Repository

Within the twisted lanes of insanity, there exist such wide and glorious fields of understanding and clarity, which are but a product of a resounding confusion clouding the eyes, shattering the peace of the mind, almost killing normalcy. Almost.

You feel most alive when you are nearest to death. Similarly, you are most sane when you are close to insanity.

tilting sideways
the glorious fields of gold-
like his mind

I remember standing close to a mustard field, inhaling pollen and exhaling my last attempt at keeping myself sane. I had this desire to fish. To capture a fish from somewhere in that river of yellow and gold. The sun burnt my left cheek and I kept on waiting for someone to bring me a fishing rod.

No one ever came. I am still waiting. In some alternative world. I know that I am still waiting there after these four long years. Because I still want that fish in this world. I lost everything because I never captured that fish. And thus, things can never be right.

I caress the burnt mark on my left cheek.

remembering-
calm of mustard fields before
the onslaught of frost

Within the twisted lanes of insanity, I exist. I am a smiling figure atop that beautiful building you see from afar and you miss out on the spectacle as your line of sight changes. You miss out on the spectacle of how that smiling figure takes a leap from that beautiful building, burdening the air with all his weight.

You do feel that weight with every breath you take.

small buds protrude
out of the damp, heavy soil-
the cold wind picks up speed

~

taking in a whiff
of the remnants of warmth-
I feel cold in my bones

.

Inspired from Bjorn’s Haibun Monday prompt at dVerse. I have molded it in my own way.
This is Poem # 2 for my goal/challenge to write and post a poem every day of this month. The painting depicts the wide, sprawling fields of wheat, but somehow, the yellow/gold reminded me of a mustard field sparkling in the winter sunshine.
Image source: View of the Church of Saint-Paul-de-Mausole by Vincent van Gogh.

Swallowed by Self

Pablo Picasso- Facing Death

a pseudo thought lulls the mind,
(a plausible artifact of decadent body)
release of reason, of ground reality,
I am the man of flair, a jackal
to create chaos out of this order.

I’m struck with a unison of doubts,
flogging the rope of struggle, I
am a hostage to light, to dark,
I have an erection of infirmities,
I lick gravel down my falling feet.

there is that verity shoveled down
my throat, bound by the cable of
dexterous dreams asphyxiating me,
hanging by the arch of a house of
callous cards, still swirling that
thought of misery, enclosing me
from my own voice, I thus grieve.

.

Linking it up with World # 42 at Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie.

The Dot of Everything

 

I pick molding moss off of my scalp,

glistening when its dark and not light,

rising to create a supernal hologram

of the spaces between sulci and gyri,

the space that is of insanity that agitates

the fragments of artist that once was,

now shattered in me, its ashes spread.

.

I suck on my thumb for palliative notions

to satiate the thirst for earnest ecstasy

and swirl my left index finger through

a gaping hole in my stomach, tinging

it red, singing like a wren of grave

tendencies for my perplexing mind, to

agitate the beast to growl, to tear me apart.

.

My hair get singed by the graphics of sun,

scorching every emotion into amber

which deems it necessary for me to drench

entirely this body, and wipe away slippery

skin, to bring out what has been hidden

beneath, tattooed red on peeling bones,

keeping me buoyant in lakes of introspection.

.

For Wordle # 8 at MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie. Also linking it up with With Real Toads Open Link Monday.

Image source

Escape: A Haibun

I was tired of the noise of the house- the TV set at high volume and the loud conversations. Hence, I decided to escape to the streets but it was a bad idea and yet, a fascinating one. As I trotted along the black tarmac, I was deaf with so many sound arrows shot, piercing my ears. I bled. It was a torture. The loudspeakers were advertising some silly newspaper, blurting out a headline of some corrupt doctors.

streets of the city

loudspeakers attacking ears

no respite from noise

The thing that was fascinating for me was the rapidly growing construction sites all around. A few years back, one wouldn’t have found so many sprawling business houses, with the hoards of bikes rarely missing each other on the busy street. There was the jam of peddlers and those behind the steering wheels. An accident could take place anytime.

packed with vehicles

busy streets bound by crowds

fascinating view

It was fascinating. It was a torture. It is an experience, I get every time I decide to walk on these streets. It is similar to the whirl-winding streets of my mind. A fascinating torture of my rapidly coursing thoughts and those ideas that are constructed to be broken, paving the way for the new ones, every single minute. I can escape those streets of the city but there is no way out of those, that exist in me.

thoughts and ideas

jamming the streets of the mind

there is no escape

* For Ligo Haibun Challenge.

Photo source (1)

Photo source (2)

Sshhh…

Silent
Remain silent

 

No

no don’t…

 

silent

sshhhh…

 

please…

 

silent

please be silent

my dear child

 

uh..uh..

please

let me go

 

silent

silence

 

no

 

I said, SILENCE

 

uh.. p..p..pl..please..

 

Don’t worry
My child

Sshhhhhhh..

.

* For Trifextra.

Imagined World: A Rispetto

juvenile, a little kid prancing around

playing along with his sharp ingenious mind

treading on an illusionary firm ground,

he fabricates a hero, powerful kind,

causes him to brawl against callous people

who would pester and mock him at his cripple,

he became the hero himself, set to fight

in that imaginary world of his sight

Mad/Nonsense: A haiku, a small tale and a limerick

laughing just like that

sitting alone in the room

the screws of mind lost

Okay, I am going to share the tale of a mad woman with all of you today. Well, she isn’t mad by psychological sense, but she actually acts mad at certain stances, like when she laughs so hard that she can’t even speak. And even more so, she would fall down chortling; sometimes swinging back and forth; at other times, completely at hysterics with laughter.

Or take another instance, she went to take a shower during the winters but the water wasn’t warm;  so she decided to make use of the cold water instead after all. I was sitting in the room, when I heard a long-pitched wail from the bathroom and I jumped up, fervently asking what happened. And you know what, it was just her expression of feeling cold. Yes, that moaning animal cry was just an expression.

There was once a queen named Rose

always wearing a red dress, gross!

out her judgement she had read

blurted out, “Off with your head”

through her mucous flowing nose.

* I am not good at writing humorous/nonsensical stuff but I tried my best. This is in response to the Nonsense/Madness Prompt. Among shared are a haiku, a limerick and a little tale of my experiences with a slightly mad woman.