Ponder Mildly for the Mind is frail

Being called out

Or called for

Is only a difference in phrasing

Yet so much in phasing

Often they are mixed

When I am concerned

I woke up today, 

Was it called for, not by me

Then was it for you

I was called out for being along

After you had been done

For I had nothing to give

All taken, I was to find me stumble

Crumble and fade, yet

Nothing has moved me, 

Maybe for nothing could, Or I have

Away, or so further, or so much

That it seems mediocre, 

Such frail sense of longing, cringe

Happiness, crumbling souless husks

Maybe I too am, maybe you choose me to

Yet no, I shall defy

Refuse to let, refusing to vent, refusing to get

Lone, yet not alone 

Neither songs, nor music

Maybe why, I get called out

Or I get called for

But I and the calling never fades

I have lived,

 smelt the gentle hints of oudh

 Known the chants and hymns

   Uttered awashed in flames

From lips of the keepers of the eternal flame

In the flicker, I saw faith

For the fire is among the fours

Before the sword forced Gods upon

  And to this day seek to erase

  A faith has lived, and has lived along

     In hearts, and minds, in glowing embers

Through hands that has fed

In their eyes, I see light

For the fire is, piercing the darkness

Tying the horses

Often at night, while I lie wide awake

She rolls to me and into a cuddle

At rest I am at my thoughtless best

And she speaks of nothing else

Other than leaning in and saying "I love you"

I always run my hands on her back then

Acknowledge it, and respond "I love you too"

In the ages of reason, past

One must often run into such qualms

In quarrels, in quandary, and in queer 

And often think or reflect on their day

Or do they lean in and say "I love you"?

I always found it to be a charade

Does the other acknowledge and respond too?

As I lie now I can't remember my personal last

When I had such refutable thoughts

I hear the words of her love confessions

And all I feel is apathy, as I let them pass

Should I have been more receptive I think

She leans in whispers her usual "I love you"

And in my laugh I whisper "I no longer do"

The other side of a one sided coin

In my dimly lit corner

I scribble violently, reminiscing thoughts 

Rampant, repulsive, some dear, most chided

The mind is a coroner

The pages are my notes

In unintelligible scribblings, I pen

most even I cant read once the liquor wears 

My clothes are in shades or rags and refusals

My heart a bonfire of compulsion

The binders are of my conscience

And I ponder if I should keep having any

Amongst the rusting pitchforks

That has stabbed me, many fold

Over, and again, I hand it over to my detractors

Friends, lovers, such jolly named fellows

You could ask me, why I persevere

I could laugh, cynical , in sarcasm laden hues

We are past that age of reason

At least, I am. I am found not lost

And that too in wilfull contempt

Of found and finder

Lean over, look over my shoulder,

You wretched wretched guardian

Feeding me another breath, to suffocate me

How you gallantly perch in my head

Often my speech, or is it our conversation

I can never tell, you and I seem alike 

A mirrored, marred, maniacal, akin to opulence

Somedays you speak, other days I do

Those moments are of seething hatred

Of my own existence, I won't lament though

Then when you reach back, I lean in

Like you now do, watching my audacity 

Of stubborn living, and smirking mockery

While both find reasons to co-exist

Unwilling, yet in a quasi love

This is one such epithet

Of me seeking you, while in your denial

I shouldn't, but love in confronting rejection