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
No comments:
Post a Comment