting the link for:

1. Sunday Wordle

2. Poetry Jam

This is not a personal piece. Thank you.

Circus of Emotions

circus of emotions, finding a way to fly,

leaving a tail of silver glittering fire,

the residue of what once was dear to heart,

.

the land where, one had found the strength,

time to bid goodbye, to those boulders,

(which are now broken into sand kernels),

.

as the crescent moon gazes, meditating

at the scene of sultry separation,

.

the circus of emotions in tatters, flying

away, with the memories of those lives,

no longer tied, to the rope of significance,

.

I close my eyes… I am that pulled apart earth,

bidding goodbye to the circus, and along with it,

a farewell, to what all were my dreams once

.

* The art work is by Catrin Welz Stein. You can find more of her work at http://catrinwelzstein.blogspot.de/

** A quick piece for dVerse Poetics.