I'm here!

You were not created or carved out of my womb. 

The day you walked straight off my womb; moving away the thin curtains of the placenta and inner membranes. Marching into my heart. The stomping was so loud; I could hear my heart beat impatiently in my ears. People around me were applauding, cheering, and there was so much happiness and joy. I gave into sleep while the morphine in your laughter created my inmost being. The courage, the strength and fear that experiences had carved, left me. Only thing that remained was you in my pint-sized heart. The chambers incidentally had space only for you. 

All the memories fled into a thin corner of my conscience and you knit me together, my baby.

There is a warm chain of bubbles in that sea.

The present seems like an illusion.

People everywhere. And, I have become non-existent.

Yesterday’s welcome me with warm open hands.

People non-existent. 

Only me.The stars and the dark pregnant sky.

But I ran too fast. The starting point is too far to run back to.

While emoticons are the only base of expression.

And, they don’t convey what the heart feels.

The mind becomes a “battery-drained phone” that has recorded messages and predictable texts.

Faith, I have in the human in you.

The human in you.

Skeletal or flesh wrapped.

Where is the soul?

Where are your thoughts headed to?

Prancing, right!
Ahead of time, ahead of memories that sink.

I like the five pockets on your moulted skin.

From where you pull out different set of smiles for different occasions.

Oh, yes!

Shed it like the serpent does.
The outgrown will be replaced by the real.

When the circle of the serpent’s life repeats inside you,

The sanctorum of my mind will be buried in the winter’s wrath.

Under the snow,

Under the mud,

Under that nowhere that was never found.

Blind side

I miss the blind side of my life.
I miss that blind side by you!
The connections were never made,
To be promises that were never broken.
Your sight stuck on the mirror wall of my body.
My emotions glare at the reflection on my skin.

I turned and twisted to fit there by the cemetery.
Where I died in you.
But you still remain as a corpse in my memory.
And I still miss that blind side by you.

illusion

It is heavy.

I know, it is!

But, how? 

This question echoes;

and the voice weakens.

The interrogation continues.

The brain gives up. 

The heart debates. 

While the other organs look down in guilt.

A wind blows and sweeps off the leafs in my memory.

And, I wonder whether my dreams were light as a stone or as heavy as a pappus?

Thanks

Oh, Children of God

I am no longer the creator,
nor the destroyer.

Not the womb,
nor the cradle.

Not a memory,
nor your pen.

Not the word,
nor your sight.

I am just a weak voice in your prayer.