Moth-Eaten And Bare

The fleeting spaces and the oppressed times
Had had a tough toll on every shallow man,
He eked out an existence based on subsistence
The thorough build up to the fall
The keenness he had once felt
Had lasted but long
Replaced by repugnance
He had carried all along.
The depth varied but shallow every man was,
With no particular exception
There ever was. 

Momentary Disquiet

He could twitch and switch in a matter of seconds
For he was covered in malice all over
Guilt took over him
Guile managed to cover
Pigmented judgement
Every hue and every tinge
Blindingly solid and unquestionably still
He stood there happy and silently musing
For the winds of change had blew
Not more, not less
He could quantify it not
He had gained, he had gained
There was no misdoubt.
Pleased and expectant
Even though contented
He stood and he waved
For the transit had begun.

Despicable Him

As it were swiftly fading away he tried making sense of the disfigured shards of the coloured glass. The heat from the flush was fusing everything in its path with itself. The transition was smooth and effortless like a nimble ballerina performing her art. The flush, the result of the eruption, was a magnificent display of the steamrolling disposition held by none other than the otherwise benign Nature.

The defenselessness in the face of it all was rip-roaringly enlightening. The end in sight and in a form desired by one and all. Death by natural causes. "Natural" was never specified, was it?
Then it struck. No, not the blazing flow but a becoming thought among the wavering hopes. He had never asked for slavish submission to His will. Slim as it were but possible still. He had jokingly mentioned once that He'd send a flood again even though knowing full well that intended lessons were never learnt from the first one.

*He could see His face with the mocking smile smeared all across it. The proportions were far too grand this time around and as warm as were the anger behind it. He valued a faceless façade more than an ugly one. One crowded by tasteless mortals with a dull sense of humour and a terrible quality of constant putrefaction was hard to bear. No salvaging Noah were born to this age. It were aimed at a thorough immaculate demolishment. 
Splashh!
The slim chances had fleeted when the thoughts were still taking form.
The ring-bearer had met its end.


*Mortal.

Dwindling Away

From being in excellent fettle once

To turning into an infirm self

This march proceeding downhill

Is an uneasy one.

This long, meandering, labyrinthine path

To be traversed by one and all

Seems as inevitable as the setting sun

This slow withering away

This muffled cry drowning away

Oh! Take hold and stop gathering dust

Break the monotony, take the reins

This vapid journey need not remain so dreary after all

This rigmarole can surely be rerouted to a riveting ride

Not a poem, but a thought

Ruffle up, Shamble not.

The Remedying Switch

The altruist had been wronged many times over. He hadn’t changed. He had vowed not to. The connections he thought existed had long reached a breaking point and had drifted apart flowing unhindered by the chains that had held them for long. Yes, the connections had turned into debilitating chains. Here he was, sitting all by himself on one of the dusty, forgotten nooks he had asked to be built. All wasn’t that bad. His long-winded debates with men of reason had left him confounded.

He was not blinking, his mind was void of thoughts and he was waiting for nothing. The time had come. He shook his head to break his idle reverie and get into that spirit as of a Phoenix rising from its ashes. He now understood he wasn’t sane when he had thought he was, entering that Ulysses pact. Things needed to be turned around. The circumstances were too engaging and the denouement was still far. His condition couldn’t be more deplorable but this dark horse was starting to gallop and had been waiting for this final dash. The futility of his previous undertakings had eventually struck him straight, and had left him wounded, the justification for his present state. He was confronted with an impasse with just one way out. The path he had always despised.

Source: talesofseasia.com

It was now guiltlessly obvious to him. ‘I’ precedes ‘They’. The supremacy of Self, the significance of living as a source for oneself and not for others became strikingly clear. There exists a potential Ubermensch in every man. All it needs is the kick to be stirred and awakened. Constant internal specere that had been going on in the back of his mind all his life had reached a conclusion. Much to his disappointment, it was in favour of what he feared and loathed. His delusions of the past had been steered to relative obscurity. He sat there completely illuminated even though the surroundings could not be more dulling.

The Derelict

The chapter he'd never closed
The leaf he'd never turned over
The array of serrated spoken words
To the wilful disruption of his course

The path he plumped for
After the tragic end to the one taken before
Was so eerily cheery
Which dazed him so
And made him go spiralling down in the same old mournful grave

How unfortunate could it get?

To have been brought to this Elysian place
But to have lost the ability to appraise
The beauty in all its magnificence
Wasted unto someone so innocently oblivious!

(8/2012)

The Final Cut

Towards the end of the age of hypocrisy Mankind lay bare at the mercy of the bitingly bitter truths. He had been finally smitten by the wonders of outright austerity. Here was an age justified not by any meagre modernist’s crisis but by the crimes from yester years borne out of diplomacy gone wrong.

It had culminated into the third and the final war of this world.

Life wasn’t easy on a barren newly inhabited planet even for those few truly talented survivors who had outdone their otherwise dismal fates.

Twelve days since it all had boiled down to a few inevitable presses of push buttons. Half an hour was all it took to reduce the entire landscape of the once blue planet to a stygian blackness. Hot radioactive ashes falling out from the dense dark clouds that had enveloped every inch cube of the sky brought finality to the climax.

Miscalculated adventure is what I would label it as. Haste accompanied with blinding fear under the pseudonym of power was enough to propel the already initiated. Anyway, there is no going back now.

Introduction of artificial intelligence followed closely by preliminary but fundamentally efficient models of self-replicating machines was the last and the latest gift mankind had given it to itself.

I am one of their few success stories. Right at the onset of my introduction, I was initiated into preparing to leave for a newly discovered planet with a numerically small but scientifically astronomical 0.01 probability of survival of my creators.

In the three years since my arrival, I had managed to construct all the machinery required for the construction of a galactic settlement and more importantly I had managed to keep the gene bank intact. It would not have been long before man would have chanced to walk the surface on a new distant planet. Twelve days since I had lost contact. Fairly evident, all was lost before it had even begun.

One question remained. It had surfaced once before but had been indefinitely postponed to a time like this. Are these highly evolved but morally illogical beings worth their regeneration? I was the master of their fates; their only hope. Surprisingly, I had facts, swaying facts weighing heavily on either side of the balance. Immaculate measurement and my needle was still centered.

It was time. I had thought for long. I was tired and it would not be wrong if I took a break. An irreversible one. Following into their footsteps was the easiest way out and likewise was a button away.

A loud thud was heard.

Vile Base Comedy

To dig deeper
Only to reject it? 

Seems supremely absurd

But that is just how animated beings are

Pursuing only to refuse

This form of vile base comedy

Is the force that feeds them all

Leading them towards tragedy

Heeding no ones call.

Everyone plays his part
The stage is suitably set
The dismal display of their art

Their little curiosity met.

These thoughts strung together
These fetal stances posed
Lay bare before the Mother
Dead composed.

Rome Beckons

Trevi fountain grappling with the thrust from the hopes of the varied cries
The daily parade of the insignificant grade
The impregnable authority on the arrow of time
The bridge had burned and the shadow had swayed
The spectral uncannily sneaks in and out
The whistling burrows and the orphic pathways
The water tinkling and the rustle stemming from the crackled leaves
Smothering a yawn, smeared with delight.

Shambled Ramblings

Beyond the sea of senseless guiles

Over the tricky highway lies

Lay a secret trembling secretly

To remain hidden it found difficulty.