Perdition on a bed

I lie like a walrus with my head on a feather pillow,
Trying to turn with the elegance of a beached whale;
Body in stupor and breath stale,
Drooling, with once seemingly intelligent eyes.

It’s only been hours since I was relieved;

Stripped over weeks of any modesty I believed;

Hacked and peeled till each layer subsequently relinquished,

Bared to the core of humanity or insanity?

immobility: I have arrived!

Forlorn on feathers of Down,

My lungs. heaving bellows forsake life;

But death and respite,

Are like a brother’s scorn and spite.

Measure of life… a soon to end quest!

How does one measure life? 

Before we get all territorial about it, let me add that this is my view; as a person, while still alive, looking back. 

I have been lucky to measure my life in experiences between inebriations. No, not really. But wouldn’t it be very Dev D ?

With all homage to Devdas patrons, my life is measured by by my friends. And the number of drinks we’ve shared together. (Puking and amnesia implied)

Life gives us parents or guardians or siblings or spouses. Most of whom stuck it out with you no matter how thrifty you are in your gratitude. 

But you work hard to make friends, and make most of them serendipitously. That’s my belief. As is finding someone to love. But let’s not get distracted here ;) , just yet…

I have been truly blessed in life with my luck in love, lover (s) and friends ! (See how I put the scandalous S in brackets)

Alone but not Lonely…

Just like muscles shrivel due to disuse and the body adjusts,
By continually rerouting the effort to the remaining few;

So does the burden for care, support and engagement converge, on the brave few still willing to socialize. 

But in this painful game of attrition, Myo-friends are finite,
And loved ones get pushed away in the wake of surging pain and mental anguish over lost mobility;

Many thanks to you for having been there, holding the fort and sanity within;Ligaments of my soul, and of high nobility. 

Been lonely I have, though not alone;
Now alone I wish to be, perhaps not lonely anymore;

What does the end bring if not a new beginning?

The burning pyre

His face was aglow and in his eyes shone the burning pyre The trickle of tears had failed to lessen the pain

He stood there as if in a trance, holding to his father’s fingers

Staring ahead at the burning pyre- the way to heaven for his grandsire

He is comforted by his father’s presence, but is unable to understand, Why those shoulders on which he sat high are hunched and sad today.

He sees his father’s eyes aglow with the leaping flames Not realizing it then that his would be soon aglow again

He is brought back from his wandering thoughts by a tug at his sleeve, He bends down to pick up his son, and at last that place they leave

No-one, not even his son knows that he’ll be back one day there, To light his father’s pyre, and stare again at the orange fire.

The Transient Pearl

And there she lay in the cusp of a petal,

Glazed with the softest beams of the morning sun.

Nascent like the first creation.


Shivered the petals as I treaded close.

Quivered the transparent beads of light.
But she remained unmoved.

...a lonesome night...

A feeling of being incomplete,
Like an emptiness within,

statics and dynamics

 

Life brings questions. More questions than there are answers or multiple answers for the same question?

Are we looking for an objective answer? Or trying to assuage our inquiry of self? Does one discover oneself through the introspection of their trials and tribulations?

Maybe better off are those who are simple in their inquiry. Who accept scriptures or sayings of individuals whose words are interpreted by each subsequent transfer.